how this time it’s different.
as i described to my friend: “where in times past it was a matter of drying and relighting the doused charcoal cinders, i worry that this time i’m trying to relight the fire without any fuel to speak of.”
that’s why i’m scared, though anyone to look at me straight in the eye right now wouldn’t even detect that morbid fear. i’m that exanimate.
in other news, i won’t write about the watershed moment my dad experienced which included fending for me against my horrible ex-mother for the first time (validating that what i experienced whilst growing up really was bona fide, unforgivable child abuse), nor will i write about the darling email that Martin McAloon sent me. i also won’t talk about the opportunity i squandered with Columbia University.
i don’t have the energy. i’m tapped and plugged.