These are my thoughts. They are not meant to make sense. They are my echo into the woods. I am the tree that falls, and it is here that I make a sound.
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Friday, September 03, 2004


I'm struggling.

Really, really struggling.

The swiss army knife has made a reappearance, just to keep me in the here-and-now, and not in the off-she-goes-to-lala-land.

I can't display a lot of this to Rob but he sees through most of my dodges.

Supposed to be going to my sister's tomorrow for a send-off barbeque for my nephew (who, coincidentally enough, they think is either schizophrenic or bipolar - he takes Seroquel but nothing else) but right now I'm heavy with dread at the thought. I can't face them and pretend to be normal. I want to call them, no, strike that, if I'm going to be honest here, I want ROB to call them, or to send an email even better, nothing where she can cajole me to going, send her an email that says I'm not feeling well, bad stomach flu, something, anything to keep me from going there and enduring 4 or 5 hours of enforced frivolity. I can't do it.

I still have a job. But the strain of waiting for the axe to fall is making me shake. Literally. At one point today I went into the ladies room, not necessarily to do my business, but to just sit in the stall and shake for a while, to let my guard down an iota and relieve some of the pent stress by allowing my body to quiver in stress. A high tension wire, like I said before.

Adam's gone, and Rob'll be home in a while. I want to do a run, to try and zone out to a safer place for a while. going to check in on something first. Then I'll go.

My stomach is knotted and my mind is spiralling, the spiral of carion over fresh roadkill. I've got to straighten this out.


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