bullets are metaphorical
2003-08-10 ~ 12:14 a.m.

the day did not go as expected.

not that i could really have expected it to.

so now i am sitting in my office doing nothing. wishing for something, yes...anything...to do. the dogs, sensing my mood, are low-key and sleeping. i am just here.

i don't even remember what i said. to start it. something about a turn. or maybe i cringed. or who knows. just my dumbass self being terrified of cars and setting something else off.

it was terri's party. it was so good to see them and meet the new friends i had heard about. i hope that she has a wonderful year.

came home to an unlocked house, which launched me in to a new tirade with tearful results. the dogs getting loose and running away or getting hit by a car or animal control coming back out...or a nice neighbor being friendly and trying to help out with the bong on the table.

it is all too much right now.

i was sitting in the glare of the lights from the storefront with my head down. fucking broken. again. not looking around, watching. just sitting. sitting...and not caring. knowing that i blew all my passing bdi results out the window...and then thinking that if someone put a gun to my head...i don't think i would flinch right now.

don't get me wrong. it isn't what i want.

i just don't have the desire to lift my head back up right now.

bullets are metaphorical until you feel the steel burning through layers of flesh and muscle.

i wish i had a book to read. or a hand to hold.

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