I don't know anymore. When my doors (both metaphorical and literal) are closed, when they're open. I came home today, after work, my back door was wide open. Don't worry (not that anyone would, not that I don't sound that alarm plenty already), Bashi was home safe. I must have left the door wide open when I went to work this morning. I did it again just now. I don't remember even opening that door. Let alone leaving it opened, untended.

All this absentminded opening and forgetting has got me low down, it has. I am not, currently, the person I ever imagined myself to be. Driving home from class tonight, the last class, I felt it. That bump, that thing in the night that comes to me, bumping and malevolent, and the thing said, "you, girl, you got no idea." It's true. I got no idea. I fail and I fail, not even spectacular my failures. Mediocre, little niggling failures. It's stupid and it's lazy and it's a sad poor small mean little way to live. Don't all those words kind of mean the same thing, you ask? Why yes, yes they do. And I mean it that way too. Mean mean mean mean mean.

One thing's definite. I am tired of wallowing and tired, down deep, of missing of lonesome of longing for something that never was what I remember. I need an exorcism and I need it pronto. I'm letting myself get 10 kinds of knotty worried because R. seems to be telling me that he, he is coming back. Ah hell. I ain't ready to make nice. These things are best left untouched, unexamined, ignored, thrown in their mean and dirty corners and left there for all time.

It's like this. I either got to lock up ship, lock up tight and burrow down down down, or, or, or what? Pull the motherfucking doors off their motherfucking hinges. That's what.