Oh the fact is I just suck. Just the facts ma�am. I suck. I suck because I�m moving and it�s giving me chest pains, like those bad and cruel and I�m going to die chest pains of years back. Like I can�t even walk anywhere without getting out of breath. I suck because I never wrote anybody back and nobody knows where I�ll be so soon and I want to write people back. I want to spend a long long time writing a letter to Bathsheba. And to Jeff. And Brittania. And Oliver. But I am consumed with panic and worry and can�t do nothing of the sort. I suck because I�m taking two weeks off of work, using up every last drop of my vacation, abandoning my cats (not really, just abandoning myself by leaving them because I need them) and I suck because I�m the chair of the social committee and I want to not have that, not think about that, coordinating of people and food items and such. And goddamn Lola, of all the goddamned people who work at this library, is the gifts and cards lady and OF COURSE she thinks it�s my job, which the stupid rules say is not so. But then I feel like the only things I ever say to her are THAT�S NOT MY JOB THAT�S YOUR JOB. Which is mostly true, mostly what I say to her. I just hate her and I hate having to fight for every inch of my boundaries around her. beeotch (like Dawn and Jeff says).

And I just. I just want to lie down. Not get up. Want to be alone with Basho forever and ever and ever. Scrubbed clean and penniless and thingless and with my one and only faithful Bashi Basho.

I�m heartsick and heartsore. I�ve been watching this video of Steve Earle (obsess much? Oh yeah, it�s what I do you motherfuckers�no no, not you, you ain�t a motherfucker). I cut off all my utilities. I packed and I packed and I, oh lord, I, I just don�t know. I�m stricken. That�s the truth. Being stricken makes me sullen in the face of other people because I�d ruther be taken for being a mean old nasty woman than being revealed as a sad faced, heartsore girl. But I know the truth.

It�s coming up on three pm.

I just feel wrong. That�s true. I�m going to catalog some more and I�m going to listen to Steve Earle some more and watch him in the corner of my screen as he sings: �the devil lives on Lewis Street, I swear. Oh the devil lives on Lewis Street, I swear. I seen him rocking in his rocking chair.�