I'm still shook by it, straight shivering. How much bad news can one man be delivering? I have parcels and packages. I have bins and bags and big ass truckfuls of anxiety. You want some? I'll share. It looks like marshmallow and tastes like napalm.
It's a big play to call. I didn't have my protective gear on. I was still in my chrysalis.
I keep on climbing and getting exactly nowhere, man. But don't pity me. I'm cool. I'm doing alright. I've got a shitty car and some credit card debt, but I got real good karma. I'm not even trying to brag. I've done a few important things that no one will ever know about but me.
But me! But me! What about me? How do I separate the genuine compassion from questing hero status. It's pathetic. Put on your sweater. You know a breeze can kick up any second.
You're never going to be really safe. Not as safe as I want you to be. I want to cover the world in felt and pocket lint. I'm never gonna do it. I've got a cross to bear, and I'm stuck to it.
So, how do I stop my hands from shaking? Not the tremor. I'm used to that. It's genetic. I mean this "hard to type" shake that is born of the terror of an unknown future. The fear for small people.
It's such a big world.
I'm tired. I didn't sleep last night, and my eyes are gritty, and my mouth tastes shitty and I have one of those headaches that truckers get staring at the white lines on the highway. I wonder why mini-thins always made your head feel weird. No? Maybe it was just me. A kind of squirreling tickle.
I guess I'll go now. I don't have much to say today.
#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...#2minutesgo Tweet it! Share it! Shout it from the top of the shack you live in! I will be out most of the day, but I'll be back...