Trying my hardest today to not bellow and shout, scream at everyone who breathes in my presence. The fault is entirely mine, or at least it is the fault of an unknown source fucking up my tolerance level for people, things, coffee and apt consideration.
Last night – or rather this morning between six and nine thirty I slept. The first real sleep in days not driven by highly charged emotional states and nightmares. and at the moment my wrist is bleeding.
I didn’t harm myself if that is the conclusion the reader has leapt to.
a stab into the wrist from a light construction project in the destruction phase. Well, it is meant to be a light construction/room rehab project but the further I am getting into it the more I am realizing that it is going to need and today I am not up to the task of contemplating how best to accomplish the goal.
what I need is a four in the afternoon nap, some heavy sedation and a beer or bottle of Yukon Jack.
my problems are petty and the coffee is warm.
I can’t write a poem in this mood, flashing downward in a silent movie circa 1928 train wreck and bugs bunny taunting the shotgun in manic high.
squirrels wear a fur coat made of raccoon hide.