I try to evaluate in hopes of getting to a significant discovery about myself. I have learned that it is a wonder that I was able to be taught what one is and what two is and what three is and all the other numbers back in first grade. I think back -- it is hard -- but I think back, only to find out if anything substantial happened, or to kill my day so I won't have to do any work; I think back and wonder how I worked at it. Maybe we're stronger than we think. That is a comforting thought, has no focal point but it is comforting. I don't want to think about it anymore. I'll push it away.

 

        I washed my hands fifty times a day because I was told to. I listened.

 

        Sordid remarks of candor -- I hate them and try to avoid them, push them away.

 

        I met a man. No different from the others, I did like him a little bit. I don't remember what he said to me, but if I told him I had a place to do business, he probably wouldn't have believed me. Little boys want me. Five and ten.

 

        Rub, rub, rub. It was awful but good. So what. Worlds and winds. A beautiful sunlit cloud, soft, a high going through my head. There is nothing else to do. I lie there. Wintuks, yarns of sweater colors ready to wrap you up into a blanket and heat the chills away. Wires and cross wires were there to send me to some thrilling planet, via computer or whatever is popular at the time for that kind of travel. I don't need baggage -- I just go; me. No magazines. I send myself there because it sounds nice. Papyrus color unwinds to give the message for me to read. Beautiful message. Everything is perfect, the way it should be. It is a message I wished to hear, maybe that is the only reason it was there, maybe it doesn't mean shit, just a linear message with no reality. I know the message is not true. I cry. Everyone is sleeping so no one hears me, which is OK. I hate being told that I'm the fool and they're always right. My tears go unheard because that is the way it should be.

 

        The dog outside has been barking for the last two days. He must be lonely. I feel sorry for him.

RIVER BED   87

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