Liking being alone doesn’t mean I haven’t grown but when the pressure is grating inside my skull and tearing at the bone I must be getting along. It’s been great and your generosity is exceptional, the dialogue was stimulating and the scenery impeccable but I’m feeling illogical, irrational, remorseful and fallable, it’s hard to remain casual with the darkness so factual. I only chase cats in the rat race, turning my back didn’t save face, don’t waste home base on disgrace trying to numb and erase, it doesn’t work in any case. I can outwit my body but not my soul, there is no control and only one goal, play your turn, roll the dice, hope for something nice and don’t forget the advice. Fault and reason conflate to cohesion, guilt and shame bring the derision, memory and reality are in collusion as we all blast off before being told the mission. There’s nothing more I can do but shift out of broken gear and hope I can steer. Oh deer. Memory lane roadkill career. Wrote the car off getting here. What’s my brain worth this year? Is it fair? Is it sincere or a function of the judiciously austere? Laughing doesn’t always make me smile but I’m working on it file by file, it’s taking awhile, delicate and fragile, even in my own shoes barely walking a mile. Fear is everywhere. Breathe in the air. How do I compare? I was once there but I must share that I’ve fallen on the wagon and I’m under repair.