Mud

I've been typing and deleting because I don't know what to say but I need to say something before I bleed out. There are just too many pieces, more than I can handle and it's all starting to come crumbling down again. I feel shakey and scared and I'm wondering who I can count on. I can't count on myself, I know that much.

My friends have been great. Well, the important ones have anyway. That's what makes them the important ones I guess. They've been trying to say the right things and keep me from wallowing too much. I'm a great wallower. It's a skill. Like knowing when the loading dye is at exactly the middle of your gel without looking. It's a pokemon power. I just made an inside joke that no one who reads this would get. Meh.

One good thing has happened. I've started writing again. Well, that's rather an enormous exaggeration. The truth is I scrawled one poem on the back of a sheet of scrap paper Thursday morning and haven't looked at it since. But I'm looking for my silver lining and I'll fabricate one if I must. See, I'm attempting to stop the wallow.