paid for by the committee to keep diaries evil
The second half of this life is a graveyard for all the dreams that helped the body and the mind endure the first half.
I take all the car wrecks and airline disasters and set them out in the fog where I found them.
I'm not supposed to be here. And everyone knows it.
The mothership isn't returning. And there are no windows in the mailroom.
I carefully consider all the possible exit strategies. I want to disappear before you fuckers turn on the Christmas music.