but we are not snakes, and what's more, we never will be, and if we stay swimming here forever we will never be free
2003-12-11 & 12:49 a.m.

the butter melts out of habit, the toast isn't even warm. the waitress and the man in the plaid shirt play out a scene they've played so many times before. i am watching the sun stumble home in the morning from a bar on the east side of town and the coffee is just water dressed in brown.

my breaking point has expanded the longer i live; it's easier to live and harder to break. i'm perilously close to it right now, with unknown catalysts. fatigue and coerced hugs or perhaps it is just too much hurt for much too long. essays and exams and presentations and then the collapse. he understands in 2-D, with a hypocritical belief in capital letters and so i tell him this is The End.