And there's a paranoia, and it creeps in upon the time of condemnation. "What will you do with your life? What will September bring for you?" And I pull a hand, a limb, a heavy heart through my messy mustled hair, all deep and dark and breeding things, and the words form above the heads of my interrogator. Plain English, hidden in plain sight. "What will you do with yourself?" And there, oh, there, I could allow the aneurism my brain is expelling to explode on contact, and I'd expect a million tiny needles to spray across the room in fire and fury, and nothing would be left at all except the tiny ideas attached to each one, dripping with neglect.
"Oh, I'm sure I'll be fine."
Thanks to Kate Gregory for sacrificing a little of her sanity to gain us all a little more perspective.
