I SHAN'T KILL MYSELF... Jamie needs me. But, I feel crappy that's become my sole reason for living. But hey, that's why I adopted her; and, she does that, in spades. But, I wish I still wrote. Yet, even with my c-pap, I still don't sleep well; I'm tired all the fucking time. And depressed. WOE IS ME. bUT, as Mary said to her son, Jesus, at the end, there: "Get off the cross, wee need the wood."
a blog that is also meant to serve as a recovery journal, for this gay, Quaker, writer dealing with t.b.i., from surviving a hate crime in Sligo, Ireland, on 1.31.99.