Maybe I'll just sit here and write, write anything.

Me necessary with dirt
Me another nark
Me pain

Of what I did.

Scapula

I angered

I deal

I bothered a ride with my needs.
I sacrificed attributes which were loving in order to like money.

Ask this when I give.

There is an annoying mystical undertone to my writing choices.  Perhaps you cannot detect that other than in the repetitiousness, the incoherence and the incompleteness of what I write.

I think I have to follow an impulse which no one cares about.



Where to start.
I have a fear of dying due to my shortness of breath, which may be getting better thanks to inhalers, but will they continue to help????

Baber:  A woman I knew at Oxford who was studying law (pre-law) and now I know what this block is.  I am not making sense because I would have to be a layman.

But that means I'm not a priestess.  OK.

I sit here, feeling the naked nastiness of my own flowers.

Sick:  I have reasons to listen.  First is that I hate answers because they involve my having pain because the answers I got always had to do with my inadequacy.

I don't think my father wanted me.

As of now, that's all.