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At least when you cry now, we can't even hear you.

I can taste the blood from my mouth made by the cuts in my gums from the fingernails clawing at the edges of my teeth. And, I can hear the war behind me, no matter how loudly I turn up my headphones, so the anger comes flooding back and into, so that the things that are important are no longer within arms reach.

I sat here and heard a car sputtering, thinking it was gun shots, thinking this could be Israel any time, thinking I could come home and hug my cat glad to have made it home again.

In the almost two weeks I've been driving to work, today was the first day someone honked at me. I shook the whole way home, chain smoking, trying to convince myself everything was okay. The truth is, you don't know when your number is up. The guy who couldn't merge on business 80 could have easily pulled out a gun and blown my brains all over the passenger seat without a pause.

And goddamnit, I'm sick of doing the grown up thing, the responsible thing, the thing that lets me do the thing that lets me do that other thing.

I'm rubbed raw. I'm exposed nerve. I can't calm down, I can't stop thinking about all of the things I need to do before, now, right away. It's all shoved back, pushed weeks out, it should be right now. I would push that urgency into you, until it infected you the way it has me, only that I wouldn't let you taste the blood and feel the cramping stomach that accompanies everyday.

Now.

6:47 p.m. - 2003-03-24

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