I’m quite sure I know all the short cuts. I’ve got my doubts. Theres a point, its always a point, when mental illness isn’t an illness anymore. Theres a point when I want to slap your right cheek and make it beet red and then plead insanity in court. It isn’t supposed to be hard but when I see that funny look in your eyes and the way you try to dress like a normal being I get scared and that heavy feeling in my chest returns to whatever the fuck I know and try not to know again. Those couple of words make me feel good and then they get spun around like usual, hey whats new fat cherub? I don’t know where that came from (I should have guessed when you leafed through my magazine), but I walked you down the hall (the sunny one, and the one where my locker is). We walked down the sunny one and I asked you about vibes (I thought I was living up to my childhood friend and thought he’d be proud of me if he was there, but he’s long gone), you said you got them sometimes, and then we were in my hallway. You said that vegetarians usually flocked together and then made a sweeping motion like you were flocking to somebody on the right side of the hallway. I laughed just then, and imitated you because aparently thats just what I do. Take other peoples silly actions and make them sillier, but not to hurt your feelings at all. I stood there with my shifty eyes and I know that when I get home I’ll classify you, you’re one of those people that has the body language of a shy fifth grader but have the personality of a giant (just because they are huge and usually friendly). I told you what I was making for supper and you told me your life story. I hurried the conversation as we walked down the stairs and you said you were going out for coffee, I thought that was nice and asked about your friend. You said his name was A.A. I thought that was a funny name and laughed in my head, but asked you where he lived. In the meadows you say with your checked over coat and off white sunglasses nestled in your draped scarf. We walked, you were stiff, I started opening up my truck door, and I said something that I felt embarrased about immediatley afterwards. I don’t like ending conversations but I had no reason not to so I was stuck with the dirty stuff so you could walk into the meadows to meet your friend. Maybe your more then friends, or maybe you were in another life, I wish I could pinpoint why I want to know but I just do. My nose gets itchy when I don’t know.

I didn’t think I had it anymore but when you put my fingers to a keyboard I can’t not have it. I think I like the brown one better and I’m getting my doubts again. What if its actually at this time? What if we come late and they are out of the rectangular papers. I’ll add them on yourspace.com. I’ve heard too many good thngs about you, bitch slap.