Listen... 

I did my last post before seeing recent scourges of Mr. McWriter. His presence on this here blog, this newhindenbugrian of NewHindenburgs makes me feel small, a quaker in the wake of sodomy. 

Please. Please. Please. Vanquish me. I never want to write again. Baseball's starting. For the longest time, I've abandoned this blog, I've kept posting, offering somewhat lyrical onslaughts on my bullshit but that ain't the game. Writing is fun. Sharing is fun. These things shouldn't feel like a burden. 

My life is so empty right now. Brock keeps calling me a housewife. I tell him I;m more than a housewife. I'd like to say "Motherfucker! I'm finishing a motherfucking novel but people don't read books anymore!:" Such sentiments would render my point as moot. I want to live or die. I want a corner. I want risk. Every time we get together people turn to a screen. I try my best to abstain. I type words instead. 

Youth is dead. 

Let's all buy vacuums and get wives.

Let's settle and settle and settle some more. 

I hate myself.