Out and Down

Gonna go take a peek at Argentina next week; gonna sneak out of here while the going's so weak. Gonna go to the country in the country of Chile; it's summer there so it shouldn't be chilly and it hopefully won't be as silly and frilly as Newton, Massachusetts. I won't be living with my folks again, so choose your bets: I might come to visit if you're still a friend.

Gonna live on the land and grow veggies by hand. Me and Max, we're gonna tax our backs up to but not past the point of breaking; forsaking the nation and higher education for aching and raking and distant communicating.

Taking a degree? Making a career? Shaking a hand out of nothing but fear? You won't find that here. You won't catch me taking responsibility.

And sorry if you were underneath when I dropped that beach ball. I took a pretty hard fall, and winter; like a sprinter in a 40k race I wasn't a winner, I could not do it all. And in an astounding about face, my pancreas would no longer keep pace.

Instead of psychosis I did my own diagnosis, I increased my dosage and got mail-order insulin without paying for postage. Now I break my skin ten times a day, but I no longer think of breaking myself away in some irretrievable way.

I'll be back again but I can't say when, until then.