this may or may not be about someone you've never met

black book


My brain feels fried. Frizzled up like a hotplate in the bathtub. The heat is off again and now the gas too. It's hard to make tea when your paranoid about the radiation from the microwave, but too broke and stingy to go buy a cup. I have so many ideas racing around in my head I can't get a grip on a single one. It's like watching twenty kids in a playground and wanting them all to have a wonderful time and grow up to be bright useful beings; but I only have two eyes and two hands and one semi-functional brain and I'm hoping and trying for the best but holy shit do children run amock. 

Micaela Silberstein