21:56 and mixed letters

Right now, there are words I want to write here. And yet, even though there’s barely an audi­ence for this place (and thank heav­ens for that), I don’t dare.

But I don’t dare to write the words to myself, either, to step away and put them down in a note­book or a text file, for fear they’ll turn against me and spit in my face.

And so. Here I am. And so. I don’t know what to do with the words. And so.

(I didn’t mean to use the phrase “And so” — it has con­nota­tions from the tumul­tu­ous past for me, even though the con­nota­tion was writ­ten “and so”, defi­antly lower­case, when I first glimpsed it many years ago. As for me, I’ve gone by many dif­fer­ent names as I attemp­ted to live lives oth­er than this one — half of which I now for­get. I still don’t use my real name here, even though most now know it, for fear of being too eas­ily dis­covered. I wouldn’t expect con­cern, more deri­sion and dis­missive­ness.)

I want this long week­end to be over. I loathe bank hol­i­day week­ends even more than the stand­ard two-day vari­ety. They seem inter­min­able.

Maybe I should try and sleep. I should, yes. I should try and sleep.

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