She Says

It is a joke. All their damn despair I've been conveying, been boring the world with; it's all illusions and delusions. The good thing is I think it's now all beaten out of me. To the church people reading my words, sending out study packs on the psalms :) I'm okay. God is the last thing I need! Spoke to my girlfriend Teresa yesterday on the phone. (Yes, you are that, Teresa, a girlfriend. Deal with it) and her son and daughter were in the background tearing up the neighbourhood.

Ghostriding ? into cars and snatching flowers from neighbourhood flowerbeds. The cuteness of that occuring in the background made me smile and laugh wholeheartedly.

What's my delusions and stupid sorrow to that? I'm going home in twenty eight days and they killing one of us by firing squad soon. Life without paroles are half of us. And I go home to silly curfew and no alcohol clause. So, I've made a date with Teresa to phone her nights as we both, sit/lay on our roofs and watch the stars. Romantic, she says. It'll be cool, I say.

She has sat out there waiting two years for me. She made me save enough to pass my psychological testing. Parole board member when she coughed and her phone repeatedly during our meeting. Teresa has tames me; saved me. I'm not sure if any of my readers read "Rolling Stone" magazine. But I ripped out some pages and sent them to Teresa. One page had a picture of Seth Rogan walking down the street with his wife Lauren. I wondered to her if Seth would be Seth without Lauren? And I'd listen to you have that exact expression Seth does as he listens to Lauren.

And then - this is Rolling Stone #1185 by the way - in the "weed" section there is a photo of Dr. Dina smelling a weed plant. Toasted beyond belief. Here eyes are ripped and she's grinning like the cheshire cat. I said I'll make you as happy as Dr Dina's eyes.

So I'm just sitting here wondering if I'm going home to my home town of Beaver or I'll have to go to a halfway house. I'm hoping my grandpa can just come and get me. I'm scared to call and get sad news from them. I'd already called and gave them a heads up though.

It's almost lunch time here. Four feathers hang from ? string blowing in the wind from the air vents. Good luck, I say. What would Teresa say about my feathers? I threw out my sack a couple of weeks back and the pain radiated left, so I believed my stomach or kidneys were in bad shape. But it was just my back. Sit-ups, I've found, are dangerous. Possibly all my pains come from doing sit-ups and squishing these pies of extra guts I have, stretching my twisted spine. Must embrace guts and twists.