Every time I try to stick my head up, I get knocked down again.

My little brother is dying of caner. I can’t delude myself about it. Or in truth, I TRY to delude myself about it, but the truth has a way of getting out. His left lung is full now. He’s on heavy narcotics as muscle relaxants. So we get that news, and I respond by trying to dissapear from view and responsibility, as is traditional. Though at least this time I only got lazy and didn’t try to hurt myself. But I know that is what is happening, and I’m trying to get over it.

And then I get the news that my cousin is going to Afghanistan.

It’s at times like this that I start to see where the ancients got the idea that there were some tempermental crones in charge of fate. Cause we sure don’t have anything to do with it.

And it’s not even like I’ve had a hard life! Up until last April, the world was startlingly devoid of bad things in my family’s past. I had to invent grievances to knock myself with. And just as soon as I learn how to deal with the fictions, I get the truths come to call.

I just want them to go away. 

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