29.07.06 - 11:37 a.m.

there's an itch in my hand that is my body forming a scar. when i separate my thumb and index finger too much and it feels like my hand is tearing open it's because it is; i am undoing the work that my body has done. i need to stop doing that.

you almost died. the fact that you sustained no life threatening injuries doesn't really matter to me. to that old man's face i wanted to say you're sorry this all happened -- you mean you're sorry you can't see twenty feet in front of your car? you're sorry that someone had to take a knife to this leg because of your carelessness? you're sorry that there are manufactured parts inside of him now that are holding together a thing that is naturally meant to sustain blows? i wanted to scream at him, but i'm sure his insurance agent told him not to admit fault by apology.

two days ago, while on morphine, you told me this was good for us.

try to remember that, even if you didn't mean it.

baby brother, happy belated birthday. i still think you are a nearsighted, self-righteous idiot.

other person, it was your birthday, too. now we're caught up. don't think i don't keep track.

and now we're really caught up.