tenpercentme

Disoriented, all I can do is write. I should have been doing this many hours ago. Around 10, I walked into the kitchen and sat down. I pulled my laptop towards me, across the table. Instead of writing I looked at the FB page of the woman who was in my dreams last night. Typing that, I realize there's nothing at all appealing about sharing such an event with her. I am tired though and can't ignore the sharp pains in my body. I begin a message. I am a pre-exisiting condition. I realize this statement is too clever to be of much value, but it's true. My health care company confirmed this when they denied me a routine physical. I grasp absent-mindedly at the the dream of a piece of land. I can't establish a connection with the focused me from earlier in the evening when I considered the fact that my life might be about to change. I can't write this anyplace but here. I can't share it with anyone. There is nothing wrong with a pen name. Nothing wrong with it at all, and yet... I can't let it be.