Sometimes

-- I think that the man in the blue car with the OCD wants me to bash his window in

-- I think the Big Gut guy might die when I'm around

-- I want to save somebody!

-- I am pretty sure my bed is the best place to be

-- (I can't leave it.)

-- I should call.

-- I should call or email or send a fucking smoke signal.

-- I have nothing to say.

-- I say too much.

-- I wonder if I was meant to be a mother.

-- my kids wish I wasn't theirs.

-- my husband wishes he married for mommy.

-- I look at the Small Town through the bright light of an October day from the barrel of my car's front window and I see the buildings like my old buildings, like my facade of childhood, and I think I can reach through the window and just touch it

-- when I drive down these streets in October, I see our station wagons and my soccer uniform

-- I can see my mother

-- I wonder if deja vu can be a constant kind of thing

-- I write

-- I write for no purpose other than writing

-- You will decide which is which