My Rediscovery of Me

I’m sitting up in bed, playing Bejeweled Blitz, and I just had a strong need to post about how happy I am that I’m sad. I am so thankful for this darkness.

I’m beginning to picture my desires, the pure ones, uninhibited by perceived (or true but unfortunate) responsibility.

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I sometimes wear this necklace that has a key on it. A friend asked me today for the back story of my chain. I said I found a key at a shop in Wichita and I put it on the necklace, not much else to it. “Everything you do usually has a meaning to it,” he said (or something like that).

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I think about home all the time. I still don’t know where it is, but it feels nearer.

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Bismillah.

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Videos I’d Watch: Shit Introverts Want to Say to Extroverts; Shit Black Arab Fathers Who Raised Their Children in Mississippi Say to Those Children, in Arabish, with a Southern Accent; Shit Everybody Says to Nobody (or Shit All Y’all Want to Say); Shit Mississippians Say About William Faulkner; Shit Journalists Say About Journalism’s Future.

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Is “Bejeweled Blitz shoulder” a real condition? Can we make it one?