whenever you read this can you bring me a bag of tootsie rolls. i cant eat them but that would be nice.

I only stop here because you amuse me once in a while. Then again retards are amused by earwax.

So you do check in.

And in response to your comment, I simply can't just leave. You said something once, a couple years ago that made me want to subscribe my loyalty.

So I am sorry my dear, you are subject to condesending and sometimes even rude quips from me because that is how I am gonna earn your respect. Fucked up huh?

So are you saying you are not writing anymore? That could mean a few different things. A. You're pills are working, and don't need these depressing bastards anymore. 2. Your too busy helping other people trying to make up for the past. D. Your muse left. #. You are surpressing all your feelings because life is easier for everyone else if you do. or 1. You are an online predator and legally you can't touch your PC.

Nancy is bi-polar. She is married to my friend. I’ve seen her twice checking out at Wal-mart. She never saw me but I saw her. Really saw her. I have never seen anyone in my life that looked so sad and helpless.   I can picture her driving home, not putting her seatbelt on because so-what if she got in an accident and got fucked up, driving well above the speed limit, hoping that she would. Then she pulls into her garage and let’s the door close behind her leaving the car running for only 30 extra seconds this time after seeing the husbands truck in the driveway. She puts the groceries away while her he asks her how her day was without looking up from the latest Transformers site. “What’s for supper?” he asks.   She excuses herself to the bathroom and takes another long look into a mirror that continually looks faded and old no matter how many lighting designs are tried. She opens the medicine cabinet and pops a BC pill in her mouth knowing that for another day at least she can’t have a baby due to the risk of being off her other pills. She looks at her bottles of lithium and Prozac next to her husbands Zoloft and plans a time-table in her head. Not tonight she thinks, her sister’s birthday is a week from tomorrow.   She puts some hamburger in a pan to simmer then sits down in her garage-sale rocker, the one that sits next to her uncle’s guitar, the uncle that blew his head off five years ago. She continues her book often re-reading paragraphs at a time because the thoughts in her head won’t allow her passage. She goes to bed after supper, but doesn’t sleep.   Nancy is fucked up. Why is it that I think it would be beneficial to take all her pills away? Give her a job at the local nut-house. Then see how she is doing in a few years.   Why do I think you'd want the same?