Nonfiction

This blog isn't a lie. It's all genuine. If you asked me how I feel, I would probably say something mildly dismissive like "I'm ok today." Unless you want to hear, don't ask; I have trouble sorting out those who genuinely care and those with a misguided sense of manners.

What am I supposed to say? What if I told you the truth: I lay awake every night searching for reasons to wake up in the morning, then I post them on my blog. Some of you might feign concern; more would probably be interested to see true madness intelligently described from the inside for the first time. For most people, I'm a sideshow act; the rest of you I call "friend." Friendship is wasted on me, I think.

I've yet to meet someone who can tolerate the same horror stories on consecutive occasions, much less meet someone who could hear them for the months and years on end that I deal with them. Like I said earlier: the same old wounds seek the same remedies. I'm interesting for ninety minutes; six months is quite simply too much to ask. Trust me, or trust the only one who tried; all roads lead to Rome, and they're all well accustomed to the bootheels of my Legions.

S.P.Q.R.