writin letters

I miss my jee key.



A great burden has lifted. A new one is likely on its way, but for now, for tonight, I can breathe.

My life has been made very difficult by someone who thinks he has it all figured out (literally). A someone who is eaten up with arrogance and incompetence. Overcompensation? I don’t think so, but it could be. Pain in my rear for sure. There have been times that I thought I was overreacting, not because I second-guessed myself but because I let him get to me. He made me look inward, though, at my own arrogance and fear of incompetence. And though I can’t say that made me feel less animosity toward him, it did make me take a hard look at myself. It made me fight the urge to lash out. It’s a hard thing to overcome anger while holding the world on my shoulders. It’s a harder thing still to see shades of myself in the source of my hardship.


That oatmeal really did a number on my keyboard. I think I’m oing to have to remove the cap from my “g.” I don’t et why the keys work fine without the caps and then work lousy with them even thouh everythin, caps, keys and all, appear to be free of sticky residue.

I ot a copy of the Turner Diaries from the political science teacher. I told her I was on a readin spree with prophetic political novels in the spirit of the upcomin election. I bouht a couple books this summer and had only started readin the first one sometime in uly. (reat, now the j is oin out. The content miht be a bore but this post is ettin more interestin with each additional malfunctionin key. I’ll end up capless keyed before the computer oes kaput. Or letterless typed. Impressive either way.) I was deep into one of the books when thins started etin (there oes a t) stressful, and when I found myself divin down an emotional well I realized that Winston’s world was makin me depressed. So I put him down. The teacher asked whether I’d read her book yet and I said I had to put the other one on hold and wasn’t ready for another round of societal suicide. She nodded in silent understandin.

Oh, them nutty cynics.

I’m not really all that cynical. There’s plenty of conscientious folk out there. Not plenty, no, but lots. I like to think I am a conscientious person, but I o back and forth. We all do. It’s human nature. Mostly. But I think it’s more in our nature to think the worst of ourselves than to live up to who we fear we miht be. When we fear ourselves, we have hihtened sense of self-awareness, which puts us one step closer to becomin who we’d rather be. Fear can be a ood sin. Not a sin, but a sin—a thin that tells us stuff, particularly about ourselves in this case, so that we can see what needs fixin and have the motivation to fix it.

Tomorrow is the first day of fall. I prefer the word autumn. It sounds redder and orangier. Fall reminds me of the pretty brown and yellow leaves that fell like snow from those towerin trees at a park in Dallas that one time. Talk about surreal. But autumn still sounds lovelier.

This is the first niht off I’ve had in a while that I didn’t fall asleep within minutes of bein home. Which worries me a bit. I drank a lot of caffeine today. (Can you tell?) I could be up awhile.

I probably ouhta stop typin and et ready for bed so that I can lie down and make a ame of thinkin of nothin. If I win, I’ll fall asleep. I’ve been oin nine thousand miles an hour all day, so slowin down will either be a challene or an involuntary response to a reclined position in a dark and quiet space.

Anyway, oodniht.




Author: uncaged

When Picasso painted a blue Seated Woman in a Chair, he was unconsciously thinking of me.

4 thoughts on “writin letters”

  1. “Not a sin, but a sin—a thin that tells us stuff, particularly about ourselves in this case, so that we can see what needs fixin and have the motivation to fix it.”

    Very silly, yet deep. I liked this line a lot.

    Liked by 1 person

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