“If I was crying, in the van with my friends, it was for freedom, from myself and from the land.”

The song that this line is from has been playing in my head all day.

It and the memories it has come to be associated with.

I hate that I have already cried twice.

And that the third time the tears came and I was in public and I had to lie that there was something in my eye.

I went to the sickbay this morning and asked for my tooth to be removed and lied that I was a Jehovah witness and we didn’t believe in anaesthetics. The pain was like someone drove a sword into my face and I bled. It still hurts now and there’s a packet of ibruprofen in my shirt pocket that I can’t bring myself to take even though even raising my eyebrows brings insane pain. I don’t know what I am doing, I’m used to this, but I’m not used to this.

I wish I was still younger and could do something stupid and not have consequences. I wish I wasn’t an uncle.



3 thoughts on “Fugue

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