I sit here with nothing to write about while I wait for Halloween.

A few of the haunts are early, straws dug into my god damn bleeding heart.

Wine is the wrong answer for this. A fast dose of Cabernet at noon may be a good balm for brunch and baby showers, but how can I soothe the heavy things that make me cry? I was swirling morning coffee in a paper cup today when someone reached past me for the sugar. Tears were dripping down my cheek.

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I tell Jerry, I don't feel right; something is wrong. I have so many things on my mind, I tell him. He stares at me and knows that either nothing, or something really ugly is coming, and hides his head under his shirt. Laughing, I wipe tears away again. I tell him a bunch of other stuff that just leaves blood on my hands, so I won't repeat it.

Remembering my apartment and Ani DeFranco on the CD, I miss being alone. I have told him so many times how much I miss it. How can I say things that hurt you? I ask.

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With my coffee ready, I give the girl two bucks. She hands me 50 cents before I squeeze outside where pick-up trucks line the lot.

Can I go back and edit things so all the edges are rough? So nothing is comfortable to hold or read or pass along? That's good stuff. Tailored beautiful things are perfect until you lean on them a little, and they tend to hit my last screaming nerve. I guess I have monsters of my own that live in my head. What a bitch.

I want to sink my fingers into something firm and press my teeth against its shoulder and stay there. Just stay there.