Secret Pop

Mar 3, 2004

Bullfrogs and Butterflies

It never lets up. I keep catching myself with a pained look on my face. Even when I think I'm expressionless. I drove beneath an ominous black sky, with thunder and lightning cracking the blackness in two, and firm, heavy raindrops pummeling my windshield. Relentless little bullets with every intention of eventually breaking through. Like Armageddon in Escondido.

I voted. I got my sticker. And I spent very nearly the balance of the remainder fretting and trying and hoping and failing and wondering how long it will be before I can get through an entire day without a reason to cry or at very least the urge to.

If the stress doesn't kill me, the stress will.

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