The 'patient' one is running out of patience. No, no new anger to surface. I'm refering to this lump in my throat. I just want something to happen. Still no ill feelings, I'm not going to suddenly blow up and seek revenge. I guess in the whole scheme of things, I ought to be mortally wounded. But I'm still standing. And dare I say, my dears, you should stand up and brush yourselves off, too? It's been a week. Soon, I know, but I refuse to go off on a rampage, I would rather go off on a weekend stint somewhere cold. Forgive yourselves, I have. It's done, it's over, learn from it and get a good night's sleep. (With no more guilt dreams.) Fuggetaboutit. One get-out-of-jail-free.

My heart is tired. My mind is sluggish. My soul is hopeful. I've decided all I really want is my fuckin' home back, okay?