someday there will be no more ropes

mothers who kill their children. what is that about?

why am i thinking about this, anyway. shit. there is an 87-year old woman i have on a case, a victim, a mother who didn't kill her children, and she was robbed, terribly, and things stolen from her, and well.

whatever.

i feel like i go into some courtrooms with my hands tied with ropes i could undo, but that could possibly result in someone else being hurt--or is it fear? fear fear fear, you are afraid of some things, she says, i don't know what they are, or why, but you are afraid sometimes of something(s) and

but thanksgiving is coming. i've eaten the same thing two days in a row now. should i go for three? except tomorrow is friday and time for steak and red wine, red wine is a good drowner.

andrea yates was too tired and too thin in her wedding dress, and her husband looks blind with those big eyes, and why is counseling wrong and bad and terrible and why would you kill all of your children, then, don't know, do you?

my cousin Stephanie is pregnant with her eighth child. shitfucker.

that's my new one.

the dog is now running around tearing the brains out of her little rabbit and now, the pink (don't feel bad about the rabbit because its orange, yes well) ball. fire and brimstone.

those eyes are awfully big.

let me do this, well, sometimes the answer is yes. i will.