This is one of those things were I make something out of nothing because The Boy, in his own right, made something out of nothing. Yay.

At four this morning, The Boy, bearing Oreos, wanted to talk about our collective future together.
I did what any normal person would do in a similar situation: I sent him to the store for milk and pretended to be in a dead sleep when he got back.

Cafe Writing February 2008
The Art I love doesn’t have edges or work in accord with prescribed boundaries. It’s not that. It’s all of it.

I don’t care what the CDC says; somebody on the MARTA gave me Ebola.
Or leprosy.
Whichever.