Quest For Fire:Update

Except for the awesome pallets the 'Snap On Guy' throws out I have stopped scrounging for wood. I had a relapse yesterday though. I found a 12 foot piece of beautiful driftwood, nicely twisted and gnarled. It looks great in the driveway as a curb stop.

I'm Just Orginizationally Challenged!

I'm not really a slob. Well, my beard does seem to occasionally catch a crumb or two, and it seems as though my moustache likes to wick up coffee now and then. My vehicles do tend to be filled to gills with objects that usable at a later date and some that might be better off in the trash can. But all that clutter can have a purpose. Like the time I got stopped on route 18 North near Coggeshall street.



My car wouldn't pass for it's inspection sticker. I got the car for free from the previous owner due to that fact. There was rot right through the rocker panels. A no-no that I hadn't gotten to fix. The inspection guy, who will remain nameless, told me I was better off to just scrape the old sticker off and take my chances. So I did.



Then I got to meet the aforementioned trooper. As I pulled onto Coggeshall street in front of Antonio's restaurant my mind raced for a valid excuse. As my eyes scanned the pile on the front floor I spied a hospital wrist band I had just barely been able to squeeze off the week before. I grabbed it and squeezed it back on. The trooper approached my car and stated that he had stopped me for not having an inspection sticker. I replied, "I know it's not a valid excuse, but I had to use the car to go to the hospital," and held up my wrist so he had a good view of my hospital band. In a few minutes he returned and gave me back my license and registration and muttered something about me having a lucky day.



Two weeks later on the same highway in nearly the same spot but headed south this time I was again stopped for the same reason. I didn't know if was the same trooper so I grabbed a form from Social Security Disability which showed I had an appointment for a an exam. This time I got a written warning. It wasn't the same cop but I'm sure my previous stop showed up on his cruiser's mobile computer.



Once, several years ago I got stopped by a notorious Fairhaven cop. He's been known to pull people out thought the car window, really. My car had trash up to the window of the back seat. Amazingly, this stop involved and invalid sticker, but my insurance had also been canceled. An arrestable offense. During my conversation with officer Lavallee, he stated he liked to see cars like mine, full of trash, that is. When I asked why he said, "Because I like to know that there's some one's car that is worse than mine." He ended up giving me a big break and I was allowed to go to work instead of the police station.



Now my room has gotten full, so to speak. I use the three pile system for laundry. One pile is clean, one is dirty and one 'not really sure'. While I was recently unable to walk due to an infection I asked my sister and her boyfriend to get my crutches so I could get off the couch and go to bed. She asked obviously overwhelmed, "Where are they?"



"Under the pile," I stated as though it was obvious. They saw a crutch bottom sticking out from under one of the piles and gave it a yank. The whole pile began and move as the pulled a little harder. With a sudden surge out came the crutch. Twisted up together came the crutch, a two piece fishing pole and a golf club. I saw them emerge from my room laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes. With the crutch standing straight up and the fishing pole and the golf club making a perfect X, the tangled look for all the world like the doctors symbol.

So see, there actually may be a use for all those seemingly useless items. Whether it be a money saving excuse or just to make somebody smile, just get yourself organized. I'm working on it!

I've Been Sick

Over the past 6 months I have what seems like one ailment after another.
First back in November of '08 I started with stomach pains and headaches. Oh yeah, there was another symptom. Hallucinations. At first they were just weird, often comical events. Let me relate the first and funniest to you.

I woke up one night at about 2 A.M. I realized the cat was still out and I wanted to call him due to the coyotes that prowl West Island. As I walked by the kitchen window I noticed something amiss in the back yard.

I saw 4 midget fireman running through the yard by the fish pond. They all wore size appropriate black fireman coats with yellow accents on the sleeve cuffs and bottom of their garments. Their boots seemed a bit large though and they ran in funny way. With all due respect to little people, if you can visualize the oversize boots flopping around, it was bizarre.

On one fireman's shoulder was a coil of fire hose, another had a full size ax and the third carried their ladder. The fourth must have been th e Chief because he was empty handed. Mind you I didn't see a fire.
Remember, I observed this all of from the kitchen window. Of course I hurried outside into the back yard only to discover everything quiet and realized it was a hallucination. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow run past the driveway. At about that point I realized I was in my boxers and actually said out loud, “I...don't....wanna'...know.”

I think I found the cat and just went back in and to bed. The next day I remembered the event and laughed to myself. Later in the day I related the sighting to my sister who laughed out loud and wanted to know the exact location. While showing her the spot I noticed that there was a yellow cat litter bucket on the patio table and a yellow coiled air hose hanging along the fence. I realized that these two items contributed to the scene as the reflective yellow on the firemen coats.

So that was just a hysterical minor occurrence. The next event, however, was not funny. I was sound asleep when it seemed someone was using a defibrillator on me. A massive shock struck my chest and everything went bright white.

I woke up with perfectly normal heart rate and breathing. It was, quite literally and pardon the pun, shocking.
The next event was again, while sound asleep when I visualized a face plant on asphalt. I was wearing a full face motorcycle helmet and the impact was frightening. I saw the grain of the asphalt come into contact with the chin guard of my helmet. Again I woke up physically normal but frightened.

To be honest, I believe both of those events were flashbacks. Twenty-two years ago I had a motorcycle accident in which I suffered massive trauma. My helmet bore the marks of several impacts on asphalt. I was also defibbed 3 times. Due to a head injury I couldn't recall the last minute or so before the accident. Probably a blessing, the doctors once told me. One doctor seemed to shiver at the thought.

I decided to research the side effects of my newest medication, tizanidine and found, no surprise, that hallucinations were one possibility. After hearing the fireman story people have asked if they could try some tizanidine. I declined their requests.
The final incident again happened during a sound sleep. I saw a ghost like woman's head emerge from the wall. What made me look up was that I felt something warm touch my hand. She was pretty, young and blond. As she emerged she put her fingers to lips as if to say, “Shhhh. Not to worry,” and then receded back into the wall.
While all of this may sound harmless I was frightened more than I can ever remember. I jumped out of bed, paced back and forth in the living room, hoping that Lianne was awake. I called to her upstairs and got no response. She was sound asleep. I was shaking. I couldn't go back into my bedroom for over an hour. I stopped the tizanadine the next day.
After a few days I realized my headaches and stomach aches stopped. So did the hallucinations. Success.

January 2nd of '09 I fell in my shed, also known as the Man Cave. I landed on my shoulder and it was excruciatingly painful. I immediately went to lie down and stayed there for 2 hours. When I tried to get out of bed my shoulder popped and felt much better. It may have been dislocated. Later tests revealed three tears in and around the rotator cuff. Xrays and MRI's also revealed arthritis and a previously broken neck that I wasn't aware of and advanced arthritis in my shoulder.

Around March a bad cold developed into pneumonia. Throughout all this time I went out to my shed and worked a little out there, made a fire in the wood burner (the smoke a probable contribution to the pneumonia), worked on the Jeep and other chores.

May and it's flowers brought me a toe infection, not due to May flowers, I must point out. A very attractive R.N. proclaimed the infection brought on gout. I am adamant that is not gout! I defend this diagnosis as strongly as Arnold Schwartzenegger, in 'Twins', proclaimed “It's not a toomuh!” (tumor). I guess because it means no beer, shellfish or red meats. I spent up to 2 days at a time in bed, except to go to the bathroom and to eat an apple or a banana. Over one 3 day period I ate only 3 apples. Crutches were mandatory.
Today, I walked for the first time in over a week without crutches or a cane. Hopefully a sign of recuperation and better days to come. What I have learned is watch out for midget firemen, don't fall in your shed, don't breath smoke and use an anti fungal spray in your sneakers. So, in closing I wish you all happy days and good health!

By the way, yes those are my x-rays and those are 3 inch screws in my femur!

The Quest for Fire

Back to Nokatay Pages
http://home.comcast.net/~nokatay/main.htm

My name is Kevin. I am an addict. I hoard wood.

It may sound strange but it's true. I think it began last summer. My sister Lianne started having small campfires in our portable backyard fire pit. I began by picking up discarded wood for her fires. After discovering the seasonal outdoor-dockside bar at Earl's Marina on the Causeway she gave up the fire pit.

Since there was quite a bit of wood left over I started tending the fires myself.
While driving down Sconticut Neck road on Mondays I would see wood scraps piled for the trash men and scoop them up. The occasional pallet was a big score. They burn nicely.
At the end of last summer my friend from Balsam street, Scott Hartman, finished his new house and demolished the small cottage he and his family had lived in before they built the new home. Scott works for Comcast, but I don't hold that against him. The walls of the cottage were strategically sawed through leaving the structure standing and then was knocked down with a Bobcat. A whole house is a lot of wood!

Scott filled a dumpster with whatever would fit in it and posted a "Free wood" sign on the remaining debris.

I made several trips to his house and filled the trunk of my Taurus (Babe,The Blue Ox) with an amazing amount of wood each time. This lumber still had the trim and wiring attached. I burned it all.

It became an obsession. Once all of Scott's house was burned up I began scouting for more wood and I found a steady supply of building scraps from Jaime, who was building a new house on Fir street. Again, I loaded up the trunk of the Blue Ox with wood, using plywood scraps to allow the trunk to be filled as high as possible. It was all brand new pine and of course, it burned nicely. I had so much wood from Jaime's house that I built a wall 8 feet high and 12 feet long out of OSB (oriented strand board) and 2x4's that I used as a wind break during the Fall months. Due to the fickle nature of New England weather I needed to put wheels on the "Wall" so it could be moved easily. When it nearly fell on me one night I dismantled it. It was like a massacre. There was OSB all over the yard.

After the new lumber supply dried up I happened upon a new source. My neighbor, Howe, on Dogwood street had recently remodeled his house and had a stash of wood in the backyard that he wanted to get rid of. It was again demolition scraps. This wood was Fir. I didn't realize it but Fir seems to have a lot of creosote in it. When burned the creosote turns into black soot. That is the exact reason pine and fir should not be burned in a fireplace. The creosote builds up in the chimney and catches fire.

After I dismantled the Wall I moved the fire pit near the doors of my aluminum shed. By leaving the doors open and burning in the fire pit the shed stayed warm, even during one of the coldest winters we have had in years. But an odd thing happened. I noticed the white interior of the shed started turning black. Very black. It seems that I was also breathing the creosote because after a fall in the shed January 2nd what I thought was a common cold developed into pneumonia. The fall had caused a torn rotator cuff and was very painful. I had trouble sleeping and spent much time laying on the couch, probably helping my lungs fill with fluid.

Word soon spread of my need for firewood and I would get tips about a good supply here and there. Stacy and Sid were always on the lookout for me and would let me in on a new source of wood. After one of her tips I actually showed up before the homeowner had his scrap fence poles on the curb. He even cut it to manageable lengths for me. I learned the guy's name was John and we talked about his beautiful baby blue 1958 Kaiser sitting in the driveway.

Even during the pneumonia I managed to get out to the shed and found a new source of green oak from my neighbor Robbie. The severe winter had also felled trees and branches along the Island roads and I wrangled them with a rope then dragged them home with the trusty 'Babe'. Some of the trees and limbs were 20 to 30 feet long. As you can imagine I got some funny looks from people who saw me 'logging' with the Taurus.

While driving over the Causeway I noticed some large logs that had washed up on the beach. Further inspection of them revealed they were beautiful pieces of driftwood. Each was nearly 4 feet long and were once one piece of wood. The trunk of a tree had split in half, down the center and had managed to wash up on the same shore, just feet apart. The two pieces fit together perfectly. They now stand, much like bookends on the sides of our front stairs.
Somewhere between the time I found the driftwoods and finding some deck planks washed up on the opposite side of the causeway (the planks and a pallet from the local Snap On Tool guy were used to make a garbage can corral to keep out raccoons) I realized that I had an obsession with gathering wood.

I wonder if it's something primal in me or just some kind of Yankee thrift. I have been able to line the walls of my shed with OSB and replaced the aging aluminum doors with some very nice vintage doors so not all the wood has been used for fire. I saw oil filled electric radiator heaters for $19 at Walmart. An electric heater would be more convenient. But will the electric heat be as good as a crackling fire? Probably not but I wouldn't be breathing creosote any more either. It just might be too hard for me to pass by a good pile of wood without snagging a trunk full.

Rats!

Charlie Brown used to say it when he was frustrated. "Good grief" was another of his exclamations that some may use while reading this.

You see I recently acquired two rodents. Rats. Cute little black and white baby rats. That was the listing on the NewBedford Freecycle forum. Freecycle was started so that people could post items they no longer needed and wished to give away. By offering these items they won't end up in landfills. A noble idea, indeed. With the 11 baby rats offered, the owners hoped their son's pets wouldn't end up as snake food. It seems they bought one female and when she was brought home...surprise. Quite a bargain.

I went to the peoples home to get a pair of rattus rattus for pets. I thought they would be a great addition to the 'Man Cave', the name given to my shed by my sister, Lianne. So they were destined to become garage rats. They have settled into the wood shaving litter lined 30 gallon aquarium and survived below freezing nights, huddled together in their newspaper strip nest.

I seem to be the only admirer so far. Grace from next door wasn't interested at a peek at one when I brought it out to the fence separating our back yards. "Don't let that thing go!" was about all I can remember from the conversation. Even my cat Willy took one look at the aquarium and ran out of the shed. "Fine hunter you are" I thought as Willy disappeared over the horizon. Now, my cat real is a ferocious stalker. He has brought close to a dozen mice and two moles over last year. He brought home and dismembered several birds, one of them in my bedroom. Feathers still turn up every once and a while. Other items dragged home were a good sized snake skin, without the snake, and 3 or four squirrel legs with the tails attached. I assume coyotes caught the squirrels and were just too full to finish the 4th leg and tail. In a sudden fit of genius, one day I attached a tail and leg combo to my sisters Jeep Liberty's antenna using a clothespin. I watched the Jeep pull out of the driveway and disappear. "Hmm, I guess she didn't notice," I thought. About two minutes later the phone rang and threats of death filled my ear when I answered. It was worth it. Too bad it fell off somewhere on Sconticut Neck road.

Back to the rats. Hopefully my two rats will not end up a dozen, I was assured they were both girls. Honestly, I can't tell if they are or not. I haven't even tried. Not interested.

Oh, their names you ask. Thelma and Louise. Thelma is the cuter one.

Island LIfe

Most of this blogs followers know that I live on west Island in Fairhaven, MA. Not everyone my realize what "Island Life" is like. For most of life I have thought that life here was basically the same as most other places, with a lot of extras thrown in of course. Most of my youth was spent exploring and building forts in the 600 or so acres of woods on the island. The rest was probably spent on the beaches or in the water. We used to make rafts out of pallets and foam. Not the safest mode of sea travel, but when your young you tend to throw caution to the wind, or waves.

Recently though I think I have redefined "Island Life". I never considered living here to be similar to some Caribbean island, or even to the better know Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket islands. After last year I began to rethink that idea. There is some similarity to a Caribbean island, if you want it to be. We can spend lazy days down at Shirley and Herbie's beach. There seems to be a mythical concoction called a "Yellow Bird", but I have yet to taste such an elixir. Maybe I was actually afraid of the stories I have heard that the effects of pitchers of the drink render onto otherwise quiet individuals. I have passed that fear now and am ready for my indoctrination to the yellow haze.

After an afternoon at the beach I like to head to the bridge, yes we have one, where if tide allows I can do some fishing. I only caught 2 fish last year but hanging at the bridge is a great spot to watch the sunsets, watch everybody come and go on the island and drink some beer. What more can you want?

One day a short while ago we were sitting on a sea wall on the west side of the island and headed to the forested east side to check out the infamous Paint Ball Fort. The area had become somewhat overgrown and we decided to make a sight line for the up and coming marksman (I'm not sure if markswoman is a word) Mackenzie Martin who at 12 years old is competing and surpassing 18 year olds.

After checking out the unidentified (probably a raccoon or opossum) skull hanging on a branch at the location we decided to head to the middle of the island and check out what may be an Indian grave or maybe just a spot designated as the geographical center of the island. We followed the path to a southerly portion of the forest and walked back by Fir St.

A new phenomenon is the quiet hum of golf carts. The damn things are everywhere! I have stopped complaining and have starting looking on craigslist for the non-existent cheap golf cart. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

On any given summer weekend you can walk around and spot two dozen parties, and is your good at it you just may get invited in. The campfires a dead giveaway. Just start north and head into the south wind searching for the smell of wood burning. I have often said that the Fourth of July here is like downtown Baghdad during the Gulf War. Fireworks can be seen in a 360 degree view from the Causeway. Mattaposett, New Bedford, Dartmouth and a bazillion different backyard displays can be seen. The smell of gunpowder hangs so heavy in the air all over town it actually causes a yellow glow from the grocery store parking lot lights in the center of Fairhaven. I pack a 5 liter box of wine (Mountain Burgundy!) and cups and keep moving around as long as I can. A stop at the Pilat's party where they have a band is mandatory.

People down here are friendly and love to talk. I always seem to fit "How long have you lived here?" into every conversation with new friends. Those who live on Sconticut Neck,including Islanders, are known as Neckers. The amount of time you have been a "Necker" is like a social order. Lying is encouraged. Remembering events and places or people long gone adds a ton of points.

I have vowed to enjoy Island Life more this year, after all, it is OUR island!

Life..and Death

This one's not amusing. It's not cheery, but it's real.

A little more than 2 weeks ago a friend said his son had found a pair of kittens. They were newborns, eyes closed, barely able to move. For some reason they were covered with flies and fly larvae, maggots. Maybe their mother was injured or just didn't have the instinct to clean them and nurse them after birth, it's not known.

One was a beautiful grey color with a little white bib. In fact that color grey is fairly rare. I wanted him.The other was a white with black spots. If you squinted and turned it sideways you could see a Halloween cat with it's back arched. Sort of. He had a white chin and blaze on his forehead. I think that's what a stripe on the front of the head is called.
His ears were black on the outside and white inside.

Dave's step daughter Kim is a graduate of Bristol Agricultural school and knew just how to care for the tiny orphans. They were about big as a hamster, but they had proportionately large heads. Kim got kitten formula and a tiny baby bottle from Walmart and cleaned them up as best as she could. It's touch and go with kittens this little, without their mothers milk which contains colostrum they don't have the antibodies to fight disease and infection.
The grey one had been badly affected by the fly larvae. They had burrowed into one of his ears and created an infection. The white on was a screamer and seemed stronger. When the two of them started crying, you knew it. One article on raising kittens said, "A litter of kittens will sound like a band of tiny trumpets." The author was fairly accurate.

A couple of days after seeing the kittens I ran into Dave and Dee and they told me the grey had died. The ear infection was just too far advanced for the little guy to fight. Before anyone criticises them for not taking the kittens to a vet let me say that they have rescued more than 20 kittens and raised them or found homes for them. Our own Max was one of the most beautiful cats I have ever seen, off white with ghost tiger stripes and a ringed tail and blue, blue eyes. One of a pair of twins found seperately, strangely enough.

The next day I got a call from Lianne who said Kim wanted me to have the white one. I was ecstatic. I went right over and came home with a Pampers box lined with baby blankets, a carton of formula and the bottle and own tiny little trumpeter. "Meeeee, meee, meeeee!" he seemed to cry. Kim said they called him "Flower", like the skunk from Bambi. He did look like a skunk, the little stinker. I recalled that I had said to my sister that I'd like a black and white cat. That was about a month before. Better watch what you wish for!

Kittens open their eyes at 7-10 days, unless they are long haired, which means 10-14 days. A kittens eyes are always blue when they open. Although they haven't formed a pupil, so it still takes a few days more for their eyesight to begin. This one didn't open his eyes until 4 days after getting him, and he was a long hair. So he was less than 10 days old when I got the little critter. One oddity about this kitten was his front paws, the were relatively large and long. Not double pawed, though. Kind of like a monkey paw. Cute...and creepy at the same time.

The little guy would sleep 4-8 hours and wake up crying. About an ounce of warm formula would solve that. Somewhere along I decided that his name was Gus. Gusto. Gussie. Augusto. Yeah, sounds good.

The 1 year old cat we have now is named Will. He would sit out on the gas grill in the winter and shiver, but he wanted to stay out with Max whose thick white fur was fine for the cold. Chilly Willy just fit for him. Willy. G.Willy Chill. Willby. Mr. Willouhby. Will B. Rightback. OK, enough of the nicknames. But I thought yelling out the door "Willy! Gus!", sounded better than Flower. To each his own.

Gus was thriving by the 2nd week here. His ears finally stood up, another benchmark in a kittens development I learned. When he fed on the bottle his ears would wiggle back and forth. A sure sign he was getting formula. After feeding he needed to be burped. Really! Imagine burping a big headed hamster. As you place the kitten on your shoulder you hear tiny bubbles coming up, then a teeny, tiny burp. Then he purrs. As you hold him in your hands he turns over, so you can scratch his belly I thought. Actually he needs to have his genitals stimulated so that he can pee and poop.

Gus learned to walk in short time. He'd walk, or waddle all over the living room, exploring.

Thor, our miniature Fox Terrier seemed to like him. He was about the size of a squeaky toy, and made the same noise too.

Will wanted nothing to do with the newcomer. He would sniff at him and howl disapprovingly and walk off somewhere. We can work on that I thought.

About Friday, just under two weeks of being here and when Gus hit 3 weeks old, he developed a slight cough. I thought he had swallowed his formula wrong. Something to keep and eye on I thought. Around that time Gus was strong enough to crawl out of the Pampers box. Imagine the fat little kitten making his way over the box wall and climbing up the comforter, into my bed and finding my ear to scream directly into it. "Meeeee.Meeeee!" OK, it's only 4 a.m. Time to eat. Nothing seemed to keep him in the box after that. Books placed over the box were no match for little Gus. He'd defeat every roadblock I devised. Finally it was apparent that he needed bigger digs. A moving box!

The moving box kept him in his place but without the books he ended up on top of the blankets. He wasn't getting the warmth he needed. His cough got worse and Sunday morning I found him cold and limp. I picked his lifeless body up and stroked his tiny head. Those cute little ears that wiggled when he ate. But wait, his ear moved. I could hear a faint heartbeat as I held him to my ear.

I brought Gus into my bed, under the covers and held him in my hands, stroking his chest and gently blowing my warm breath over him. Eventually his monkey paws started to move, and an occasional gasp with a kick of his back legs gave me hope. Over the next two hours Gus eventually gained his steam and was fighting himself back to life. A tiny amount of warm formula got his belly warmer. Gus is a fighter!

He bounced back stronger than ever, but the cough persisted. He definitely needed antibiotics. His nose was starting to show discharge. I was afraid of dehydration and tried giving him warm water in the bottle, but he wanted none of that and shrieked at me for the real thing. He never noticed that I watered the formula a bit and we both felt better.
Monday morning I called Capeway Veterinary hospital and couldn't get in until Tuesday afternoon. "One more day," I thought, "easy beans."

Tuesday morning I woke up to find Gus cold again. This was worse though. His gasps were infrequent. I got a heating pad and wrapped a blanket over it with Gus on top. I stroked his little head and chest but the signs of hope I got last time never appeared. After 2 hours it was apparent Gus had died.

It was all very clinical. I covered him up and placed his body in his Pampers box. I shut off the fan that I had placed next to his box to keep a familiar hum near him. Like the mothers heartbeat. But I was supposed to be the mother. He lit up when I held him, he'd struggle to climb up my arm and sit on my shoulder and purr in my ear until it tickled too much to bear any longer. Kittens faces are almost flat when they're born. Their noses are there but the bridge of their nose, the snout is flat. Kind of an alien look with those big blank eyes.

For 2 weeks I had wondered if he would be ugly or beautiful. The black on his face seemed too uneven. Symmetry. That was lacking. Humans perceive facial beauty in symmetry. If a person's eyes are uneven or too close or too far apart one is less likely to be seen as beautiful. Most of the other facial features apply. Big nose, small lips, etc.

On Sunday I had decided that he was beautiful. No matter what he looked like. If my presence made him so happy that he wanted to purr in my ear, he was beautiful to me.

I had never liked cats, until a few years ago when I realized that cats liked me. Those cats that usually disliked strangers seemed attracted to me. I don't know why. Animal magnetism?

Some guy at Stop and Shop was stocking the shelves in the cat food aisle when he saw me trying to get the "right' can of food for Willy. He laughed and said, "It always suprises me to see you big tough looking guys buying cat food. Well, I was glad to be percieved as tough, it must have been my black jeans and Hot Rod T-shirt.

We lost 2 of our cats to coyote attacks in the spring. There have been more than 16 lost in a 3 block area. Max, the 1 year old beauty king and Scoop, my 8 year old female. Losing them was terrible, but I never felt like crying. Three week old Gus has me crying. I can't remember the last time I cried. Ten or fifteen years ago, maybe.

I guess it all just built up. I didn't start tearing up until I wrote this piece. Now I can barely see the keyboard. And it seems to be getting worse. I hate it when I lose control over that lower lip, it's the giveaway you're cracking.

I hope this wasn't too long and depressing. I just needed to write it.
Thanks for reading.