Tiny: Did Someone Die? Me: Yeah, I

For Whatever Reason, We Like To Focus On The 2 Percent That's Different, And Most Of The Conflict In The World Comes From That.

In School, The Year Was The Marker. Fifth Grade. Senior Year Of High School. Sophomore Year Of College. Then After, The Jobs Were The Marker. That Office. This Desk. But Now That School Is Over And I've Been Working At The Same Place In The Same Office At The Same Desk For Longer Than I Can Truly Believe, I Realize: You Have Become The Marker. This Is Your Era. And It's Only If It Goes On And On That Will Have To Look For Other Ways To Identify The Time.

I Don't Even Know What I'm Looking For, Although I Hope I'll Know It If I Find It Along The Way. Sometimes I Want To Simplify My Life Into A Simple Bare Thing. And Other Times I Want To Complicate It So Thoroughly That Everything I Touch Will Become Bound In Some Way To Me. I've Become Quite Aware Of My Contradictions, But There's No True Resolution In That.

Even When I Detach, I Care. You Can Be Separate From A Thing And Still Care About It. If I Wanted To Detach Completely, I Would Move My Body Away. I Would Stop The Conversation Midsentence. I Would Leave The Bed. Instead, I Hover Over It For A Second. I Glance Off In Another Direction. But I Always Glance Back At You.

My Lines All Curve. I Tend To Connect The Wrong Dots.