Dysplasia
Hmm, I feel kind of like a little kid sometimes. Like maybe I’m too slow for the real world, or unfair. But little things make me so much happier. Looming conversations, too; wish I didn’t have to say things I don’t want to say right then. Nobody’s fault but my own, though, and just the way of the world. Odd things. I am happy and this train is running prettily, with a nice old country nose. What, on the other hand, is to be done about the friend with misguided love and boiling blood in her veins?



















