I lie awake late into the night, unable to stop my brain from looping. That marriage story has its claws so deep into me that I can’t seem to get loose. I guess in Boyt I am finding some sympathetic corollary – he is as tied to a system as I am. We all are. Fed lines. Hook and sinker. What a lie this life is. To be married. To go off to fight in a war. To be compliant to the dominant paradigm. There is such power in the neutralization of falling into a role set out for you by society.
It occurs to me that if I do not soon find a new, more palatable story into which I can inscribe myself, I will surely not be at all. This line of thinking has me weeping. And then when I finally do sleep, my dreams are fraught with dear friends peering at me, worried, and cars without drivers. A huge spide
