Dear Facebook: Fuck you, I'm out.
It just makes me feel bad. I guess I don't want to feel bad.
Thant's an odd thing. My wife has been looking at me like I'm some puzzle piece lately. I'm okay with that. Mostly, I would rather shit be one way. I want to write. I'm not an interacting kind of guy. I'm a fucking guy who says shit.
Also, I don't want to be your friend. I want to make things. This page is numbered.
Not the pages. Until the day I move it and don't tell anyone. Things seem disposable, lately.