The backspace button no longer resides next to the equals sign. Instead, I am peering at a black hole occupied by a shiny metal chip that looks very capable of shredding my tiny little finger if I do in fact attempt to press the backspace button, or lack of, out of pure habit. My mother always told me to think before I speak- actually, she only told me that once when I told her how I lied to the priest during my first confession and confessed a whole bunch of awful sins that I didn’t even commit because I was in a competition to earn the most Hail Mary’s and Our Father's-I confessed to lying the following week and got detention; oh the irony. For those of you who know me well, know that sometimes I have no control over the locomotive in my brain hauling freights of rambling thoughts. Have no fear, my thoughts are never vicious nor self-inflicting-they are just a bunch of lose connections trying to fit in somewhere somehow in some conversation in which they are usually not welcome. Think for a moment about that childhood game where you flick the two teardrop devices as fast as the nerve endings in the tips of your fingers will allow in order to desperately keep the ball alive and on course without falling between the small space that represents game over-this is my life, welcome aboard.
