I am not a horrible person, I just have a horrible imagination that eludes me at times. Dreams that I write to distract myself. It is a way of hiding. I woke up this morning very tired, so there was little to imagine. Driving home last night there was a heavy fog over the fields and there were fireflies in the tall grass and in the corn. It was very humid. I drove without the radio, and I didn't think about much. That's not true, I did think that I would trust myself more, and value the people I loved, and forget the people who could not see me in a new way.