I won’t tell you. I won’t tell you anything about it. Because I don’t know. I scratch my head, something inside itches. I stay mad at the men I was with for reasons uncertain. I tell people that I don’t hold a grudge. I also tell them that I don’t forget. Patient. Be patient. I snap at people who tell me to be patient. I declare with pride that I have the patience of a monk. They tell me I am bipolar. I don’t listen. I tell myself I am bipolar. I don’t listen. I stand still in front of approaching buses. People talk. And oh how they talk! They have so much going on. To me, nothing ever happens. And imagine my audacity, I intend to write! With nothing ever happening in my life, with not ever making anything happen. The three dogs barking had more calm within them. I arrange five sentences in my head every day. And you think they know me.