“ You are a goat that has been separated from the rest of your goat community. You are lost in the wilderness. As you stumble through the wilderness, in your goat-like panic, you prick yourself on the thorn of a honey locust. Don’t let its name fool you: the thorns are evil, five-inch suckers, very nasty. The puncture wound is deep and, in your best, medically unprofessional assessment, lethal. You will probably bleed to death, alone out there in the wilderness. You quickly go through Elisabeth Kubler-Ross’s five stage of grief and come to accept your demise. Then, in your indefatigable need to express yourself, as a writer of truth, even in the hour of your own inevitable death, you find a well-nubbed twig and dip it in the puddle of our blood. What are your final words?” ~Jay Kirk
All I wanted was to be happy. I am sorry.