Don’t touch me – don’t touch me! You’re the Devil’s man! I’ll not hang with you!
I love God, I love God. He come at me by night and every day to sign, to sign, to – My name, he want my name! “I’ll murder you,” he says, “if my wife hangs! We must go and overthrow the court,” he says! He wake me every night, his eyes were like coals and his fingers claw my neck, and I sign, I sign…
No. I love God; I go your way no more. I love God, I bless God.
Dammit. This is overrated and I’m complaining a little too much but. At this point, I’m pretty pissed and upset. My yellow dress doesn’t fit. The one I fit in 2 years ago. And last year it was big on me. WHAT THE FUCK. Yes. My entire existance once depended on what was on the scale. In fact, it still does from time to time. And right now is one of those damned times. I shouldn’t care that it doesn’t fit. In fact, I should be okay with it. But I’m not. fuckFuckFUCK.
Please excuse me for a brief hour or so while I freak out. And overuse the word “fuck.”