1.24

It wasn't enough that she had taken all the begonias. Somewhere along the way, she had also misplaced my trust in humanity. You see, I had lent it her when she was having a rough day about six months ago, and she never saw fit to give it back. I noticed her using it a few more times, and so I didn't say anything. I figured she had needed it for something or other, so I let the thing lie where it was. Why fuss? Well, now she's hoofed it, and with the television, too, and not only that, but a full set of linens for the bed (but not the bed) and about half the parts of the collapsable easel and, as it turns out, the begonias her aunt gave me on my thirtieth as an ill-fated attempt to somehow catalyze a hobby for my free time. Anyhow, I can understand why she would take the flowers, but she didn't take my warm feeling of brotherly love--I saw her packing the car, there's no way it was in there--and so I can't understand why she wouldn't at least let me have it back before she went. I'm going to have a hell of a time finding it, now. It could be anywhere! Well, not anywhere. It's certainly not with her. But my point still stands.

[Have you ever looked at a thing and known it to be poison and you just didn't care because it was time to destroy yourself? Well, an afternoon can be spoiled just as readily as a lifetime, and with the same tools.]