I'm fucking fuming, I want to pound my fists into soft tissue and beat it black and blue and red. Pissed isn't even a good word. The whisky has added to it. I'm at the edge, my nerves are rott, they are dead. I can't even remember the clever shit I came up with for my book, and I can't even talk to anyone, my hands are shaking, I can hardly type. God I need Dana to calm my nerves. I need her to touch my shoulder, and I need to her now southern voice, feel her warmth, and I need her words to soothe me. God I miss that woman.
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