The following is a press release for patient advocate Lori Hartwell

Patient advocate Lori Hartwell has fourth kidney transplant

Kidney patient advocate Lori Hartwell has headed home for rest and relaxation five days after her fourth kidney transplant on Feb. 4.

Hartwell founded the Renal Support Network in 1993 and has acted as a voice for kidney patients on issues such asanemia, the ESRD bundle , the transition adjuster, the Kidney Care Quality and Education Act of 2007, and forcomprehensive immunosuppressive drug coverage for kidney transplant recipients.

In addition to legislative advocacy, the Renal Support Network helps educate and empower patients to take control of the management of their disease.

RSN provides a toll-free help line, the HOPEline, organizes a renal teen prom every year, conducts patient surveys, holds an annual essay contest and even produced a critically-acclaimed play.

Hartwell has also authored many articles for NN&I.

In addition to her work with the Renal Support Network, Hartwell also authored a book, Chronically Happy, and writes her own blog.

"An illness teaches you many lessons and allows you the opportunity to meet incredible compassionate giving people that help you on your journey," Hartwell wrote in her blog.

The renal community is lucky to have her.

Dr. Hilarious has lost his sense of humour....

Sequined dragon iht the glass and hollow tail hollowed be thy name in 198454 th herrick twins were observing a flowering cactus plant when their mother called from the kitchen of smoked red brick. The signs are just coming in from the paper. The letters from the editor have arrive boys. I don’t want do read it, derrick said though when he looked at his brother and shrugged his shoulders the other brother the herrick twin could only guess that what his brother was really fearing was a sense of fear itself. Maybe he idn’tt want to find out that the letters were negative or maybe he didn’t want to find out that he had fialed. But really, what he didn’t want to find that that over and over and over and overt agina he had been used to being let down. In in the summer of 19645 theherrick twins were the first to receive thre letters of reommendation when his nrother was dialnosed with nd stage renal disease. This was not an uncommon trait or diwsease nut was was common were the letters going out to the families indicating that the time with the sons as limited. Or thrather that the time with the daughters awas s;imited how couldn anything bine more dissapointming thtthan a letter sayint you’ve been chosen bfor the greatest team college you wanted. You can have the beaufiful glass castle with the red shades and shutters of light brown majogany. The leather coered antigue Joshua tree that sits in the Italian made vase circa 190082 its

Is sooo old, he thought. We atre gtting so terribly terribly old. No were not. You are not at least.

I knownbut now you know thatwhat I’m seeing? You know what I’m beginning to see? I’m beginning to see a generationthat is so aware of its cold nature – the science of the life0- that the nature itself has been rep;aced with a cold new world of stmechanics roboti features, claws that pull human organs from their positions isn the human torso, and exchange these organs with the ones that don’t work. But one of the things the newer generation is discoving is that this comes at a cost. The cost is the humanesss. The cost is the renon-scienfiti commands, the hands that work inside the skin. There used to be a sense that when a physician laydelle his hands inside the cribs aof a dying man that the man had everything to lose and also everything to gain. But the old man didn’t expect anything. Now there are people who expect everything of science and move tin that direction accordingly. They want their gadget, their hgismost a pletnly. They want robotic arms that crain in the direction of the brain and pull from the lobe soft pieces of tissue .ike look like sausage meat. On a cabootdle. But what the machines really spit aout is a piece of humanity.. the I am” am fragile” capability that only the hans of a man or woman can ictagte over through the course of touch. The hard steal metal plates are awfully clean. They are gird and cold. They are they are a kind of sterility that can only be achieved in an artificial enfvironment. Envirtonment. The people of the kind of place tht is happening right now is both exciting and very sad. The reality is I don’t know…. That is the reality I live in a transition between the cold plates of steel that dig into the very human bodies lying on the ooperating table – that and the computr itslef00 making way for the extension of a life that is not more human—but artificially extended.

I don’t know if I can tolerate that kid of behanvior, said marggie.

I can’t imagine a place where the ducks that used to be simmin gin the tub are now popping their wide eyed glares throught the app of an iphone.

What kind of bath is this? What kind of cruel bath drowns the rubber duckie in his wide eyed crystalilized glare throught the looking glass at jesus face. There are no more .. .well maybe some—certainties. But not good certainties. Just frightening certainities that we have to at in the rain, like small rain drops that fall on our senses and dull the roots of ts elliots lengthy lenthy lenthy prose prose prose.

What I don’t wnt yo to feel is alone.

But that’s what the machines feel.

No they don’t

They don’t feel

Tey feel alone

They compartamentalize data over and over and over again

The repitition of number and letters becomes a kind of poem inside the wires that nobody really understands fully. What has happened today?

The letters are not sent out anymore. They are distributed by a click of a touch. The fingers touch the mechanical engine ant then the information si isent out to hundreds if not thousands of people. I am not complainting, george,

What a mouse was this?

You hid in the corner to find a cradle of haystacks.

What dirty floors that used to parade around the fourth of july on a Sunday afternoon. The sun was high hgigh high. The craters in the trench were smelling of dirt and pie and a la mode. There that can’t be undone. But how can it? Now the trenches are gas. The gas kills. And the gas will put to sleep the aching bones of the failing bodies. There is something that looks like love, approaches some kind of love, but never really has the weight of love.  Love is the weight of iron. Heavy and durble and it doesn’t break down under pressure. That’s the old love. The new love is in a machine carrying information. I love you, the machine says. And maybe the machine means to say it, but there is no substance to the letters or numbers or l or o or v or e. There is just the data that says something that means something that we know theoretically but can’t really carry the way the pilgrims carried their children across the dirt. Tehre is a teathered ball that swings around the poll.I hit the balls over again, swinging even when I miss, I miss you. I said. Come back to me. Come back to me. There, the ball of the teathered pole swings round and round the other peson is not aware how madly mad the ball needs, it needs to tighten to grasp the pole hard enough so that the rod quakes, it shakes, and quickers underneath the pressure of the tanted ball. The yellow ball. The sketched and tainted tied to a rod ball. Balls and chain. Swing the balls around the chainp--- champ. Part champ part rod, part chain, and part winner of the game. You never lost to me. I always won. But that’s not true it just seems like a cliché again along the borderline of another stupid cliché. The never never land where all the blue sparkling eyes get tossed into a crater of mud where they will loosely fall apart like the little white freckles of tost that crawl into the gras when one blows the lily fronds. Front yards are full of these miniscule umbrellas made of sparklers of th night that seem like stars. Stars in the day walking through the sky… flying an umbrella of protection. My wishes are that there be stillness, a kind of peace that can only come from wishes. Maybe not. The battle is a long one. The soldiers sing dirty songs with their flutes in their hands, their eyes gaged with intensity of mind. “My eyes” My eyes. They cannon see

You you you are blind, and what does the blind do? He of course leades the blind? Yes yes.

So there you go, doctor. Take your hands an dmaneuver them into the cradle of laproscopy. The cradle of forgiveness, the hands that heal are no longer human hands. They re the hands of the rocket. Pynchon, you were right all along. The rockets, especially the v-2 no longer the kind little penis rocket that had the power to propel life. The rockets we have now destroy the very life that the flesh rocket once provoked. Oh, how the little girl walking through the field of daiseies wishes she could lie there and just smell the smell of oldness. There is only the not smell of sterility. And that is deathly hollows. It is an empty smell like a fridge that has been emptied of contents and is only left with the iodine powde0—the white that makes that rotten cucumbers and boiling faling twisting tomotes browned and Brazilian old cheese from the inner ear it stinks so bad. Clean it up though. Let it wash away with the salt of the earth. The salt of the cheak that lay in the sand next to a friend in the sun of shore. Tides were late. The moon was low. But we didn’t want to go. We didn’t want to take the hike back up the cliffs where the toadstools had fragrence, where the cars wer parked reary to ride back back ucsd, past the institution of knowledge.e We had some kind of knowledge ehtne, you and me. We had the sun. It was all we needed, and maybe some sandwhiches or crabs from the bayliner that came in after 10;00 . We were not the early birds that the men out on the fishy ships were. We came in late when the red was bleeding into the sky, maybe on some days we saw the moon low even when the time on our phones read 4:00 / date / time/ ssituation/ comedy/ tradegy. It told us everything. It told us of the beer that was not to be tasted but yes you can drink it from a phone little one. How darling. Look at the little tike, sucking on the corner of the phone. It looks so alarmin!So young and so mature to taste the golden ale in the summer. We had our knowledge you and me. In the meanwhiles…. There were suckling babes at kettle branches stung like fuckering that distilled the brine. Brine branches that wipe the skin against the sour lemon raggedy lime juice. How the aloe healed the pinkish salt skin. I brush your salt skin. It feels sandy and glassy,; it smells like the waves. Seeweed wrapped around our shoulders dancing dancing dancing. And a smile beems from here to kingdom come the sun will glow in the evening and I take a picture. The camera snaps, it works so well to take a snapshat of our lives that we are wantinto capture. We capture us. We capture the sea, the weeds, the smoke, the chambers …. The songs the way we sang outr songs. They echoed through catholic halls that meant no harm but fishy went wayword, when catch a till, too many and there are nothing left to fish. They went somewhere theyclimbed the rocks at sunset. I watched as the boys disappeared int the upper ledge, and I imagined how they would look over the bliffs our ways. Back the ways we came and think, that was a good ride. That was a good time.But it keeps going! It does! Don’t forget that, ever little tike that dances with the weeds on her shoulders. When the legs are burning from the hike, lift up the shorts, pull the red bandana over the scalp that the Indian sun wants to tear apart. There is so much knowledge to be had behind the wires, behind the heart, and it hurts to know that it has all been lost and not lost simulataneously. But what of it? What of the stinking rags? Ad the aloe succulants that drink my water bushes? I will feed them all they need, says the sand and the sea and the beach and the water liiies. I will give you all that you could ever dream…

The lotus eaters sigh.

There was a cship that had washed up on silly seaward. There were ships along the coest but only one had the courage to dock and shock the rest of us. Loosely this is based on te ever steamy rock-talk that we had during the song” never let me go”. I was saying, yes you were saying. There was one boy who looked out over the sand from the ship he waved, the smile and laugh were like the puddles mixed with soap. Ashes and Bubble pops … otter pops that burn the upper nose.

Oh my Heavens to Betsy! My nose is Burning!!! It is the devils powder up there!!Dobnt let the sting get to you, the hotty totty ice mack can let you down. But never does it last.

OH, is that right old chap?

Oh young one, I am that one. But it doesn’t feel it. The age of the day travels like the speed of the camera lens on hyperwarp—the magnification, hyperventilation—of time.

But what of the docks? There were docks that never meant much, and somethat meant a peach pit. There were docks that held the rock-lives handed into spring-such painted with smiley faces. There were rocks that were painted with the lines. Pray. Tongight, pray. But did you ever pray to a rock ?

Sirus looks at a broken nail, and pulls at a piece of skin. “I wanted to believe in more than just a piece of earth.”

You will. I think you will. Right now it may just look like the cliffs are made of rocks, and the boys are climbing the stairway to a trailend where snakes bite and bit and the corals never sweep again. But boys will be boys, yes they will.

Now, now, I think looking up at that cliff, where I smell sweat and canopies of ginger juice on wet cotton collars sleeves. That is the time that we loved. The Nudes wrapped in nothing the but the blanket of July heat, and eucalyptus oil too. Banana boat, haninging in the cotton pouch for those who didn’t feel the necessary pride to parade the showings. The real estate homes sloaped over the edge of the bay. It looked as if the ramblings of an older author had left these homes for someone to pick up. To clean up the mess. To put the prose back together again. What happened years ago? What happened when I looked at the eyes of the text and the eyes didn’t look back ? they just wandered somewhere off into the next thought? A broken house hangs from the ledge of Tibbett coast.

You were there, you remember. Why don’t you just tell me? Stop with the fragments. Someone needs to rise, pinch the threading and knead the letters into a tapestry of words that actually mean something. The weight of the words can’t be found in a feather of fragmented thoughts. The thoughts are the flying umbrellas that we blow in the spring. The thoughts are the afternoon starbursts promising wishes to come. Say it aint so ash face.

Poppy licker.

Como Chingas. Growing from the weeds, in between the chopped fragments of grass, I will pull at my wishes, blow a stream of air through the thoughts, and there—wherever the wind takes the glowing dandy grains---there my dreams will grow.

In 1954 the herrick twins discovered that Lenny had a faulty organ. The keys, also called the nephrons, didn’t sing quite on key. Off kilter a kilt, to save a kite. A rocket will burn through the kite, and the boy hold the plastic yo yo looking dradel will be left with a limp noodle of a rope/string. I loathe that rocket right now. But the rainbow is appealing…. We’ll seee.

In 1954, in the bleached groins of the physician’s exam room, Mr. Hector heard an intonation he would rather not have heard. The intonation sounded like the respone a child gives when his mother has found the pieces of broken lamp glass lying on the floor. It seemed to say, what’s done is done, and…. It may not be the way you want it to be, but you’re going to have to turn lima beans into lime cud. Brave and cocky soldier. Get rick of the cock and just be a little brave with lower case limpers for once. Twist my arm and jingle a satchel of Chinese ringing ranging dangling cuttle spheres.  You know, the ones that make the ding dong chimes—sounds that seem to be coming from the space beyond the fingers five. One pinger and then the other, 1,2 3, four, five like the segments of the caterpeller, rotation and turn, pull and release. The spheres are moved.

Don’t let the salty sea choke you. I will watch—because right now I can’t swim—you will float. Treading water sideways inways underways. Take the million little pieces james, the pile—no the scattering—of cupcake rainbow spreckles. Eat em. Let em dissolve between the bottom tongue and tooth. Tooth and tongue. Watch it become something else. Transform. Transformation.

Simon calls from a rest-point where he rests his heavy buttocks on a nut branch.

You wanna go ahead? “ gesturing upwards, simultaneously wiping the sweat with a fruit of the loom cotton-sleeve.

You go ahead. I’m going to take a bag of trailmix out of my kit and cabbottdle and eat it with a spork.

Yeah?

More fun that way. And I hate raisins. No really, I dislike dried up grapes a lot.

Oh oh oh why let the blues sag the boobies down. Don’t got no braw, but gots my dignity… Gots my kidney beans. I make em into a stew—clever, huh? Chile with Coriander and mellow cumin. Organic, of course. 100%. Mmmmmmm with a seed-filled slice of watermelon on the side. Oh dear. I may not be able to publish this. Not PC. I love my friends, though, everyone of you. Even if you’re only in my head.

There there,” grandma sheivgard reached over to pull the pistachio cradle from the meat of the nut. “I gots it hunny.”

Oh dear, you know you’ve hit rock bottom when gradma has to split the nut. She’s got the wild fever, so she can take a couple wrinkly little fingers, use a little prune-lip action (the way a baby might suck on a pink nipple) and remove the shell from the good stuff.

“Don’t you just wish…” the coriander reminds me of dandelion, and that glowing afternoon starburst drifting off to bloom. “Don’t you just want a machine to do all the work?”

The boy in the overalls, osh-gosh-b-gosh— pushes a heroe’s plastic little tike toy mower across the lawn. The birds above the poolouse continue to yawn. Or rather, test their range. A beak is sheik. But inside the main house a physician prepares a slide of organic matter that will change everything.

“Don’t shay I didn’t warna, einshtein.”

a free-for-all letter to someone special in my life

Jennifer said that she wanted to sleep in the afternoon but the Carloggs would be arriving via train through Via Del Ragu on track to arrive at approcximately 2;-- pm. This iwould give us just enough time to pack a tin of apple slices and sandwiches with tepid cheese. Not warm because it is fresh cheese, but warm because it haas been sitting in the afternoon sun. Not in the shade but neer the beach water which is foaming at the mouth now. The flags warm the surfers that the tide is stronger than it usually is and that those who are inexperienced (much like muslf_ should keepaway from the water. Instead of jetting into the water, the rocks call like a rock does in the spring but really this isn’t spring but ummer , but it calls anyway. There are certain momets when one wonders if there is anything guiding the thoughts other than the rolodex of experiences being sifted through over and over. O e cared this day and another card that says the pink floyd concert at 80oo pm and then another which read the turdle dove art show will be showing the plaintiff seriers of lawman at the searer show. I wasn’t the best in my class, I knew that as much. I wasn’teven closs the to the top of my class. In fact, there was always a sencse that really, I was at the very bottom of my class. But that only menat what I thought it meant, which was that I was in reelation to the kids in my class, the one who scored the least on his testsand homework papers. But on comparison, there was a much greatere sense that surrounded this issue that came upon the discovery of the world outside of class. There are very few rules outdie the institution. The more you look at the institution, the more you realize how far away you are from any kind of real order. Ithe further away you movie from the order, the more the rules ben, or the more the spoon bends, or what, there isn’t eaven a spoon anyway is thetre? I hated hearing the rats at night, bthere was something about the feet moving along the baseboards that make me thing of swiss cheese, and how I never ever wanted to eat that stuff again. Where do the holes comes from anyway? I wonder if there was any kind of devil in the panes of the world. The windows were open to the nettlegrass but the horns were showing through even though mom tried to cover them with a sype of snake grease. The horns were nothing more than tusks that had belong to the tuscan elepant who had been pached like an egg in the winter of 1999 which is the day tht I had mytransplant. There are other concerns at this time but nothing too overwhileing. There is a snake ant a toad in the belly ad then within the confines of the toes a mokey sit. There are some things he wanted to say to his son. You are not a man, you are a boy, but you will not be a boy forever, the play will make sure thais is the case. The case. Oh yes! How could I have forgotten the case with three yellow ixon pencils and two red and pink pieces of screatch patper left over from the valentines day project that went unfinished because the girls wanted to suck their sugar free loolloipops. But I said, stop that . Stop that. You put those lollipops awyunitl you get your homework done. There are plenty of pop[s for everyone. There wasn’t enough to go around tbut there she stood, that behemonth woman with the dragon tail. I’ll let you know when its time to clock-out. Oh will you Shra? I bet you wouldn’t know a good joke if you had it licking your tomngue. That’s gross. I at e the tongue there are some people I know who have tongues that have caves and crevices and divots like the golf club. A divot is a spor ofn the grass where the lawn has bbeen pulled from the roots. It resembebes what I imagine a hurricane kartirna perporsing in the nightimte. But tsn’t such a thing as santa clause, said she, oh that kacly beth, she never knows when to keep her god damn mouth shut and when to keep her mouth open. Oh wait a minutew, acutlaly I think she definitely knowns when to open her mouth, but that’s something she needs to discuss with a ex addict counselnelr. There are words that don’t belong here, abut there is a clicking tackpp tap tap tap tapping of the keyboard that releases thewrods fo the days… eutting pfeelings into words putting feelings into words purttings feelings into words over and over again until the layers of words take up inches of space that and then wahat you have is a piece of layers of words that reselveme something that used to be just spoken but now how to be repeated in the format of text. Lets speak our thoughts. How are you feeling s beezu? I ddon’t really know how to put it?

There’s one way you can put if jeririg…

            Fine there’s not going to be a play said the salimander. Little wee coop is not going to do anything but swim in the doondoggles. I hate when I don’t get my way.

            Jerririgg” come inside right now you weasley little beast. I have something to show you that’s left over from valentines day. Oh really fool? What is it you want to show me.

I have a peppered ham.

No you don’t

Why would you doubt my peppered ham?

I love peppered ham I do, now slice it up and give me a pie full

A pie full! Why you little scragglefrock. I aughta box your ears I will There isn’t enough for everyone.

Suddenly there were too many eyes to count looking up from the dirty calloused homeless boy fingers But there hats were tipped to the side like the way they should be. Everyone listen. You get a choice, you either get to choose the apple fritters or the peppered ham slice of pie. Either one is going to kill you so choose wisely.

Come on mate, we haven’t got all day.

Jerririgg was trying to stall ever so schematically. He didn’t want to taske the peppered ham or the creamed lulligag. Everything is illuminated but nothing is clear. What What What? There was nothing I could do about that. Ok? Kapeach my little friend?

I think that ought to be a fine alternative. I say, let’s grow a peach tree and then eat of its fruit. But James took the last of the seeds for the trip. He’s gone now.

I don’t care if james took the last seeds of the moon. We are going to have a peach fest and we are going to do it in style, with juice and all!

Larrylag, how come you never talk?

I haven’t much to say, larry said simply. Although he thought momentarily in his head and he thought wait a minute, I actually have a lot to say, I just don’t quite know how to say it. Everyone thinks that the words are the only way to communicate but the colors say just as much wouldn’t you say sometimes? I mean, even literally there are moments when someone feels blew. And nowone wants to be near a yellow. That smells fishy. Categories put the order in the system but the system is so weak it can barely hold itself up. We have to hold it up said the chillens. We’re the pocking tape, the gooey galloosh, and the cement in harden times. Whens the rains a coming, the ‘creete is washed away. And that’s how I feel a little bit about the buidlng that’s going in downtown. There’s a big to do with Mr. Kelter, and Sister PrishMash, but the real problem isn’t the reality of the building but the time in which the building will last, wich won’t be more than 100 years of soliture. Mack says there won’t be anything after 2012. But Em says he’s wrong—0 that the mayans didn’t really have a mapped out calander just a calander that didn’t know the times after a certain date. What that means exactly really only looks like a foam sea that brings in a tide and sends the sand away with the sea. Tommy will wave goodbye on his forever ship and we’ll think of him fondly. But when it’s time to say goodbye we will shed a natural tears and move along with our days… that’s the way icarus goes now, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it seem to work backasswords that way? I don’t know said the little girl. Sometimes I think there was a santa clause and nobody really liked the idea of a fat old man bringing toys to tots and so the older grups just decided to x him out of x mas. Then all that was left of the jellybellies was the buttered popcorn flavor. You either love it or you hate it. On that note, there’s also the sour licorice. Lazy freckle wandering from the left ear lobe to the top of the temple. Why won’t you just fade away like the other fruckles? Little hub cap. Spinning the spuns. You’ve got the spins?So do I ! So do I . We can share the spins! You hold my skate and I’ll hold your hands. Together we’ll pair a nut with a tangeroo. What’s that mean, the tangeroo? Well, it means there something that comes around that goes around. I don’t want to give your hopes up. What if they were already given up a long time ago. What if all the hopes I once had flew away like the bird in the sparrow? Make it literary Thomas Pynchon said and that was that. He was birthed of a natureal cure for the common writers block. Remember gumby and block head? They were characters of the like. Seeping willings. I’m not willing to write just anything. I have my dignity! My fellow people, there were some of you that I’m afraid didn’t make the cut. For those of you that didn’t make the cut, please follow the man with the red horns with a large red fork in his right hand. His name is beelizbub, but he goes by many names… On with you  now. You wont be getting bodies this time around.

But but..

Nope nope, you won’t be getting bodies this time around. That/s just the way it goes. The speaker has spoken. Why you little cumnut. I won’t have it. The speaker has spoken and you will not only NOT get a body, but now you are going to take a dive in the tide pool. This is not a tidepool of comfort, mind you. This is a tide of lavarock and magma. Dr. Evil said it. Can’t you just hear him in the background saying magma I like it. Magma . It’s everyone’s fantasy. Well , perhaps not the coy little mistress with the flaxen hair. WonderlusT!!!! How could you be so deceptive. I told you the sercret about the crude colored valentine for little mickey. But she didn’t want it so I threw it away teacher. Fetch it out of the recycling bin. This is 1901. There is no recycling bin. In fact, I don’t think we even know that much about garbage anyway. In fact, the whold worlds a garbage we just don’t know it yet. But soon in the future very very soon there will be a man who coins the term WASTE. Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stomp the ingine running on you. There are so many ways in which I could say you are a blabbering genius. But I think I will stick to the gold and diamond studded bea, because  that is what I remember about you. I don’t like to get too sentimental but the hands that pinched my cheeks were always something of an anomlolie. There were often tears when you talked about you know who, how much he loved you, and how he gave you his heart in his hand. Sittin there in the Nantucket breeze I imagined the car you drove, the old ford t bone down the cobblestone but I couldn’t quite picture it so I had to think harder about what it was that you were trying to do with your story. There were small details, ike the worms coming out from the sidewalks when it rained. You recalled a yellow stamp from tuxcon that had a cactus sprig on its corner with a Mexican looking president in the foreground, a mustache attached with a gluegun. One time, the marble of an old expensive table collapsed and the boom shook the mansion just a little bit. Just enough so that my stomach jumped a little bit, twisted and my hand gestured towardsthe invisible flag. Everyone in the house went downstairs, jenny, Meagan, clark, Kelly, and there were quite a few wide eyed sausers. Sausages sizzled on conference Sundays. There was a drawer just belo the oven (which didn’t make sense because the oven reached such high temperatures) where the candies wer hidden from the kids. That’s the other problem. Who hides candies from the children in the bottom drawer where its most accesable? I don’t know but I still remember the closet with the triscuts and peaunut butter snacks taking them outside on a plate to the iron and glass beveled table. There was the suggestion to use a napkin which I never liked because my sleeve worked just fine. The apples were left to brown. But later that Christmas, the new c that I had just received played on in the east wing, come out my back side and travel with new york city she gone she gone away and I know not where to find my Jackie. My Jackie. OH Jackie, you been bad, but I still love you Jackie. Christmas found a mouse in the cupboard but that didn’t matter because I felt good inside down to my toes down to everything. Down to my penis even! It pointed in the right direction for once!!! Who knew? Not I said the little hen with feathers of tawny tan. There were others that wouldn’t make the cut. It wasn’t that the experience was particularly cruel, but that the motiviation behind the action was initiated by fear. And when theres the initiating of action on account of fear, then the who tide gets turned upside down. The sand crabs run from the childrens fingers digging in the wet sand. The red and yellow and blue san buggets buried halfway in the shore. Sometimes I think that I know what loves all about. But when I see your face, I know it’s alright, I know its alright. Even when it doesn’t feel that way whem you have to say goodbye. Goodbye old friend. My cheeks may not miss the pinch, but I will miss the way you ask, "are you still singing? Still writing? How is UCLA?". It doesn't matter that we're completely different people, because you found aspects of my life fascinating, and I still love peanut butter and triscuts.  : )