the short version

lately, and uncharacteristic of me, i've been telling the short version of the story:

Mardrey asked me to pray for a sick child.

and although i spend a lot of my time telling and writing the long versions of the stories, here are the short versions:

i only had the courtesy to notice in july.

when two of them stand over you, i don't know what happens; i can't remember.

i keep reading t.s. eliot's "ash wednesday" out loud since i discovered it a couple of days ago.

there's a lot i don't know about faith and doubt.

tonight in the shower i kept touching water droplets as they hung, watching each one disappear silently.

tomorrow my cell phone will be on, but unless you are on my short list, i will not take your call.

last night i drove off the road, through trees and stopped just before the pond. i was not hurt. there was no damamge.

soon i will probably be in the hospital again; my strength is wearing down.

i think i am in love, but it sounds too goofy.

i just don't know anymore.