It’s exhausting. And the exhaustion doesn’t go away with sleep. It gets worse every day I take on more words, listen more, say less, drag myself up one more time and try with all my might to shift that weight. Only to have the boulder I pushed up a hill roll back over me, and Pandora’s jar overflow with the sick and misery of humans who used my ears and mind like a porta-potty for dumping. Where is all this waste in me supposed to go? I’m so tired. And I stink to high heaven so it’s not likely anyone’s going to approach anymore. Someone would have to REALLY care, and generally that only happens when they’re up to no good. No goodniks. Anyone remember Rocky & Bullwinkle? I’m really alone.