Undated Journal Entry

It was hard not to take every small error as a warning. His life had be ground to such a preciseness that he expected everything to either work perfectly or fail completely.

Maybe a bit of patience was needed. Time for the picture to turn to a new slide. One that would be greased with a little more fun and a little more give.

Only at the worst of times did he have the balloons. Bright and made of pure fun. They were there when he hit rock bottom. Barely able to move, much as now, and on a cocktail of medication, just as now.

He wasn't sure what people were wanting from him. They demanded little of his time or attention. Their inquiries were flat and unchallenging.

He had contributed what he could where he could, and retreated to his own constructed world whenever possible.

It was therefore in an almost expected stride when the dominoes finally did start their run. For hours he did pour his thoughts out. Again and again into the seemingly endless chatter.

But then the flint did catch light and the fuse lit. What further obstacles would present themselves? It matters not, for he would continue to break them down and fashion them into a Rube Goldburg contraption.

A transaction here, a choice word there. It all fit. Or seemed to with enough force and suspension of convention. We're all just stories in the end. One he did not want told by an idiot.