I am working my way back around to talking about the man who claims to be a doctor.

I am working my way back around to talking about the man who claims to be a doctor, but he upsets me. This morning, for instance, when I dreamed about cannibal zombies, and how I hid during the shoot-out, and how the one cannibal zombie found me and came after me even when I'd put my fingers in his clayey eyes and twisted his clay head off his neck, his flesh impressionable and memorative like fondant frosting, the man who claims to be a doctor said to me that I am everyone in my dreams. I would have settled for being myself in the dream, because after I took the zombie's head off I ran like the wind and vaulted over a five-foot fence, like some happy parcour genius, into the wasteland behind the house. But how could I have been the lumbering zombie chasing me at the same time?

I do need to get out of here

Sometimes it looks like the only way out, though, is through this grater, one way or another. This morning Jenna swang into breakfast like the whole meal was her idea, and she'd been out all night being congratulated for inventing it. She sits at the head of the table every morning, and I can tell it's starting to bother Samson. He thinks she's blowzy, he told me. Like I have nothing better to do than sit around and fume about Jenna with him.

i found something ham blue, for the doubters

Many of you, like the man who claims to be a doctor, did not believe ham blue was a color. But as you can see below, it certainly is. It is that blue which, if it were pink, would be ham-colored, quite simply.

When I leave here, I know exactly what kind of business I am going to start.

Debriding doesn't have anything

Debriding doesn't have anything to do with weddings after all. Kurt is back from the emergency room, and I think that he'll have to be in bed for a few days. Samson blames the system, but I think there's got to be some accountability for Kurt, doesn't there?