*** it. Just *** it.

I tried once again to wrestle with the letters scrambling on the page forming fictional words. My anger beginning boil, I was like a tea kettle I was verging of screaming. The novel was above my level comprehension Fuck it. Just fuck it. I scuttled around looking for a lighter; I always seemed to misplace them I was in Cumberland Farms almost every day purchasing large cheap packs of BIC fluorescent colored lighters. The manuscript which was the “greatest novel ever written,” was set standing up right opened to a random page I had not read to quite yet. Orange, yellow, blue edged the fire the pages curling over turning a dark black, two full minutes of watching the flames dance before my eyes as if it were a ballerina. Ashes lay in a tiny pile on the asphalt I laughed tears coming to my eyes I keeled over holding my stomach.

Sometimes you just have to say Fuck it. Just fuck it.