Batmish, it’s time. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. DAMN IT.

I’ve summoned my skeletons, and they’ve appeared. …But the rest is up to me. I have to enter the fray. Fuuuuck. I was Dad’s signature. Always. In the end I was technically his signature. The signer on all his accounts. Because I took care of him. When he wanted to shuffle cash from one card…

Four Notebooks

Four journals, moving from all mirror, to a cross-breed, to being able to finally force myself, at least most of the time, to write right.