o crap

i can be expected to put my foot in my mouth from time to time, but rarely (i hope) do i stuff both my feet, the week old socks I’ve been wearing, and my sneakers in there.  Then instead of shutting up and climbing out of the hole i dug for myself, i decided to rolled my sleeves and plowed away some more.  Now I’m stuck here laying on the dirt looking up at the stars thinking (which i should never do) why is it i keep talking.  is it my unwavering desire to always be right?  is it my subconscious need to thoroughly and exhaustively explain myself even to the detriment of the situation?  or is it the simple fact that i like to hear myself talk?  Either way, im still here on the ground watching the ants crawl all over my legs.  Hopefully i havent fucked the situation so much that there’s no one out there ready to pull me out of this hole.


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