something struck. he struck, or she or whowhatever.

my father drew a knife when threatened with baker action, which resulted in his stay in the psychiactric ward at morton plant. a plane crashed at druid and belcher. my brother left a house with money in his pocket, and opened the door to smiling police officers. one after the other, bop bop.

(due to some of these events, i chose not to go to class on tuesday. i missed the end of hamlet. this upsets me greatly. and probably won't be good for my grade, either.)

i listened when my dad called my grandmother to tell her about matthew. she listened when he called and told me he had called her. and the weird thing, when my mom called, my grandmother was silent, but i think we were both talking.

i try to formulate these thoughts and my words aren't cooperating. but, that is the trouble with intrapersonal communication. *sigh*