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6:00 p.m. - September 06, 2003 This is the atlas exploring the various means by which people become ensnared and trapped, an endless network of roads taken and bypassed or avoided altogether, a cosmic game of Chutes and Ladders where that elusive end zone peeks from beyond the horizon. He calls me his Pillsbury Dough Boy and it hurts and I hold my ground, think quickly to apply Dr. Indy�s strategies, and he comes up to me and holds me tight and says he loves me, don�t I get it?. And I won�t shower with him and he pouts, says I used to enjoy bathing together, and I compromise, lights off, candles on. And throughout he touches my body and I cringe more and he just holds me close and I give in, feel more comfortable. It isn�t that I play runandpursueme games, it�s about distrusting someone�s motivations, suspect because I cannot divine their intentions; when intentions are clear I feel safer and Spec doesn�t give up easily. I trust that, I trust him, because he can�t surprise me. Sometimes I�m frustrated when I count the parallels between myself and women who return to husbands who hit them. I�m frustrated by you�re-being-stupid pundits who speak their truth because I can�t explain why either. I feel closer to normal, more human, more open, when I�m with him, more alive. I don�t have to worry because he knows all my secret places and is still undeterred.
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