I am not what I'd like to be today and I have left too many things unsaid.

I have nine email drafts in my unsent folder.

When's my appointment with my doctor? I've never been to this doctor, she's not mine. She may or may not be a doctor and she's not mine. She could be an optometrist or an opthamalagist (they're doctors, yes? At least the second one?) or she could be an optician. She's going to touch my eye and prescribe for me new spectacles.

I have eight email drafts in my unsent folder.

Who are all of these people that I need to email? I no longer recognize the notes I wrote myself as email drafts, that I saved so as to remember, so as to email these people whose names I no longer recognize and whose problems might be severe. Maybe I had the problem and these people were going to help me? If I had the problem I don't now and I don't know and well. . .

I have seven drafts in my unsent folder.

This is from July 26th. Should I bother? Is it worth $40? Probably not, but here I go. $40 less in my checking account--when you drop a penny in my checking account, you can wait and wait, but you'll never hear that echo coming back up) and now, what am I except some kind of socialist?

I have six drafts in my unsent folder.

What the hell are these? Screw this.

I have five drafts in my unsent folder.

And that's where it will have to stay because I just don't know about all of this. I just don't know about this string of names and email addresses and books and authors and websites and whatever else.

And I want some Mexican Coca-Cola, pronto, por favor.

Adios.