28 JUNE, 1983

[chimbleysweep]

28 June, 1983

Jack may or may not sense that there’s something wrong with me. He doesn’t usually talk much so I can’t tell for certain one way or another. Perhaps I’m fooling myself, tricking myself into believing something so that I don’t have to believe what everyone else is saying. Am I being unrealistic?

There’s nothing at all to prove that Jack has slighted me or anyone else. He was looking and he found what he wanted and that was me. We may be something like mismatched socks, but mismatched or not, those socks are still wearable.