Dear Clint

Won't you please go now?

You come to my house. You feed Poo beer. He drinks enough on his own. tonight you brought TWO twelve packs and a fifth of Jack. Poo. I think, he had been planning on a quiet evening with his wood carving. I really wanted to play with my spinning wheel and maybe my new ball winder and swift combo (thank you Nana and Grandpa!) and was a little dissapointed when I realized that I had my Bad Girls of Craft meeting tonight. Until you showed up. Then I was glad.

I don't like not liking you. Especially when you tell me what a quality person I am. And since I went strait to my room when I got home, you entered my bedroom to do it.

This is my space. It's all I have to call "mine". I don't allow people in my room, usually. BR comes in. I don't really mind. He doesn't stick around. he doesn't take up space. But I didn't really want you in here. You don't know that. One would hope that the 40 pounds of alpaca fiber blocking my door would have stopped you.

It's 10 pm. And I want to go to bed now. Not because I am tired. Not because I don't have other things I want to do, not because I wouldn't rather be out in the common area crafting. Because I don't want to hang out with you.

times like this, I wish cowboy and I had a spend the night kind of relationship. that I could have called him while I was out and gone over there instead of comeing home and dealing with drunkiness.

Instead, the TV is loud, the trash is overflowing, someone burned the popcorn, and I am trapped in my room.