a masochists memoir

i'm snowed in.  thankfully at home, with electricity and internet.  not so thankful for my brain, my heart, those feelings you feel in your inner core that make you want to throw up, scream, cry, you know - the ones that hurt you real bad.  I would leave those out in the cold if I could.  maybe bury them alive in the snow, let them slowly freeze to death, little icicle thoughts - they almost sound cute.  they're not and by now they could have probably built a cage or a fort around me - each a different shade of blue, grey or white, all sparkling like I am some sort of ice princess (haha)