war's blog

Near as I can tell, Kurt Petersen was born in a small farming village on the outskirts of Dresden in 1907. He showed up on the Health Ministry's records in November of that year, though a great deal of records from that era through '45 were lost during the second World War. What I know is this:

I don't think I've used my coat for a pillow in about twenty-five years now. And sure, I know it's going to be uncomfortable, but I don't mind that. What worries me is what comes next. Sleep. I haven't done it since everything changed, since I took this job. I know what's inside my head, and if anything scares me? I do.

Two of these in one year. I guess I have a lot on my mind lately. Oh well. I'll just put this one into the old boots with the other, maybe find it later down the road. Maybe the kids'll find it if and when I'm gone from this world, I think I like that idea more. I'm open with them, as open as I can be, but I think that a chance to just see how my mind works without me playing cryptic would be something they'd like.

So the rules changed again. They do that, even in the best days. By now, I should be used to it, should anticipate the shift coming the very moment I begin to grasp my place in things. But some how, some way, I never do. And honestly, this time I'm not scared. Sure I'm uncertain about how to go about it all, but I'm not afraid to fail, or slip up. I sit here and I wonder how to manage shifting the world without actually touching it, and it fascinates me.