Cinnamon and Mustered

Finally an actual letter to Cassi! Not that anyone is going to read it.

17^th of May 2011

Dear Cassi,

It’s been a bit since my last letter. Life has been … well, I can’t put it to words. Over the last few weeks I’ve been getting my affairs in order like a man on his death bed and no matter how hard I work at it I don’t make much headway.

The pieces of my life are scattered about like jigsaw puzzle bits. Some are lost and some are broken, but I can tell there was once a whole. If only I could stalk the furnace of my being with the bits that will burn, and through so doing find the locomotion to get myself to some peace.

Something has been buzzing about in my brain for some time that feels relevant. I think it happen when I was three. I was making cinnamon toast, but I couldn’t read the spice boxes and couldn’t tell which was cinnamon.

I asked (Pickle) and that had to be a bad idea because he gave me mustered.

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” I said and put the tin back. I couldn’t read but the stuff was the wrong color.

He waved his hand around in the cabinet and pulled the mustered out again. When I refused to put it on my toast this time he explained to me that he had made the mistake of putting mustered on his toast.

He felt that because he had a bad experience that I had to have that problem as well. I think that’s one of the things that I had to go through for a good amount of my life. People dump on others because they got dumped on. It comes to me that for some I should feel sorry and for some I should feel hate.

The truth is I think even I have taken my pain out on other people once or twice, normally by trolling on the internet, and I know I should never do that again.

I’m just rambling,


Richard Leland Neal