You're sitting on the ground, attempting to sort all of the new camera debris into piles of "recycle", "trash", and "we should probably keep this". Sam's sitting across from you, playing with various settings on the camera as she waits for it to fully charge. The Yamatai Camera, along with The Yamatai Memory Cards are sitting on a desk, about as far away from the two of you as possible. "Y'know, Lara, you drive a pretty hard bargain."

It's been a few minutes since you started examining a piece of plastic that looks like it's intended for something when she speaks. You give up on determining exactly what you're looking at and toss it into the "we should probably keep this" pile. "What's that mean? You didn't object to this. You didn't immediately jump at the suggestion, but it wasn't like I needed to persuade you."

"That's true, but you, you were fucking awesome yesterday." Evidently the camera is on, as she sweeps it dramatically over you before turning it to herself. "She really was, you shoulda seen it." She is, of course, addressing the camera. Not as comfortably as she has in the past, but it looks like she's trying her best. Her attention flips back to you at the same time the camera does. "You were awesome, and you didn't complain. And after the initial… you didn't even get all that upset at the way I pushed you."

You're conflicted. The fact that she's doing this is fantastic, but you don't want her motive to be "if Lara did it then I have to too". "You know you can say no, Sam. I think this is a good idea, but I don't want you doing this if you aren't ready."

The camera's aim floats sideways a bit. "No, no, no. I can- I have to do this, because putting it off? That'll just drag this out longer and that'd probably make it harder, and besides I'm, uh, I'm maybe eighty-seven percent sure that I can do this right now. This," She gestures to the camera in her hand, which causes the aim to sway to the other side. "We can work with this. That," She points over her head at the desk containing The Yamatai Camera and Memory Cards. "That stuff is going to have to wait a little longer."

At first you try to reposition yourself in front of the camera, and when that fails, you reach out and lightly push it so she's aiming it directly at you. "Okay, that seems like a good deal to me. So you're absolutely okay with this then?" Although the question was directed at the camera, you had assumed that Sam would answer. Instead, she's just watching the LED screen. "Hey, I'm proud of you." You point at the camera, getting as close to the lens as you dare.

The camera tilts down slightly. "I haven't even done anything yet."

"Apparently you were proud of me for simply putting on a very fashionable hoodie on yesterday." You give up talking to the camera, and try to meet Sam's eyes over it. "I think I can be proud of you for giving a go at documenting…" You look around at the camera debris scattered around you. You're not going to say it to the camera, but it almost feels like an apt metaphor for everything scattered in your head right now. "Uh, all this excitement." You pick up a piece of styrofoam and throw it at the camera lens. "See all this action? How amazing would that have been in 3D?" When she scoffs at you again, she drops the camera so that it's pointing completely downwards. You lean forward and roll to the side so that you can fit your face in the frame. "I think you need to brush up on keeping the camera steady, though."

"Oh." She looks down at her hand. "It's a new style I'm trying." The camera raises back up and is flipped to face her once again. "I thought that since we were trying for a new fashion and/or furniture trend, I could go for a new directing trend." The camera is still pointed at her, but she's looking at you now. "I'm feeling that it'll really grab the reality crowd. I think I'll call it the "Life Off the Rails" style. Catchy?"

Your hand is rubbing at your side as you respond. "Seems appropriate." You're painfully aware that once again, like at Larry's, she's probably not actually talking about filming anymore.

"Yeah, well hopefully I'll have a better name for it by the time this becomes my sleeper hit." Her eyes dropped back down to the camera for that statement. She stares into the lens a moment longer, silently, then snaps the LED shut, a general indicator that she's stopped filming. "I think I can give this a go, but I have a question first."

"Ask away, my future award-winning director."

"Sure, one day in the future we'll spend our days rolling around in piles of little gold statues of naked dudes." Her voice is flat, and you don't think that it's completely because of the sarcasm of the statement. "I'm obviously the director of-" Her hand waves vaguely in the direction of The Yamatai Memory Cards. "And we're okay that we're not going to look at that right now?" You're unsure why she's double checking that, but you affirm and she continues, "But I'm not the director of what we saw the other day. We haven't watched it." Your stomach drops. "Do you think that we should do that maybe? Just to make sure there isn't anything too terrible in it?"

Her wording, the wording of every allusion to that conversation is so incredibly similar to the original. You're starting to think that it's not a coincidence anymore. She's not brought it up directly yet, and you're not sure if you're ready to do it yourself. You feel like an absolute coward every time you don't take an opportunity to bring it up. "I'm not too worried. I had to dig through the depths of Netflix hell to find that series. Even if there's something we need to shut down, I think it can wait a little longer. You've already sent out so many phone calls anyway." You continue to be a coward.

"I guess if you're okay with it…" She's focusing very intensely on sorting lenses. "I'm just concerned that they might've gone all supernatural on you. It's not like we've been able to keep the whole Himiko part of the story completely hidden." No, it's not like she's been able to, as you've been too self-absorbed to care what rumours have been thrown around.

But it's the way that she says "Himiko" that causes you to not immediately dismiss the conversation. "If it's Himiko that you're concerned about-"

"Even if it is, I'm not the one being documented, so I don't make the call. We'll wait." She's about to shut down on the subject, but if you're quick enough, you might be able to salvage something.

"Sam…"

You aren't fast enough this time, as by the time her name is out of your mouth, she's got the camera pointed at you again. You'd forgotten how damn fast she could be with that thing. "So, what thrilling adventures are we documenting today?"

She can't keep bottling everything up, but you're the one who suggested the whole camera thing, and you're afraid that nixing it yourself might send some sort of mixed message. You make a snap decision to keep going with this. "I think we have enough bleach left to make a homemade house bleaching tutorial." It's unfortunate that the camera isn't facing her at that moment, as her adorable annoyed reaction is something you could easily watch over and over. "What? I thought you wanted bleached to be the new pink? Hundred thousand YouTube hits, I guarantee you." Her hand comes into the frame just long enough for her to lightly backhand you.

"I suppose if we did do that, and got that many hits, we could throw some subliminal messaging in the background. You think maybe we can hook you up with some sort of McDonald's partnership? Get you involved in Big Mac meals somehow?" She's got what is probably meant to be a scheming grin on her face.

Over the years, you've learned that when in doubt, give Sam a movie reference to play on. "I think Target might be a better choice. They have that bullseye logo. Give me a bow and I'll be splitting arrows in the centre of it."

"Seems like today's tutorial is on get rich quick schemes." The camera stays focused on you as she stands up. "Anyway, McDonald's brainwashing might be easier. Unless you wanna franchise some Targets a little closer to us than somewhere in Texas."

You're too busy scooping up all the bits and pieces in the "we should probably keep this" pile to stand up, but you stop momentarily to look up at her, and shrug. "Whatever gets us the richest the quickest. I've heard that money buys happiness."

She responds far too quickly. "Sweetie, if it did, I'd happily sign into life-long debt this instant." You've said the wrong thing, as her voice is now bleakly tinged and you saw the record light on the camera blink off slightly before you finished talking. You could try to say something more, but you're not sure what would help right now, so instead you simply follow her out of the room with an armful of bits and bobs.

You're sitting on the couch, staring at the TV screen even more vacantly than normal. The intro to a random episode of your documentary show has just finished, and as the narrator starts to narrate, your personal narrator pops into view and also starts to narrate. "Here we see the domesticated Croft in her natural habit." Sam steps in front of you to get a straight on shot. You bob your head around her to continue staring at the screen. "Notice how her attention never sways from the pull of the almighty Netflix."

You poke at the mute button on the remote in your hand. "Okay. No. I'm done." You stop pretending to watch the show and talk to Sam through the camera. "I'm not even watching this. You're making me watch this so you can film it. Although do I appreciate the effort you went to to figure out which episodes I missed."

The camera keeps recording. "What the hell else am I supposed to record, Lara? What other riveting activities have you been up to lately?" It doesn't come out harshly, more exasperated than anything, and you know it isn't meant as an insult but it still stings. You unconsciously flinch, and she must see it, because she follows up with a timid "sorry".

"We could go outside and get some footage of me having an anxiety attack." You don't know if what happened yesterday was legitimately an anxiety attack, (you don't know if you even want to think about classifying it as that) but she knows what you mean.

"You," Instead of using the zoom, Sam steps closer to you and the camera is now much closer to your face. "You were the one who suggested this. Seriously, what am I documenting? Surely there's something you can do here."

"Give me a moment to think. And don't call me Shirley." She shoots a glare at you as you look around the room. There really isn't much. You can see into the door of your study, but you don't want your attempts to reacquaint yourself with your "nerd stuff" recorded. You glance at the clock, and and idea comes to you. "Well, it's getting close to lunch. How about we document me doing some cooking, instead of ordering in for once?"

"Yuh-huh. So the thing about "not ordering in for once", kinda means that we need to have something to cook other than breakfast stuff." You didn't think about that.

She's doing this for you, and it only seems fair that you bite the bullet to help her get her camera legs back. "Yeah… so how do you feel about getting some anxiety footage?" She squints at you. "We can kill two birds with one stone, if you're up to it. If you promise me you'll keep up with the camera today, we can go out and buy some things for me to cook. God, I can't believe this is something I'm actually encouraging, but you can even follow me around with the camera while we shop."

She looks uncomfortable. You feel uncomfortable. There's uncomfortable silence surrounding the two of you and it's your fault and you're going to have to experience it again, later, because Sam still hasn't turned the camera off. After what feels like an eternity, Sam tells you, "We have to go somewhere small."

"Wouldn't have it any other way." You give a thumbs up at the camera as you kick off your bunny slippers.

Sam allows you to drive the car this time, because she can't film and drive at the same time (she might try if you weren't around to protect her from herself). So she's sitting in the passenger seat beside you, the direction of the camera alternating from you to out the window. To give Sam a break from having to constantly do it herself, you narrate as well as you can while driving. "As you can see," the camera is currently pointed out the window. "We have passed many a store to procure food products from. I can explain that to you with two simple points," you motion at Sam to turn the camera back to you, and she does. "The first reason being that we've agreed that we don't want to go to a busy shop today, so most of the large chain stores are out of the question." Sam spits out a few words of agreement. Although she's out of frame she's always needed to have some input. "The second reason, well, it's somewhat of a more complicated matter." A sigh comes from behind the camera. "There is, what you could perhaps call a request for a specific meal. Personally, I would call it more of an order than a request."

"There was nothing to stop you from vetoing! Like, there was no sabotage implied, and I don't recall threatening you. From what I can remember, you happily agreed to my suggestion." The camera flips towards Sam for the first time since you entered the vehicle. "We have the footage! You probably just watched it! There was no editing out any hostilities, I swear to you."

You loudly clear your throat and the camera is back on you again. "Yes, well, if you rewind back to the event, I will admit that I agreed on Italian food." The camera bobs as Sam whoops in victory. You're at a red light, so you turn to face the camera. "But I did not," you shoot your best glare directly into the lens. "I did not at any point agree to make the pasta from scratch."

Sam's voice is about as dry as the Sahara. "Yet I notice that we're still driving around looking for a place to find the proper ingredients." As you refocus your attention on the road, you make a somewhat unnecessarily rude gesture in the general direction of the camera, and more importantly, Sam.

You honestly aren't all that miffed with the turn of events, but it's always been fun to poke fun at Sam about small things, and she's always known when you aren't being serious. "We need to find the perfect potatoes Sam, I can't very well just stop and buy them from the first produce section available." Again, not all that true, but the two of you have been having fun bickering while you've been driving. It's nice to be able to have a silly argument, especially since Sam has relaxed considerably after your initial stop to buy some generic ten-minute-boil pasta.

You could tell that she had been slightly on edge, her own commentary starting to become somewhat choppy and short. You, of course, stepped in, which is why you're currently doing more of your own narration than what you remember doing in the past. But you had been about to grab a packet of penne from the shelf when you saw Sam suddenly whip the camera, and herself, to face farther back past your aisle. Before following, you plopped the penne back down on the shelf, sensing that the original plan had changed. When you caught up, you picked up the tail end of what seemed to be a very passionate monologue about gnocchi. You had also picked up on the phrase "home-made", which is when you started talking to Sam from behind her back. "Sam, somehow I have the feeling that I'm very much going to regret when I took you out to that fancy Italian place." But when she turned to face you, you saw a particular spark in her eyes that'd been absent for awhile. Plus, what you had caught of her monologue was much more natural, much more Sam than almost anything else that she had recorded so far.

"You won't regret it when we're feasting like royalty later! C'mon, let's go get lunch and then we can start making supper instead." Sam had never strayed much from basic pasta until that restaurant, when she ordered the daily special of gnocchi based purely on the fact that she thought it was a cool sounding word. For whatever reason, she had taken an immediate liking to it and unfortunately, the two of you later found out that pre-packaged gnocchi was quite inadequate when compared to it's fresh made counterpart. "Pleeeeaaase Lara, let's try and make some. It can't be that hard, can it?" You could immediately feel anxiety pool in your gut at the prospect of having to make another stop. However, her enthusiasm combined with her pleading beat any objections out of you and you agreed on an attempt after having a quick lunch.

Sam had put away the camera while the two of you sat in the car, parked outside of a burger joint that had looked sufficiently empty. Instead of filming, she was scrolling through recipe websites on her phone. When she showed you three or four recipes that matched up, they all seemed reasonable enough that you didn't immediately regret giving in.

And now, driving around looking for the perfect potatoes, you still don't regret it because while the initial burst of enthusiasm that showed up has petered down a bit, Sam's still looking more comfortable with that camera in her hand, and that's the way things should be. Within the last few blocks, you've passed three perfectly good potato retailers and as much as you're enjoying this chunk of normality, you figure that if you want to eat tonight, you probably need to get some ingredients soon. You also desperately want relief from the anxiety that's still prodding at you. Sam pokes fun at you as you park outside a store that's nearly identical to one that you had dismissed earlier. She's walking up to the store, talking to the camera, telling it about the little known sixth sense of the domesticated Croft; the ability to detect the best potatoes within a wide radius. You're behind her, locking up the car, and a smile creeps onto your face as you watch her slip further back into her natural persona while still filming, and commentating simultaneously. You jog a little to catch up and hip bump her to the side so you can enter the small shop first, declaring, "The potato whisper must lead the way!". Sam pauses for a moment, and before she recovers, you see the look flash across her face. You've still got the door in your hand, opened for her to follow behind you. You don't know what possess you to say it, but you do. "Yeah, Sam, I am messed up but I've noticed now, okay? Come on, let's go get some potatoes and get home."

Her head pulls back and she's staring at you over the camera, somewhat wide-eyed. "You… wait, what?"

You grab her by the elbow, and pull her through the door. "Potatoes. Gnocchi. Let's go."

She's quiet for a minute, but then slips back into her narrative. The unease that's just made it's way out of your stomach is worth it, you think, to see that camera start to become a natural extension of her arm again. You've kept your stress levels at bay by sticking to the least busy places you can find. That was actually more of a requirement than any particular potatoes, if you're being honest. You've been out long enough that you're starting to feel slightly too jumpy though, which Sam is now well aware of. So you speed shop while she follows you, doing her best to keep you in frame. You hold it together long enough to get home, but it still takes you a short time to settle back down, which Sam thankfully understands. You aren't too bothered, it's not like it can be that hard to roll some little dough balls.

Turns out that rolling little dough balls isn't as easy as one might think. Boiling and smushing potatoes was simple enough. Too simple, almost. You're almost scared to ask what the next step is, but you do and Sam tells you that you need to add flour to the mashed up potatoes. How helpful. "Could you be a little more specific, please?" She shrugs at you and shows you the recipe, which states: 'knead in enough flour to make soft dough'. "Enough? How much is enough? Is there some new measuring system that I don't know about?"

"How should I know? I can't even make toast, remember?" You grumble at her and she rests the camera on the counter, snatching her phone back from you. You mash at the potatoes some more as you watch her tap the screen rapidly. She holds the phone out at you and you squint at it to read her Google search; "how to convert "enough" to metric system".

"Sam!" You grab the camera from the counter to make a record of her ridiculous search.

"Lara!" She rips the camera from your hands and starts wiping potato residue from it. While she flails about with paper towels, you tab back to the recipe. What exactly qualifies as soft dough, anyway?

After watching you agonize over measuring cups, Sam steps in and grabs the bag of flour, pouring it directly into the mixing bowl. She's still got her camera in one hand, and she's ignoring you in favour of it. "Now, see, this is how real chefs do things. No measurements, you just have to know. You just have to go with that gut feeling." The flour is piling up quite rapidly. "And… shit! Gut says stop, gut says stop!" The camera hampers her efforts as she, not at all delicately, pulls the bag away and plops it back on the counter beside you. A white puff flies into the air, and you restrain yourself from saying anything as most of it falls down, almost like snow, and settles on you. "Uh, is it too late to scoop some of this out?" Sam's staring into the bowl, pushing the top layer of flour around with her finger.

"Oh, no. No, we are not. You have to live with the consequences of your what your gut has done." It's too late to save the area from a mess, so you pinch a small amount of flour and flick it at her. She rapidly brushes at her hair, but it doesn't do much other than spread the mess around her whole head. While she's distracted, you grab the camera from her again. "Alright kids, here's today's lesson; sometimes your gut lies. Don't take its advice blindly. I mean, the last few times that I trusted my gut, I ended up sliding down waterfalls and falling from planes." You have no idea what prompted you to say that, and you have no idea how you let it slip out.

The room is suddenly dead quiet. "I…" Words fail you as you try to fill the silence. Sam's concerned face disappears from the camera as it drops down with your arm. It films the floor as you stare past Sam, not quite reliving your parachuted descent through the forest, but not completely in the kitchen either. You feel the weight of the camera disappear from your hand and you're vaguely aware of Sam depositing it on the floury counter.

She's standing in front of you now. "Lara?" You feel a hand running over a scar near your shoulder. "Lara, you're here in the kitchen, cooking. You aren't- Lara. Come back." The tone of her voice (fear?), the tone catches you, and you close your eyes for a minute.

"I don't know where that… I don't know why I said that." You don't know what else you can add to that, so you just watch Sam's fingers and they follow the worst of your scars. When she reaches a particularly bad one, she lowers her gaze.

"M'sorry." It comes out quiet and somewhat slurred, the same way it did when she was partially asleep. You don't understand.

"Why? What are you apologizing for?" You slide her hand away from your shoulder, and she looks up at you.

"Because- I'm just. It wasn't… I'm just sorry."

You've ruined another good day, but you'll be damned if you don't try to salvage it. "Right, well now that that's out of the way, should we start mixing up this dough?"

"Out of the way? How is this out of the way?" She looks utterly defeated. "Lara, don't you think that maybe we shoul-"

You ignore what exactly it is that you supposedly got out of the way, as well as what you should perhaps do regarding it, and interrupt her by flicking another pinch of flour in her direction. "Let's cook." You grab the camera and turn it back on, hoping that you're being convincing enough.

For possibly the first time in her life, Sam puts her hand up over the lens. "Sweetie…"

"This stuff isn't going to cook itself." The forced smile that you're wearing must be enough, because she pulls her hand away from the camera. She doesn't seem impressed with your avoidance and she doesn't look like she completely believes that you're good to go; you aren't, if you're honest. But if you can push yourself for a few more minutes, you can probably get everything back on track again.

Sam stays still for a few more seconds before she waggles her fingers at you. "Fine. But give me that camera back, you're getting potato goop all over it." You do, but not before you flick your hand at her, sending little bits of dough flying at her.

She does not look amused, and you're glad the camera is facing her to record it. "And to think, she was calling me a child mere hours ago." She wipes a smudge of flour from the counter and deposits it on your nose. "Alright, Chef Croft, get going and show me your skills." A tiny grin is making it's way onto her face.

You've got her back behind the camera, and now it's time to do your part, so you look back down into the bowl to evaluate the situation. "Well, it's time to find out if you magically poured out however much "enough" is". You over-dramatically begin to mix the dough, and turn your head to face Sam. "No turning back now." She gives you a strange look when you say it. Deciding that ignoring it is the best course of action at the moment, you continue to zealously mix the potatoes.

You pull your hands away from the bowl as Sam zooms in on it. "No, now it's too hard." You've been playing Goldilocks for the past fifteen minutes, with Sam evaluating the firmness of the dough each time you make a new effort to reach the very descriptive goal of "soft". After the initial mixture not so surprisingly turned out far too stiff to even be considered dough, Sam did some more Googling and found that adding water to the mix might help the situation. Unfortunately, you had let her pour the water, a task she took on without using any sort of measuring system. Again. Once you had finished mixing it, she had declared it to be too soft, and shuffled the bag of flour towards you.

The size of the dough ball has increased rather drastically since the first attempt. "Sam, I think we might have more flour than potato in here." You slap her hand away as she tries to poke at it once more. Another puff of flour flies into the air as you do so, and you sigh. "And I think we somehow have more flour on us than we do in the mix." You grab the bowl and pull it as far away from her as possible, and she pouts at you. "I don't care what you think anymore, we're moving on."

"This is your fault, you know." You just stare at her. "Okay, so it's my fault for the initial measurement of flour, yeah, but you were the one that went along with it." She yelps as the lens of the camera is suddenly obscured by a thick white cloud.

By the time you had "mastered" rolling the dough into small balls that vaguely looked like gnocchi, you knew it was a lost cause. Still, you dropped the first batch into the boiling water and waited for them to cook. Sam immediately snatches one up when they finish, and then whines about it burning her fingers. You will yourself to hold back any more comments, and take the camera from her to film her assessment of your concoction.

She chews for a moment, then gives you a horrified look as she spits it back out into her hand. "What the fuck have we created? Oh my god, what have we created?"

"Not good?" A hand comes up to cover your mouth, hiding your smirk.

"Well, if we were trying to create a new formula for rubber, then yeah, maybe good. But this," She grabs another ball and holds it up to the camera. "This is not food." She throws it at you, presumably for you to try. You pop it in your mouth.

You had intended to be a little less dramatic than Sam was, but as you unintentionally make a show of choking down your creation, you realize that she hadn't been exaggerating. "That's, wow, that is something, isn't it?" You knew it would be bad, but you thought it would at least qualify as edible. You'd rather have Sam's toast.

"Right? Rest in peace, you perfect potatoes." She dumps the uncooked lumps of horror into the bin and glances up at the clock. "I think that Italian place delivers. It should still be open, right?"

You reach for your phone.

After yet another awkward encounter with a delivery person (although it was only flour you were covered with this time, and there was also a lack of screamed obscenities), you and Sam are slumped on the couch, takeout containers resting in your laps.

"Do y'think the flour adds to the bleached look?" You raise an eyebrow. She holds up her hands in surrender. "Just saying."

You look down at the mess of a cushion beside you. You've really done a number on the poor thing. "Sam, I just want it out of here."

"I know, sweetie. I know." She gives you a smile that's bordering on sad. "You do know that when it goes, it's not going to take everything else with it though. We're still going to have to talk some things out." Your hand scratches at your side. "Everything we haven't covered yet, plus anything else that might happen to come up."

You feel like an ass, as you should. "I know, and I'm so- uh, I probably shouldn't have avoided. But we were actually having fun, like we used to. I didn't want to mess that up. Well, I mean, I did mess it up, but then I fixed it as much as I could."

"And I'm not going to lie, I appreciate that. But can't start ignoring things now, not after we've just started to acknowledge them." She puts her empty takeout container on the end table beside her, then does the same with yours. "No more pretending to be fine, when you clearly aren't." You scootch closer to her, until you're close enough that you can lean back into her. "Deal?"

Of course it's a deal. You aren't going to go back on your word, and you aren't going back to the fake bravado of being okay. You aren't going to let her either, and it feels like it might finally be the right time to ask about it. "Mhm. Since we're on the topic of pretending things are fine," Your chest feels tight, and you know you wouldn't feel as bad asking this if you hadn't already pulled some answers out of her when you shouldn't have. "About the fact that I've been essentially forcing you to deal with a lot of the garbage that I should be working on…"

"What, you mean with the media and the publicity bullshit? Y'know, it's actually starting to die down already. I think we kept enough supernatural crap out of it, without that stuff I think people aren't as interested."

She might be lying, she might not be, you have no idea because you've not been paying any attention at all. "Yeah. I feel terrible about that, about putting all that pressure on you. I never wanted to make you feel like… like it was your job to, I don't know, to protect me from it all. I never meant for you to do it all for me, Sam. I know I wasn't interested, but," You don't actually know if the next part is true, but you're going to say it anyway. "But I wouldn't have gotten upset if you needed my help every once in awhile. It wouldn't have been- it wouldn't have been a bother."

"Oh." She wraps her arms around you and tugs you a bit closer. "That whole thing." A moment later she sighs and rests her chin on your head. "I was wondering if you were going to bring that up." She doesn't bother clarifying. "Yeah, I remember it." You feel slightly sick. "I actually wasn't sure that you did 'cause you never said anything. And then when you told me… God, this is probably terrible of me; but after you told me about the painkillers, I was kinda hoping that on top of the whole dream erasure thing? Well, you never said anything about what I had told you that night, and then you told me about the pills? I, uh, I might have hoped that maybe they had also fucked with your short term memory. Like, between you taking them and falling asleep."

bottle up and explode, over and over, keep the troublemaker below, put it away and check out for the day

whoopsie!

You may notice that there is now a playlist on 8tracks also called you've ripped your stitches. That is because there are now eight chapters and therefore eight songs. You will notice that it collects the songs that I've been yanking lyrics from. You will also notice that the playlist will update with each chapter. (/globherman/you-ve-ripped-your-stitches)

So, if you've never had gnocchi, go have some. Fabulous. And it's really not all that hard to make, once you've done it one or two times. First time can indeed be a disaster.

You ever have some sort of facial expression or gesture in mind, but you don't know how to describe it so you sit and do it yourself in an attempt to figure out the proper descriptors? Just wondering, because sometimes I feel a little silly sitting alone in a room making faces.

Coming soon: another chapter that i don't have a title for haha i knew that the whole next chapter title thing was a bad idea hahaha oh well