The Tall Grass

I am by a pond. I am writing outside today.
I feel that my "oneness with nature" experimentation should continue before winter happens and I go back to embracing my general distaste and distrust for nature.
Perhaps I just feel like writing on my clipboard.
I only have one piece of loose leaf, and I somehow managed to get apple pie filling on it.
I have a cavity. I feel like divorcing my teeth more and more lately.
It's a facefuck story, I know. I won't do it again, I hope.
Bussey sends me the message. I think I am the only recipient. He's advertising a party Miranda is throwing because she is going to live in some place I wouldn't live in.
I say this:

can i have some of this exotic cheese? land line might take a while to get. you know i'm in. tell miranda to invite single friends, though. i'm dying. the girlfriends need friends. i'll likely give you a call while on campus tomorrow. warford

I send this to several people (single friends included) who are going to the party. Inadvertantly. I have no idea I have done so.

Peter says this:
Thanks for sending that to everyone.... That's why there is a "I don't like paul warford and never did group". jerk.

Butler says this:
Warford b'y, you're a tit.

Shandera says this:
Warford you're a dumbass!

I now assume Bussey sent the message to 'da b'ys', and I simply had not noticed. I still do not bother to check the recipient list.
I think to myself, "Jesus, the guys are really giving me a hard time for this slip-up."
It is days before Shandera fills me in.
I'm dying.
And I'd told Marie I hadn't done "anything stupid lately."

I think it's going to rain. I hope it rains.
I smell no smog.
I do not want to leave here again.
Damned lower-scale economy.