ambivalence Tom Robbins ...Marx Marvelous was an exceptional young man, the kind who could easily have left his mark on the world. He had loads of brains, loads of talent, loads of class. But he was tainted by a whimsical ambivalence. Ambivalence hung about his neck like a half-plucked albatross. (another_roadside_attraction) 101006 ... tender_square she crept into their dark bedroom to grab an extra pair of socks. her wool ones were threadbare and sprouting holes, they would not keep her feet warm enough in her boots on their morning walk. he was still sleeping, curled and dreaming. she didn’t have the heart to wake him. so she tiptoed back the way she came and retired to the couch to take some rest too. she was tired of fighting the weariness in her bones. she pulled her favorite grey blanket across her on the couch that was so small it could barely contain her, closed her eyes. she could never tell when she was asleep; her mind swirled with images but she was never certain if they were dreams or worries. whenever she was alert again after closing her eyes on the couch, she found the side of her hoodie was often wet with a patch of saliva that slipped from her mouth like tears. she turned when she heard his footsteps on the hardwood. “you didn’t wake me,” he said groggily, rubbing at his eyes. he stepped closer. “you seemed tired. i was tired too.” he stood over her. she turned supine on the couch, raised a corner of the blanket like an unsealed invitation. he climbed in and lay against her. she pulled the blanket around them to keep the heat in. his head rested on her shoulder and she wrapped his arms around him, rubbed her hands along his upper back. she felt as though she were holding a young boy, and she cupped his head tenderly, laying quietly in the dark as their chests rose and fell in tandem. she couldn’t remember the last time she held him this way; she thought about neglect and distance, grief and heartache—all the countries they had late visited like lonely wanderers. he was always the first to break from their embrace, his body tensing and awkward in their coupling. he withdrew from her and sat up on the couch. “do you still want to go for a walk?” he asked her. of this she was certain: “sure.” 211207 ... unhinged when i use this word to describe myself it is most often a lie 211207 what's it to you? who go blather from