#earlystuff

For instance, if I had an English teacher who was the bomb.com, then yes, it could be an awesome experience.  However, there was a year with a hostile and quite deliberately seeming intimidating teacher of English.  So, what I am trying to get at is what determines what gets said?  There are probably things that I would rather not have put out in public.  Who knows how someone, who may have some power or ability to do some harm, direct or indirect, to us, may use or interpret what we have to say?  Is there always room for dialogue?  I once thought that that was the case.  

But when experiences came about that were completely unprecedented, and people’s advice was not always relevant, dialogue and discussion over ideas became much more difficult to achieve.  So, is Tumblr able to be a medium where some sort of dialogue or exchange of ideas can take place to be able to go over those things that seem to bubble up and that one has to “get out there” lest perhaps becoming hardened, or to continue to have to keep something that continues to cause unrest or anxiety or discord?  

Why does it seem that humans are so social, that there seems to be this need to reach out and to connect, to be understood, to have our thoughts, that can be quite emotional, be out there and shared?  I am sure that there are evolutionary matters with this, but as society changes so abruptly at times, extreme circumstances seem to bring about gaps in knowledge and understanding about what is going on and how to respond.  

Jack sat in his car across the street from a two-story house he was staking out.  It was a month since the police had stopped watching this particular house to go onto to others places that might prove fruitful.  He knew better.  This house belonged to the family and the sister still lived here.  The two of them had been really close, almost as close as twins get.

"Where are you?" He asked the darkness.  Not knowing when he would show up, just knowing he would, Jack wanted to be there to arrest him.  He'd taken personal time off for this stakeout.  He only had a week left and was getting very antagonistic towards anyone who said anything.  The long nights were getting to him, putting stress on his relationship with his girlfriend.

Settling deeper into his car seat, Jack watched a lone person stumbling up the street.  He looked positively drunk and was singing at the top of his voice, slurring the words horribly.  The man paused, brought his hand close to his face and then looked at the house he was in front of.  He started stumbling up the walkway, singing again at the top of his voice.  Pounding on the door the man drew back in surprise as the door opened.

Putting a receiver to his ear, Jack could hear everything that was said.  Earlier he had installed microphones inside and around the house to try and catch word of when he was coming.  His sister had answered the door when the drunk knocked.

"Hello?" she asked, her voice sounded tinny through the microphone.

"H-h-hi!" The man said enthusiastically.  "Ish dish the Cardor res..res…houshe?"

"Yes, it is.  I'm Miss Cardor," she said, surprise evident in her voice.

"Good!  I hafve…a messhage…for you," the man said sluggishly, sounding very drunk.  Jack saw him reach into his coat and root around for something.  Finding it, the man then said,  "Ish from Dafvid." He handed her the message and then stumbled down the walkway and out into the street.

Jack threw down his receiver, opened the door and ran to the house, knowing Miss Cardor would let him see the message.  She had been cooperating with the police since this case began.  She was still standing in the doorway when he came up to her almost out of breath.  "Well, what is it?" he asked her.

Looking at the message curiously she handed it over to him without opening it.  He took it and saw his name 'Jack Horner' written on it.  "What?"  He looked at her very surprised.  Unsure of why she would get a message for him he opened it carefully.  Reading the letter out loud for her to hear, his face became dark with anger.

  Dear Jack,

       Well, it looks like you were right.  I did come back home.  I hope I haven't disappointed you too much.  Have you been getting much sleep?  I've seen better-looking corpses than you.  You really should take better care of yourself.

       Oh, by the way, don't look now but there's someone behind you.

             Sleep well Sweet Prince,

             David Cardor

  Looking at Miss Cardor, Sara as she likes to be called, he crumpled the paper and threw it on the ground.  "What does this mean?"

"It means he's coming home," Sara said, a pleased look on her face.

"Actually, it means I am home," a male voice said behind Jack.  Before he could turn around something hit him in the leg, hard enough for his leg to crumble underneath him.  He caught himself on the doorjamb before he fell to the ground. Supporting his weight on the door he reached for his pistol when the voice said, "Ah, ah, ah.  Now Jack; don't go ruining a good time.  There's no need for your weapon."  Jack looked behind him and saw the drunken man, though not so drunk now, standing there with a tranquilizer gun pointed at him.  Looking down at his leg he saw a dart sticking out of it.  Just then the drug started working on his system and things began to blur. 

As Jack slowly slid to the ground, back against the doorjamb, the man came closer.  Lowering the gun the man squatted down in front of Jack resting his arms on his knees.  "D...David…" Jack said haltingly.  The drug was working fast and he couldn't get his arms to move.

"Now, now Jack," David said, putting a hand under his chin to make Jack look him in the eyes.  "Don't worry, it won't kill you.  Just some harmless drug meant to put you to sleep."  David watched his eyes begin to dilate at the drug completed it's work.