You're pissed at him.

He's not talking to you.

Maybe... just maybe... he is like me. He just doesn't know what to say.

He knows the words. He needs to say them but, nobody wants to hear them.

I'm closing in on a degree in telecommunications. I know how to make things talk to each other. From two cans and a tight string to super-bandwidth fiber channels. I can move data like a boss. I can connect people across continents. I can upgrade cell towers by replacing a bunch of boards and reprogramming it to do the latest, greatest ump-teen G.

With all that bandwidth, I just don't know what to say.

My frigging head is full of pithy quotes, tech crap, world history and science.

None of that helps.

So, how are you?

Fine.

Don't expect a shitload more.

I'm afraid.

I'm afraid that smart ass streak will come out. Or some of that unresolved anger. Maybe even a dash of the grief I live with.

When that stuff comes out, it destroys.

It's like carrying around toxic waste: I keep 30 kilos of crazy in a 10 kilo bag of it. It doesn't do me any good but I just can't dump it anywhere.

Better to be the dumb, strong silent type than the raging bastard that inflicts that toxic shit on people.

All that bandwidth and I can't communicate.