???

Right now I have so much and not a lot to say. My days are filled to the brim. Right now I have a dog on either side of me sleeping soundly and a boyfriend in the bath reading and relaxing. My mind has been packed with so much information this week. I got A's on all my first quizzes and assignments. I feel accomplished and satisfied. I really love what I'm learning. My house is clean and a yummy breakfast was made for me this morning. Times like these make it easy to let go of the little things. I'm cold today and reminded that fall is here and it's going to be a long time until I feel warm again. Wool blankets will start piling up on the bed and they'll be covered in dog hair in no time. Hot tea in the evening and heating pads for aching necks and backs. I don't always love my life but sometimes I do and I try to be grateful when I can be.

SUN MON TUES WED THURS FRI SAT

My birth control prescription only allows me to get three months worth of pills at a time, and I can't pick them up until I'm literally down to the last pill. If you ever wanted to know how quickly three months flies by... I skip my periods because they suck ass. Before I quit smoking I would lay in bed awake thinking about my blood clotting. I know this shit is bad for my body, could give me breast cancer or whatever but I'm not really sure there's a healthier alternative that wouldn't petrify me. Pretty sure I'm allergic to something in most condoms, either that or they tear up my insides. I'm sensitive to basically everything else, one time I tried the ring and it bruised me. The shot made me insane. I tried one of those period trackers that measures your temperature... Not sure I ever understood how it worked. It's all a bit too much work just to not have a baby.

KATHY ACKER BOOK CLUB (Part 2)

Blood and Guts in High School Pg 45-112 There's too much to say between all the pages I've read, I probably should've stopped somewhere in between but I'll just jot down some of the notes that I've written in the margins and some of the quotes I've starred and underlined... this book is good. Pg 46 - Written in the margins - I need to draw a dream map now. Pg 52 - Written in the margins - Beaver = Women I assume? Bear = Man? Who is monster? Voice? Dignity? House = Body? Pg 55 - BIG STAR - "You exist in this darkness. Rebels. Creeps. Outcasts. Loners. People who hate everbody. People who feel uneasy around everybody. People who know everyone hates them. People who hate being tied down, restricted, constricted, and huge whirling snakes. The snakes climb around your neck and arms. The woman who's the mother of sakes takes you in." Pg 57 - UNDERLINED - "...everyone thinks whatever mood is present is the only one that will ever exist I mean if you're sad then the world must be rotten, a general day to day depression. Depression meaning the poor person percieves fewer and fewer possibilities." Pg 58 - LOL <<< - "After a night or two Janey hates walking the streets doing nothing so she goes back to her room and does nothing. Pg 61 - UNDERLINED - "- a man who wears glasses or is deformed, I tell you it disgusts me. I think such people ought to be shot." Pg 64 - <<< - "Poverty is bad for humans because it makes them perpetuate all that is oppressing them and good for humans because it helps them to be willing to do anything - the weirdest acts possible, suicidal - to stop the poverty." Pg 65 - Written in the margins - I've always thought learning a new language in order to be able to read it felt redundant because no matter what language you learn you're still reading it in the context of an english translation (if your first language is english), right? The words I know in spanish I am translating those to english in my head as I hear and interpret them. Pg 67 - Written in the margins - This is the first time Janey refers to what her father was doing to her as 'rape' Pg 69 - Written in the margins - No one has an imagination anymore... still Pg 70 - 93 - The persian poems are a journey, I loved this. Pg 94 - 95 - UNDERLINED - "Don't you know there's nowhere to walk anymore unless you're walking to somewhere? Now if you shut up and stay noonexistent and don't act like the freak you are, maybe in two years we'll notice you and tell you our neurotic problems 'cause we have lots of neurotic problems, but don't ever expect to be invited to one of our parties." Pg 97 - UNDERLINED - "Doing what I want to is dangerous 'cause I can get really hurt. So I lie to people. I say 'I love living alone.' 'I fuck around a lot.' But I really want what I want. There aren't passing emotions. These are my characteristics." Pg 98 - UNDERLINED - "You are pursuing your own desires and your own desires are BORING. Dear Dimwit, I WANT TO LEARN." Pg. 99 - Written in the margins - BRAIN HURT Pg 100 - UNDERLINED - "If you like a writer's books read his books, the books aren't pure suffering; if you want to publish/ help the writer, do it business-like, but don't get into the writer's personal life thinking if you like the books you'll like the writer." Pg 111 - BIG ARROW - "(1) Body slavery: I have to eat and get shelter so need money. Also my body likes sex and rich food and I'll do anything for those. (2) Mind slavery: I want more than just money. I live in a partially human world and I want people to think and feel certain ways about me. So I try to set up certain networks, mental-physical, intime and space to get what I want. (I also set up the networks to get money.) These networks become history and culture (if they work) and as such, turn against me and take away time and space. They tell me what to do."

BYE FOREVER DON QUIXOTE

Maybe starting my classics journey on Don Quixote was too ambitious... not that I haven't read a bunch of classics. I was just hoping to read some that have always felt daunting. But god I can't with this book. How many little interactions with an idiot can you handle? It felt like I was working at the coffee shopping dealing with idiotic customer after delusional idiotic customer. I always try to give a book at least 100 pages before I set it down. I got to 122 and I can't do it anymore. It's so repetitive. The same idea over and over. Don Quixote is a fucking moron and I don't want to read about him anymore. There are enough fucking morons in this world, I don't need to be mad at one that's made up. I thought it was funny at first, the way his character is described, his horse, the reason he's sooo stupid... but jesus christ this book could've probably been like 300 pages at the most. Get to the point please. The story progresses at a snail's pace and that could be on me for basically only ever loving books less than 400 pages but whatever. I love the idea but I'm setting it down. Bye forever Don Quixote.

2 DOGS BARKING

There's two dogs barking and neither of them are mine. My dogs are asleep on either corner of the room, exhausted from the stress of adjusting to having a sister. I'm trying to write every day. I write here or I write on the secret thing inside my computer or I write in the poppy covered book on my desk. Even when I don't like it. I put it somewhere besides my phone or my head. Or I try to. My hands have been aching more than they ever have recently. It makes it hard to hold a pen to paper, thank god for the keyboard I guess. I always think that quitting smoking will magically heal all my ailments and then I remember that my autoimmune diseases are just as hereditary as addiction. Cute. I bought this big dumb comfy seat for the attic and it's been saving my ass literally and figuratively. A nice little place to rest my bones while I read and type and watch dogs sleep.

KATHY ACKER BOOK CLUB (Part 1)

Ali and I went to Elliot Bay Books recently and walked around for maybe an hour or two before I was able to find anything that looked interesting. I picked up something I thought I'd hate (Little Pink Book) and then devoured it in a day and a half and I also picked up Blood and Guts in High School by Kathy Acker because a book I read recently (Chronology of Water) referenced it and I also read a chapter of it in another book I read earlier this year (Hatred of Capitalism). Kathy Acker, for whatever reason, never fully appealed to me but I think it was because I knew someone who really hated her writing and maybe even knew her way back in the day or something like that? But since she's popped up more than once this year I figured it might be time to give her a try. Ali decided to tag along for the ride and now we're reading it "book club style." Blood and Guts in High School Pg 1-44 We're reading a story about a girl named Janey who's in love with her father. They have an emotional and sexual relationship. It's toxic, obviously, but it's never really mentioned why the relationship is truly wrong because we're reading it from the perspective of an abused and manipulated child who just wants her father to love her and is scared he's going to leave her for another woman. He's dating a woman and Janey is going insane. Acker writes these meltdowns in a way that feels real and relatable, I felt like I was in the middle of the argument with this girl. There is a point in the story where it starts looping, "they wake up and decide to spend the whole day together since it's their last day," or something like that. I've used the loop writing technique and I assume since this is pulled from old journals of hers that they just left in all these ideas she had for this part of the book but reading them one after the other makes you feel like you've laid down to bed and you're trying to imagine a scenario from every perspective (best case to worst case) or you're rehearsing interactions with someone that you're angry at. And since Janey is going nuts over her dad not being in love with her anymore, you kind of start to feel like you're also going nuts. Janey ends up going to the US and shes basically just hanging out in New York until her dad decides he wants her to come home and she keeps calling him and asking him if he's decided yet and he's asking her to give him time but she can't, she's freaking out and then he tells her to find a place and he'll pay her rent. Janey kind of gives up and just goes along with it and then fucks a bunch of guys and gets back to back abortions. The way she paints this picture is incredible and my favorite part of the book so far. She talks about how she loves the feeling that she's being taken care of even though she's being poked with needles and it's painful and the nurses aren't all that kind. She talks about how it's worth it to have to go through all this just to be able to fuck people and not care aboout the consequence because boys never wear condoms and she can't decide/ doesn't have access to regular birth control methods. This part. She's sick of the constant fear, stress and anxiety that she has to go through in order to allow herself even the slightest amount of pleasure. She also has PID which is a whole other layer to the shit that she has to deal with. I'm not sure where this book is going but I'm enjoying it so far. I decided not to read any reviews or ask too many questions about it and go in a bit blind. Seems to be working.

LIQUEUR

Thinking about the time I was zesting a bucket full of lemons to make Lavendar Liqueur in the basement at King's with Abner Jay's 'I'm so depressed' on full blast while college kids got drunk on the floor above me.

SKY-TOMB

I wish you could see it. The little art studio I've built for myself in the haunted upstairs. The ghosts haven't bothered me too much yet. It's too hot to be up here for long but I had sit at my desk and type type type to see how everything "fits." And it feels good. Today everything changed. Well really yesterday. Ryan and I drove ourselves and Nina out to Bellingham to visit with a dog that needs a home. Her name is Violette. We fell in love of course and are going to go pick her up on Monday. On the long drive back home we got really honest with ourselves and eachother about the future and what we want to do. For the past year we've been trying to force ourselves into creating a bar, it started as an idea for a music venue and that failed failed failed, then we set it aside and changed the entire idea into a bar/ restaurant which is not at all what we envisioned but we didn't want to give up. We kept pushing and really tried our best to get excited about it but we just can't wrap our minds around that. We want a little punk space where we and everyone else can do whatever the fuck we want and this just isn't the right time for that I guess. We aren't completely turned off the idea we just don't want to force it anymore because, really? How fucking lame is that? So we're pivoting. I don't want to say to what just yet but ideas and plans are being made and we're both really happy and excited and proud of eachother. What a weird time.

ORANGE

Sometimes when I tell myself I need to do something, I can't seem to do anything else until that task is done. I've absolutely killed any and all creative energy I've had recently by having my heart set on painting the upstairs and turning it into my art studio. All my paint and notebooks and sewing machine are lying on the floor in the center of the room. I unearthed a bucket of Killz and slopped it over the drab brown that was haphazardly painted on top of a baby blue. It's hideous. It sits like this for a week or so. I drag Ryan to Home Depot and show him colors that I like, he shows me colors that he likes, and we decide on one. Tobasco. I should've gotten a sample, the paint chip looked so tame. It came out hot orange (of course, because that's the color of tobasco). I didn't know I didn't have to buy it so we did, shamefully. At home I put it on the wall, even worse than we thought. It was streaky and horrible and screamed traffic cone. I hate confrontation so the buckets sat in the hallway while I told myself every day for another week that I'd march inside and demand they fix it. I finally did and they were of course very nice to me. He adds some Iron Oxide and while it's not the color we wanted, it's beautiful. For the last couple of days I've been excitedly painting the walls while it's 90 degrees and I'm sweating and it's awful but soon I will have my life back because this painful task will be done and I'll have a beautiful orange studio where I can make things again. I should probably clean the rest of the fucking house first though... because apparently I can't do any of that until this is done either. I am annoying myself, ok bye.

CYBER STALK ME PLZ

I am no stranger to the cyber stalker. They come in all flavors. Usually an ex's new girlfriend, or a current partner's ex, or some weirdo digging through my old photos and giving themselves away with the accidental like. Whoops.

My favorite incident, hands down, was with my ex-husband's psychotic new girlfriend at the time. She had this whole routine of making fake accounts, sending me messages, and then swearing it wasn't her. On July 5th, 2022, she called me at 8:52 a.m. Twice. Then at 1:49 p.m. she sent this:

"Hey :) i just wanted to say that u r a waste of a person no one actually cares that you're here good luck with your small miserable life u ugly troll looking bitch and good luck getting people to put up with ur fucked attitude toward others maybe one day u won't suck so fucking bad u little broke ass pathetic fat fuck Hairy fishy cunt bitch"

I almost respect the dedication. She made fake accounts faster than I could block them. I had never even met this girl, but she hated me with the kind of intensity people usually reserve for religion or politics.

THE DOG PARK

I bundle up because it's getting chilly and dark before I take Nina to the dog park. Long black socks under my brown boots. Black jeans. A white tank top with a faded brown zip up and Ryan's green jacket, that's very much become mine, over the top of that. We pile into the Mercedes and begin our routine. She starts whining out the window when she knows we're getting close. We arrive, we take a lap around the first section of the park before heading toward the woods to sniff around. Then back to the park to play some fetch. We don't have a ball so we're scanning the field for a lost or forgotten one. We find a weird and crusty chew toy with a rope hanging off of it and decide that'll do. I huck it as hard as I can and Nina starts running, then she's body slammed into the ground by a tall black dog three times her size. I walk toward her to calm her down and I hear a man approaching behind me yelling "Disco, NO!" He locks eyes with me, for too long. He scans me, and then Nina, and says "oh, I've seen you here a bunch." But he hasn't. I've never seen this man in my life or his very recognizable dog. He starts to tell me about how he used to come to the park all the time until his car got hit while it was parked outside his house. I've never cared less about a story. I try to break the conversation. His dog will not leave mine alone and keeps biting at me when I try to intervene. I use that as an excuse to head in a different direction and he stops me and compliments me. I'm immediately afraid. Not of his dog, but of the way he kept removing his hat and sliding his hand over his long greasy hair. I say thanks and walk Nina to the opposite end of the park, there's an entire pond and tons of trees between the two sections and I honestly I just want her to run around so we can get the fuck out of there. I see him peak around the corner and quickly dodge back, a minute or two passes and he's back, apologizing because his dog is already all over mine. He asks if he can use this as a training moment for his dog, so he can teach him to leave other dogs alone when they have their tail between their legs. I had never related to a dog more in my life. I said sure because I couldn't muster up a no. Of course, instead of correcting Disco the dog, he focuses his attention on me. He sees every opportunity to get closer to me, he asks me about a patch on my bag leaning forward as if he couldn't see it, reaching out his hand. I was short with him, and constantly backing away. He complimented my outfit, my "color palette?", and my eyes. I was sweating under the layers I'd put on for comfort, feeling betrayed by the way they'd attracted the attention of this dirtbag. I finally made my exit. I got in the car in a rage. Tearing off my clothes. Furious that I could be this bundled up and still be followed around the park as if I was crawling around naked. I wondered though why I was so scared. Men don't genereally terrify me, I'm usually so many steps ahead. Always seeking the out. I was surrounded by other people. I knew he couldn't (or at the very least shouldn't) hurt me. But still I was shaking in my boots. Why am I afraid of being found interesting or attractive? I don't care if people look at me, I'm used to it, I've worked in the service industry for over 15 years. I think what terrifies me is their inevitable reaction to my disinterest. If I so much as smile at a man, they may take that as consent to continue flirting with me. Being polite has never worked. Kindness is often mistaken for intrigue in these scenarios. Especially behind a counter for whatever fucking reason. Here's a nice juicy piece of hot gossip for you, your barista is not in love with you. PLEASE DON'T ASK THEM OUT, it's fucking weird. And hey, while you're at it, if the girl at the dog park walks away from you... DON'T FOLLOW HER. She doesn't want you either.

NOTES APP

8/8/25 - I never know how to properly execute th... 8/7/25 - rock auto parts 8/7/25 - Sean Madison (waste water manage... 8/5/25 - Things I'd like to do in the next few ye... 8/2/25 - Things to do instead of rotting on my... 7/28/25 - Part number 0008211063 7/23/25 - Last night a woman cried while readin... 7/22/25 - I am bad at this. I know that I am. I'm... 7/19/25 - I have no business telling this story as... 7/15/25 - Sourdough Jar 264g 7/13/25 - Frozen Cherries 7/1/25 - There's a lot I've been holding in for a l...

PROBABLY FIVE

The first show I went to post quarentine was at Tractor Tavern. Ty loaded us all up in his van and we trekked across i5, excited and nervous. Velvet Q played first and I chain smoked outside for their entire set. Not only am I not the biggest fan but the place was absolutely packed. Completely sold out. No room to breathe. And taking sips from my beer while holding my mask up felt weird to do indoors. So the patio is where I sat. Bad Optics was up next, I sprinted instead and was immediately grabbed by a person I hardly knew. Asking if I was Amber, and expressing their excitement for the music venue I was in the process of building. We thrashed and sang all the songs we knew the words to and felt alive and together for the first time in what felt like forever. It felt like the whole world was reigniting right in front of my face, the experience was emotional and real.

Actionesse was headlining, one of my favorite local bands. I was completely out of breath. No air left in me. I bounced around as long as I could until my body woudn't let me anymore and back to the patio I went. Drenched in sweat and beer, the rain now cleansing me. I flopped down and ended up in a rather deep discussion with Simon. He was sloshed and frankly so was I. He asked me how many lives I've lived and I said "probably five, maybe six." Now I'd say eight. And I've never really been able to think of my life any differenly since then. While the lives overlap there are also definite lines between them all. I've built big fat walls between them trying to contain them as best I can.

My first life is the life I lived before my memories were solid. The dreamy baby days, the ones I remember in photographs. My second life was between the ages of five and eleven. Still naive, still believeing everything my parents told me, but aware enough to make notes for later. The third life is when things got serious. Twelve to fourteen. Nothing was a fairytale, the panic attacks started, insomnia, mental illness, trips to the doctor, the psychiatrist, the principle, the nurse. Those two years felt like a decade. My fourth life was between fifteen and nineteen. I hated everything. Then I moved to Los Angeles and that was life number five.

When Simon asked me this question I was right in the middle of life number six and had no idea I'd be onto my seventh pretty soon after that. I've wondered what a therapist might tell me if I explained my life in chunks like that. If I told them that I hardly feel like I recognize any of the people living them. But if I keep these lives in separate boxes tucked away inside a closet, then I'm not burdened with the weight of the past all the time. I'm able to set them down and deal with them as needed rather than conquer the failures and traumas all at once.

I realize now how dumb my last post sounds. I said something like "I hate to reminisce" when that's literally all I'm doing these days. Writing about the past I guess could be considered reminiscing. But I think what I meant was I hate romanticizing my past, I like to let the past stay the past. While I have fond memories, I try to enjoy the present as much as possible. I also have sort of used writing as a way of being able to let go of the past and move forward. If I write things down then I don't have to worry about remembering anymore. I have no conclusion for this one, so I'll just leave it here.

FIRE SIGN

In my desperate attempt to forget, I throw all evidence of my past into a pile and scorch it. I've packed up and left so many places, no trail left behind. I hate holding on, and I rarely look back. Hardly ever in the mood to reminisce, but when I do it's like watching a movie I've only seen once or twice. I look at a photo and realize it's been seven years since it was taken, and I can't decide if it feels longer or shorter than that. Just reminds me how fast time moves, how heavy it sits in my chest.

I'm not very sentimental. Except when it comes to hand-written notes. It feels like the closest thing to reading someone's mind. They'd probably never even remember writing them, but I hang onto them just in case. I remember the day an old friend died, I went digging through my little box of scraps, desperate to bring him back for even a second. To remember his voice, the way we laughed and sang dumb songs in the school hallway. I hoped for a piece of that, and I found it. A note we'd been passing back and forth in science class for a week. We'd draw an animal, pass it back, and the other person would assign it the name of some friend or enemy of ours. Every time we opened the paper we'd collapse into silent laughter because of course the person we hated most was a fucking dolphin.

We tucked the joke away in my notebook when it finally went stale. I'm so glad I still have it, wrapped in a printed-out photo of us at a lock-in at the indoor skate park. Both of us tired, both of us looking terrible.

FOXGLOVES

I'm 7 years old. There's a big pile of foxgloves that grow at the bottom of the hill under the tree where the tire swing hangs. I believe in fairies and that the foxgloves are their homes. The tiny spots running up their petals are the little fairy footprints and I spend my days building castles for them made of moss and twigs because I'm afraid that when the foxgloves inevitably die they'll be homeless and cold.

I'm 30 years old. I walk to the coffee shop on the corner after parking my car across the street. I stop by the house with the beautiful garden and gawk at the giant pink poppies. I snap a few photos. I squeeze a couple snapdragons to make them speak like my grammy used to. I notice the foxgloves, there are no footprints.

FLESH

All my favorite stories about Jimmy are vile, but they're also soaked in innocence.

I met Jimmy in eighth grade, we had english class together with Mrs. Mina and when she made him read aloud he'd read so fast that he'd start and end words right in the middle of saying them. I thought it was funny, but not in the way that you'd laugh at him, in the way that it added to his character and made him memorable. Before he had braces he had a mouth full of jumbled up teeth, his hair was was long past his shoulders and white blond, and we were just about the same height (a little under 5' tall at the time). He was the quintessential skater kid, cool shoes, tight pants, giant t-shirt, hat. Jimmy was effortlessly cool and carried himself in a way that made it impossible to make fun of him, he was witty, confident, and always had a come-back. We were instant friends.

Sometimes I'd sneak a ride on the bus to his house and we'd get off at the wrong stop on purpose and pick up an ice cream sandwich and chocolate milk at Jay's Market for the rest of the walk home. His dog would greet us at the door, his mom was usually working so we'd make ourselves some Top Ramen and throw on a movie, for a while we kept putting on Benjamin Button and without fail fall asleep immediately after gulping down our noodles. I don't think we ever finished the movie. Jimmy was a different person when there wasn't so many people around, I felt lucky to get to know him in that way even in little snippets.

I can't remember what year this happened but Jimmy broke his arm. And when I say he broke his arm, I mean he slammed the pavement falling off his skateboard so hard that the bone broke through the skin. He had to have surgery and the orange shit that they spray on you to disinfect everything gave him a rash under his cast that he couldn't itch. So he came to school and complained about it for weeks. It wasn't until I went with him and his mom to the doctor to get it cut off that we figured out why. The rash had blistered and when all the skin fell off it had nowhere to go and it just sat wet and sweaty under the bandages until months later when they finally removed the thing.

The summer after ninth grade, I went to Chelan with my family and their friends. One of them was the coach of the highschool basketball team and a big group of those boys came with. Jimmy's dad had a house near the lake and he was spending the summer with him and I was excited to have an escape from the jocks for while. Although it was kind of fun smoking them in poker every night. Jimmy and his friend Cam came and met me at the cabin I was staying in and we walked for what felt like forever back to his dads house. We fished for popsicles in his ant infested freezer only to find that they had mostly melted and the carpet had fleas so we left the house with bites all over our legs. We walked, we itched, we jumped in the lake, we walked, we made it to the skatepark, we itched, we jumped back in the lake. It felt like the perfect summer. We'd probably never spent so much time together as we did that week. Long days hauling our asses back and forth across the lake, scavenging for food and something to do. I lent Jimmy my back pack sometime before school ended. I think his broke and I had an extra, but while we were in Chelan he decided to give it back to me. As I was clearing it out at the skate park I found a pair of my socks that he had borrowed, completely crusted to the bottom, flat as a couple of pancakes. He swears they were like that because he wore them for a week and forgot about them. Sure.

I recently ran into Jimmy at a bar in Seattle. He hardly recognized me. I grabbed him by the shoulder and had to tell him who I was. A week or so later I asked him what his favorite memory from our childhood was and he mentioned something about Chelan that I had completely forgotten about. One night the basketball team and I snuck out and met up with Jimmy at the basketball courts, we were determined to play. We broke into the box to turn the lights on and stayed out all night. It was silly and simple and precious. I liked that this was the part of that trip that he chose to remember.

The summer after that, he went on a trip to Hawaii to scuba dive. He was VERY into scuba diving at the time. When he came back he called me and asked me to come over. He had something for me and also needed help with something. I hopped in my '92 4runner and sped over to his house excited for my gift, but before he would give it to me he made me help him peel the giant dried up blisters off of his back. They came off in enormous chunks revealing absolutely burnt to a crisp skin underneath. My gift was a stone turtle that I super glued to my dashboard.

Our group of friends consisted of mostly boys and a couple of their girlfriends. The boys boxed when they had beef. They'd bitch and moan about one friend or another until everyone got sick of it and we were just putting their head to head with the gloves on and make them fight it out like "men." I was pissed at Jimmy during one of these brawls and tried to get him to box me but he wouldn't and everyone refused to let it happen. So I hucked him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes onto his bed and he flew between the wall and the mattress, screaming that I ripped his mole off his back. No one ever found it. I imagined a shriveled piece of meat turning up over time but I'm sure it never did.

When I asked Jimmy about his favorite memory he told me that he was glad that I reached out, he wanted to message me but thought that I hated him for some reason. I don't know why I would and maybe I did at some point but it's been too long to recall. I do remember when we stopped talking, a year after highschool I think, I slammed on my brakes while I was driving around Lake Stevens and that stone turtle went flying, hit me directly in the chest and I chucked it out the window. I went back for it later and the head was cracked off and nowhere to be found so I tossed the rest of the body in a ditch and said goodbye.

CONCRETE

My grandma Michelle lives on a reservation in Concrete. She'd hate that I was writing this down. (Or sharing it on the internet) She's horrified of government surveillance. I look exactly like her. From hair to face to build. If you've ever seen me next to my mother you'd think we were twins until you saw me next to Michelle and realized how much I resemble her.

I have only 3 memories of her.

One being a photo of her holding my dad just a baby in her arms. And her just a baby herself, 14 years old and my spitting image.

When I was 12, I met her for the first time to my memory. She came over with a Yamaha keyboard for my brother and me and she told us a story of a crow.

The last time I saw her I had just moved back to Washington after a long three years in Los Angeles and I was working at a coffee shop in Everett. She walked in with her partner who is the same age as my dad, 14 years younger than her. They ordered coffee that I made with hands shaking, she looked me right in the face and I could tell she didn't recognize me so I said nothing.

LAWN MOWER

Today is my mom's birthday and no we still haven't talked. I woke up at something like 4 am and tossed and turned for hours. Ryan decided last night (but has been talking all week about) us switching sides in bed. So we did. I don't know if it was that or a combination of the back pain I've been experiencing but I had horrendous nightmares. Ones where I had woolly mammoth like fur patches on my legs that I was so embarrassed I had forgotten to shave. I can't remember the last time I felt shame about my body hair, probably not since middle school. So waking up from this dream that upset me so subconsciously was mostly just annoying.

When we finally got up for the day it was past 9 and I was bummed because I wanted to do a lot with my morning and now I "wouldn't have time." Somehow though we still made time for coffee, breakfast, gardening, cleaning the garage a bit and fighting over getting rid of the old lawn mower. I put it out on the curb knowing full well Ryan would be toting it back in wanting to keep it to "fix it" or "sell it." After huffing and puffing and throwing a ball for Nina in the yard, I sat on the couch and he came over to me all naked and cute and kissed me and apologized for his minor hoarding tendencies and I fell in love with him for the thousandth time this year.