The last days of August are a kind of whisper.

grief is so crazy like what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. does she know i loved her. i miss her so much. i catch myself doing things she used to do. i wish i could call her. i miss her so much. i do a crossword puzzle. i cry while washing the dishes. does she know i loved her? my heart feels like a hummingbird. i miss her so much. what if i forget what her laugh sounds like. what if i forget.

i talked ab this feeling in therapy yday and my therapist asked me, “would it really be so bad if your memories changed? if they softened and faded or looked different over time? why does that frighten you so much?” and i said, “i don’t want the love to disappear.” and she looked at me for a long moment and then she said, “it won’t. it doesn’t work that way. even if the memories soften or change, it doesn’t mean the love does. that love keeps going backward in time, forever, because you love her still. all is not lost.” i just thought i would share that in case it resonated w anyone else too.

has anybody heard of writing / knows anything about how to do it

once i read everything on earth then i think ill be prepared to write

knowing how it tends to go with male authors and their wives it was probably marge who wrote the odyssey

i could be your pet rock. id be very good at it

ive had some time to think and honestly i dont think id be a very good pet rock. i dont know what i was thinking. theres too much anger in me

(nudging my liege as we walk past some visibly poisonous black berries) don't they look scrumptious my liege

ever since i was a little girl i knew i wanted to be weird about tv