Natural History

I forgot to tell you.

I turned off all my social media notifications. I much prefer screaming into a void to the tune of a symphony for a crater, then catching up on the commentary. I’ve never been a performer, I just want to capture things.

Sometimes it’s my face. Or half of. Or my words. & I remind myself these are your stupid rules. & that no one actively hates you. Stop being insecure.

In lieu of being strange & wonderful in rose colored clouds of vapor, I’ve been writing, but you have to find it. & making art out of to do lists. Publishing copy. Teaching my friends (& strangers) how to build websites. Volunteering. Reading. Taking deep breaths. Sleeping too much. Procrastinating. Forgetting. Making lists. Distracting myself.

I’m worried.

I’m hopeful.

Will revert after Tuesday.

Save draft

The drafts & trash bin are my real diary. So rarely published. Or reviewed. My words annoy me. So, I get it. I feel neurotic when I’m at my best. & I think you have a complex. Just remember to let it go.

She should be nicer. More present. Tonight I played my flute. In tune.

& last week I got a keyboard from an estate sale. I’ve been messing around. But I have to be in the right mood. It’s felt unwanted.

My plants are still alive. They look healthy. Henrietta too. She lives in a doll house.

Been feeling red lips. Power moves.

Ps get out. More. & finish stuff. & pay attention to details.

Sweet dreams.

(she did not make bread today; there was no flour.)

Yes, I am.

Brene Brown will get me through this day