My shorts fit fine but there are holes in all of the pockets
Tonight will be the third (or will it be the fourth?) night I sleep in Mike’s room.
My elbow blossomed into a fierce lump. I have been wasting time playing video games and it has been making me feel so terrible that I didn’t notice, but there it was, distended. Bonsky asked, “Does your elbow really look like that?”
My new zine is on the coffee table in scraps, with a hundred pages from a Korean GQ separated and hole-punched.
I lost my markers somewhere somehow and I’m going out of my mind trying to find them. Two years ago (and I am positive I have told this story on the internet before, but whatever) I got out of bed at 6AM after finally getting in, about to fall asleep. I had just undressed. I convinced myself that my car might be parked in front of a driveway, and that I’d be a fool to sleep without checking. I got out of bed and dressed and put on my coat and trudged two blocks through the snow. It was fine. I got back to my room and I still couldn’t sleep.
This afternoon I reclaimed and coated screens and then reclaimed and coated the RH bathroom’s sink and bathtub. Reader take note: this is one of many ways I will repay you for letting me live in your house.
In sapphire dreams I don’t recognize anyone and no one recognizes me. It’s awful. I say their names and they look at me with distant wonder.
Robyn’s cat Id is four years old. Susy’s cat Holly is fifteen.
Speck fears. What to tell you. Life comes and goes.