I sat down in the chair, and my neck broke. But I didn't know it was broken until several hours later. If I was ever a kid, I did it in secret.
But this is for the girl that showed up alone to the party.
And this is for that old Native American living alone across America in the oldest bus stations. I see you both hold up your ends of the bargain. Got your distant-photograph-face.
And it tastes like a treadmill.
Continuing walking through weed clouds. Of holding--shoulder jerk and broken arms--the front door open to say goodnight in rainier neighborhoods of I bet you didn't think about lifelessness.
Paint darker pigment into Margaret.

An amazing thing is just feeling good everyday. Or most days.
Not being sick.
Not having a headache.
It was a thing I couldn't remember, and now it is back.

2 days left of school.
Everything is beautiful.

Centrifuge Braking...

I feel like I am just barely getting over a very long weekend (Oh Tuesday I never loved you more) and considering what I have learned after such a huge quantity of Family Time, going to Southern Utah for a day, commercialized Holy Days, and sleeping in forts for more than 3 or 4 nights.

A) In the part of America that I live in, french fries are within walking distance almost always.

B) It is very creepy that Macintosh computers tell you what time it is without warning, and without you asking them. Almost always when you are completely alone, that seemingly innocent Macbook over there (it looks like it's asleep) will suddenly whisper "It's 11 o'clock." And then you scream.

C) I love Jesus, but I hate "Holidays." I'm tired of hype, and really just jealous of everyone else who gets the days off when I have to work.

D) That when I always think I want to move away and start all over, this is completely ridiculous. As homesick as I already am, it would get even worse moving away. I am so grumpy without my friends.

I'm tired from learning. I think I'm going to bed at 7.

You could be thinking "I have my doubts about you," and he could be thinking, "I wonder what's for lunch," but at the end of the day it's still a successful performative when you say "I do."

-My Critical Theory teacher, on successful performatives, and whether or not it matters if you mean what you say (when you're getting married)

"Hey. I was raised by men.



And my mom."

-Audrey