It has been nothing but sorting through boxes and boxes and boxes because I am ready to move on from this place. Give up these collections. I pick through a shoebox of trinkets and occasionally throw one at my roommate.
"Do you want this? It’s from China."
"Do you want this? It’s from Egypt."
"Do you want this? It’s from Norway."
She refuses them all except a small stone pyramid and a scarab beetle. I almost toss her a tiny neon green treasure chest before clutching it back to myself. I know what it is. Turned away from her, I click it open and find the smallest bits of enamel. Baby teeth that, once upon a time, were whole like misshapen pearls.
And that is how you make contact with ghosts. There was a day I was small and decided to keep these awful things, and every incrementally bigger me agreed with her, and the biggest, most present me gets to happen upon them, unaware, horrified. Delighted.
the prism clock of my room. “pillow” means it’s a beautiful day. the blinds are open. it’s not so scary, high prism noon.
"THIS IS AMERICA," she announced before taking a photo and dragging two bags of clothes rejected by Buffalo Exchange to the donation drop-off.
I drove the strip home last night and got caught in some brake light horror movie lighting. Fearful of being caught selfie-handed, I took this secret shot.
That giant hand is not mine.
Say something I’m giving up on you.
Maybe all of my most important work will be made while waiting for a free power outlet at Starbucks.
I looked kinda fine while I was dry shampooing my hair but IT’S OVER NOW BACK TO NORMAL HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
was v secretly tormented at Galentine’s dinner because how do we cope with not knowing everybody in the world?
like, you didn’t have to make an onion volcano for me. how did we get there?
I think I need to go to Disneyland?