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Friday, Sept. 22, 2017
6:58 p.m.
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it's always about the same fucking thing ] >>

maybe if i move my sorrow it will feel less sorrowful

i pause and breathe in and pause and don't stop pausing. forget to take myself off hold.

stuck. i've been stuck for a year, stuck moreso since march when the dawn went dark. when dawn died. when it ceased to dawn.

i scramble to bury my feelings before my friends and family see. in canada on the porch, swallowing tears and blinking wide to dry my eyes. in this cabin 3 hours from home before my friends arrive.

did you know in canada i cried? i cried on the porch remembering when i was a little girl, thinking of when i would be a big girl and my nana was gone. i saw it coming like a freight train and still didn't have the good sense to jump out of the way. dad said he had no idea. i know you had no idea, dad. par for the fucking course because i learned how to turn it off years ago.

i swallow my sorrow in the forest and chase it with wine. one more drink and it'll be better. one more material object and i'll be fine.

i am a consumer in every sense of the word. a consumer is all i am.

better than being sad.

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