break and blossom

 You make your bed, and you go to sleep in it.


WE all die alone.

 Sobriety is one of those things that you come to miss, I suppose, but I'm not there yet. I'm trying to miss it. I don't want to be drunk at two in the morning alone with some alt-country forever. It's nice, but some things don't last.

Missing people again, you probably know who you are. Waiting on phone calls. I'm anxious and happy and momentous and productive and sorry and glad. Between good conversations and everything else I'm falling into myself. I still think I should have a lot more done than I've done yet, be loving a lot harder than I am, but it's coming together.

Niagra Falls was incredible. I need new strings for my guitar, and I need to glue my uke back together again.

It'll work out. I'm where I should be.

I can't unclench my jaw. Tomorrow celebrates my grandparents fiftieth anniversary, my mother's fortieth birthday (I got her a book called "Things Dogs Expect You To Know and a notebook I told her she should start writing in, because I think she has a lot of interesting things to write down), my other aunt's birthday. I'm nervous. I don't know what to wear. And it's going to be like storms colliding, maybe, because my family is just like that. It makes things interesting.

xxoo

edit: you make yourself another drink, you play guitar, and you go to bed. You do the best you can. Per usual.

About an hour ago, 3:00-something (am) I went for a walk and saw a raccoon eatin a dead squirrel, and it all felt strangely appropriate. The chill in the air, the birds singing at whatever-ass hour in the morning. It all felt appropriate. I'm going to get everything that needs doing done, no matter the cost. I'm going to be okay.

waking up from not sleeping I'll feel my lips crack burn and bleed
waking up in April winter I'll wonder if we're still not talking or if
either of the last two months had ever happened

someone, start the countdown

When I don't have the radio on, or if I'm not on the phone, my room makes me feel as if I don't exist. It is no longer a comforting thought. There's no sound from the backyard, no sound from the rest of the house, and no one ever knocks. No one thinks to come in. The radio barely picks up a signal, and the only calls I get are from the phone company.

Last night I left the window open to hear the rain, and I woke up to a completely silent house.

There are four open cartons of milk in my fridge right now.

PLEASE TELL ME, WHO NEEDS SO MUCH MILK.