And Friday night, for those few hours, it was the most at peace I’d felt for a long time. I suck big sucks at admitting I need stuff… But I managed to do it, and it worked out. Briefly I knew peace. I feel like leap day should be a holiday, since it’s rare and special. Well, for me it’s going to be spent working. Working on everything. Doing a shit ton of soul extinguishing menial work for very little money. Basically half of my normal rate. Basically it’s all a lot of bullshit and I’m dead tired of it. But at the same time I gotta be glad to have it. It’s tiring and I’m tired. Maybe I’ll be able to blow through it tomorrow, with my headphones in and no distractions. The whole thing’s got me feeling wicked nervous. Sick with doubt and dread. I shoulda rowed today but I took a walk instead.

Zoo days

Went to the zoo with my family today, saw some animals, definitely did *not* gently touch a small monkey through the bars, because that would be dangerous and against the rules and you know how much I love following rules. Here are some things we saw:


Stripe horses


A rather large kitten


Some ice dogs


A small orange man (that I definitely did not touch at all)


This long billed turkey


The king of all guinea pigs


Pink swans

A lot of animals weren’t out, but it was still pretty nice and fairly chill overall.


¤ there’s a chance I might get some work tomorrow or the next day. I really really really really hope that happens.
¤ please give me the work, please
¤ I really need it and please just give it to me
¤ I’ll do a good job, I promise
¤I feel hungry and a bit weak and I wish I was more tired I would really like to sleep.
¤ I’m really glad I bought myself that rowing machine, I really like it a lot and it’s a legit full body + cardio workout.
¤ and I feel good and sore after, and it lives in my house so that cuts down on excuses not to do it.
¤ I’m weird and I get lost in my own head real easily and I don’t know how to deal with it.
¤I am anxious and scared about so many different things, and I don’t know how to deal with it.
¤ brain, please be quiet and let me sleep.
¤ fine, I’ll tell you a story until you fall asleep, okay?
¤ okay. Good. Let’s try it.
¤ what does this symbol even mean?


I fancy I can feel a subtle shift in my body, but I may just be imagining. Counting the cost of everything. I was weak today, from drink and lack of sleep, but I still did okay. I can be strong and take control of myself. Why was I about to fall asleep at 11 but now I’m all wide awake? Answer me that. I’m trying not to be weird and nervous, but really hoping to hear back from my client. Please, please, I really need it. Okay, okay. I’ll read a bit, then give sleep another shot.


greetings from my boyfriend’s computer. He’s upstairs going to bed and I’m as awake as a person who got 8 hours sleep and woke up feeling refreshed and ready to start the day. Except it’s 2am and I’ve been awake for hours and I’m miles away from refreshed. but I dunno, my current outlook feels refreshing I suppose. This keyboard feels foreign, but they are all the same when it comes down to it. My knuckles are sore and almost bruised, because I spent like 3 hours yesterday playing punch the ball. Punch the ball is a game i made up yesterday while visiting my parents’ house and hanging out in their garage. My brother was working on his truck and I was vaguely helping him and hanging out in the garage with him and my dad for most of the day. there is a tennis ball on a string hanging from the garage rafters, constructed years ago as a guide for parking a car so it fit just right. But that was my brother’s old car and he doesn’t live there anymore and the ball is superfluous.  but we were there and as he worked on his truck I talked to him and handed him tools and punched the tennis ball, hitting it in a perfect arch, so that it would swing back and meet the knuckles of my other hand. again and again and again and it was satisfying in that hard to quantify way. I didn’t even realize they were hurt until I stopped for a while, and they began to softly throb. But that doesn’t matter. It’s all nothing and nowhere and I wonder what the review board is thinking about my writing sample. We shot BB guns in the backyard. Waiting for my brother’s car to cool off so he could start his work, him and my dad and I. We killed cans and cups and an empty box of chocolates. My father is good at shooting things. He got his first real gun at 13. He shot a squirrel in a tree and it looked him in the eye and asked him “why?” and he never killed again. But he is a better shot than my brother and I combined, he takes down all the cans and the cup bleeds water all over the rocks beneath. And he shows us how to do it better. How to aim and how to breathe and when to squeeze the trigger. I hit three of four targets in a row, then miss the last one twice. “I can’t do it” I say, trying to hand him the Daisy Red Ryder, but he shakes his head. “brace yourself. Take a deep breath, aim, breathe out and when half of your breath is gone squeeze the trigger.” I do it and the can makes a *tink* as it falls from its perch. “you murdered that can.” he says to me, with a smile that I know means he is proud. Hours later, my brother is almost done with his car work, and my mom comes home. We hang out in the garage, all doors wide open to vent the terrible burnt rubber smell of transmission fluid. I make her play punch the ball with me as we talk and watch my brother put the new fluid into his truck, but she is really bad at it. She can’t make the ball go in an arch, can’t make it swing back and hit the knuckles of her other hand. So I make a new game where we make the ball go in a circle between us, gently nudging it to keep the momentum going. She is sparking and glowing but tired after driving two and a half hours home by herself. She tells us about her accomplishments, getting her and my father’s rental property ready for guests. She tells us the things she did to keep herself alert for the drive home, the landmarks she marked and the songs she wrote. We eat dinner together, and talk, and they are happy and it is nice. When my brother and I are getting ready to leave, she says “I’m glad I came home in time to see you guys! You’re so awesome!” “pshhh, naw, you’re awesome” I say. “no, you guys are so great.” she says. “well, you made us” my brother and I say in unison. We look at each other and start laughing out of control. we hug both our parents, and we go home.

mice elf

I feel a little weak, but in control. I stretch my body out and feel sore muscles (yes, good) and a few little tender spots that might be bruises on someone else. (Yes, good). I breathe, and listen to music, and feel quite a bit like myself. I really hope I get into this grad program, and get a teaching assistantship along with it. I imagine myself teaching an English 101 class filled with a bunch of college freshman. I would be good at it, I would make it less miserable. I should probably be spending more time thinking about a plan B for if I don’t get in… But I haven’t been. I’ll burn that bridge if I get to it I suppose. (But isn’t it supposed to be cross that bridge? Naw. If I end up at that bridge I’m gonna be pissed, and I’ll want to burn it down.) Aaaaanywhovillepenis… What was I talking about? I don’t care. I’m getting Slightly tired. I’m going to go.



Well, I wouldn’t say v day was an unmitigated disaster… But it was definitely some type of disaster. Everything in general has got me feeling sad af. I wanna do something different. I’m sick of sleeping in and being slept on. Sick of taking up so much space. My fucking play store isn’t working and I can’t figure out how to fix it. Just keeps saying server error and I tried all the stuff the internet recommended already. Whatever. Whatever. Whatever. Time needs to stop passing so fucking quickly, it’s really freaking me out. But it’s my own fault for killing my days with nothingness. I really fucking hope this freelance work comes through soon. I really hope it does. I need it to. I’m afraid of everything and it makes sleep go so far away from me. I’m messed up. I need to write a how to guide for making me feel the things I want to feel. That’s something I can do, right? 😳 I don’t know. I can try. I’m knots and good intentions and bad rhymes. I’m plots and honorable mentions and door chimes. I’m messed up. I’m the mover of plants, architect of the day crew and the night crew. I’m a night fisherman with no bait, but I keep casting the line. I listen to dreams and sounds and lose track of which is which. Looks like there’s a new sunstone out, so I’m going to go and read it.