In Storage

I have a dutch oven

I have 200 books

I have vibrators

and a blender and a cheese grater

a can opener

I have boots

and coats

a full size fitted sheet

an electric scooter

packed away in some box there is an alter to my father

and my father's ashes

I have dresses, scarves

bottles of half empty spirits

a witches broom from Tennessee- a christmas gift from my mother

and a vacuum- a parting gift from Nicole

There is a desk lamp, 

and tax informations

a hairdryer

and a clothes steamer

I've been a year without them, so maybe I never needed them. The only things I miss on the regular are the full size fitted sheet (I bought a new one), the vibrator (I refuse to buy another when I know I have one, somewhere), dad's ashes (which- I thought I brought with me. I'll never forgive myself if I lost dad. Although what an ode to our childhood, full of misplacing things in the moves), the Fernet Branca (after dinner, it tells your brain you're done eating), some of my books (most of them, honestly) and the desk lamp (how am I supposed to SEE anything I'm working on??) 

I was thinking of this recently because I just bought a can opener. I opened two cans with a paring knife and a mallet and while it worked, it takes too long and next time I'm sure I'll get careless and cut myself. It turns out that Ester and I both spent several weeks hammering at tinned fish with knives before breaking down and just buying the proper apparatus. I mentioned that the last two I've purchased have broken way before they should have and she said she got the one from her childhood- simple, metal. So, so have I. Fingers crossed. 

I hate the life I've made for myself, but I like the things in life. I like this pandan matcha I just bought, that Nelli introduced me too. I like the little dog I pet in the cafe, and the Vietnamese way of make coffee for 10 hours. I hate my credit score and that it's that way because I have no discipline and that I live like a burden or a coddled child. But I did that, that's my fault. I keep being tempted to blame my parents too, but it's not fair even though it's easy. Everyone else is doing fine in the area's that I'm failing at and no one had perfect parents, and mine were actually pretty great. 

I think I should apply to grad school. In another country. Then I can get my degree and increase my credit score while living someplace where I can rent an apartment without a credit score. I have been thinking of the UK, Ireland, Canada- where I speak the language. 

october huji pics so far

 playing pool and eating dumplings with Adriene and Conor @ Mr. Fongs

getting new keys cut for the new studio space ////////    jess teaching class with Buster on her lap

lights reflected in the studio window at golden hour    ///      cooking sushi rice without a pot lid

taking a depression walk in the park and seeing the beauty of the sunset over the baseball fields

watching the ducks, listening to the woodpeckers

a peek into the pond

feeling myself 

 

Happy Birthday To Me

 

Turned 36

       I've had this journal for over 10 years. I think, without looking into the archive, I maybe have been logging on to this old thing for 16 years, if time can be believed. I turned 36 last Wednesday. It was lovely having people wish me well, and the occasional person said some really lovely things to me. I got a couple of gifts (a strange toad figurine from Dave with his signature script lovingly painted down the back; a cylindrical box of chocolates from Lora), and I was at the studio all day. Literally all day though. My morning class, I covered the teen class for Ester, and then the evening class I do from home. 

    I was well tired by 9 pm, when I got a text from Rachel telling me to come up, which I did. There waiting for me was not only Rachel, but Shiyara, Jess, Lilian, and two sleepy children heads lolling on the couch. The adults were dancing with silly novelty rainbow glasses on and dancing to a birthday song, with cake! There had been stomping all through my class, which I'd assumed was just the kids running off the energy of the day, but it was my friends, putting up banners and setting up a surprise. It's so sweet, they're so sweet. We did some karaoke later and I got knocked the fuck out by one half of an edible and one singular rum cocktail. I have been told that this is my late 30's and I should get used to it. I fear that the hangover plus the long days I worked last week were a battering ram against my immune system, and Friday I got sick (we though it was allergies. We, meaning me and the man at Accurate Pharmacy who diagnosed me and sold me some sudafed) but I was out all weekend, ded to the world.

Last night was the first night in maybe months where I've just nodded off, no supplements to sleep, no videos to lull me away to dreamland. It was amazing. There has had to be a bridge to get me to sleep, something to distract my busy brain while the rest of me falls out. I flagellate myself at night, cursing and reminding myself of Every Single Thing I've Done Wrong Ever and also Recently. I need a little diversion usually so I can just sleep without fucking crying but yesterday, ah! yesterday! I was so tired I simply slept! I merely SLEPT and for hours and hours (although I have been waking up at 4 am, strangely). I'm writing here at 2 am because every time I pause I hate myself but I'm so tired. I just want to sleep. But I have friends that love me for some reason, so I'm archiving it here, in case I forget. I only took a very few pictures, but enjoy: 

nervous blood

 blood feels nervous and so do my muscles

everything feels tense like someone is running an electrical current through my veins

like I'm being very gently tased

theres a superpower that's often used in media, in fables, in tales, stories: seeing into the future. I would like to see into the future, but just the way normal people see. Five year plans, desires, hopes. Sometimes I get a premonition, but it's of being old and poor, like when I see an elderly person struggling up the stairs in the subway. 

I was thinking of the word, "insatiable" today. Usually it's used to describe someone sex-crazed or obsessed with food, or action. But what about a static insatiability? Like no matter how much she sleeps she is never satisfied, she is insatiable. No matter how much she tries it is not enough, the void is insatiable. No matter what luck drops in her lap it is not good enough for her, she is insatiable. Yes she lives alone but the light is bad. Yes she has a good job, but she wants more money. more more more. insatiable 

Soft Launch of a Soft Landing

Josie is sobbing upstairs. Wailing and screaming in a way that, with the noise canceling headphones on, (but not playing anything) I can't quite tell when it's her sometimes or a fire engine going by. Poor kid, she reminds me of me, in the worst ways. Sleep away camp was supposed to end this weekend but her moms had to drive up yesterday to pick her up early- kicked out, for stealing. Twice. Right now is the reckoning, Both Ali and Rachel are talking to her about The Incident, and I don't think she's taking it well.

I'm in the apartment I was supposed to move into, on the garden level. I don't know how long it will last, and honestly, being down here, I don't think a year in here would be good for me. Its a studio, but there's not a real door- just barn doors, swinging with an inch of visibility into the room even when they're "closed". Which would be okay but for the fact that Ali also has her studio down here, and just breezes in and out when she pleases. Can a girl get A Room With A Door? How far we have fallen from A Room With A View. I suppose I have settled with A Room of One's Own.  One day I hope to have A Home With A View And A Door, Of My Own- A Clean Well Lighted Place. 

I'm ignoring texts again. I don't know why I do it, I just don't respond to some things. Even to people I love, or to things which are important. Or that I want to answer. It feels... pathological. 

I have to go to work soon. There's a student at work who farms at Brooklyn Grange, and she brings me vegetables. Today: a bundle of rosemary, three hot peppers, a basket of cherry tomatoes, and a tiny, perfect, garlic. I was singing to myself the other day about how shitty garlic in NYC is, how I've never lived somewhere (except maybe Iceland) where it was so hit or miss on whether you'd get a good or rotten clove. So, that little fresh garlic, secreted away in the cherry tomatoes, nearly makes me want to cry. 

MORE RANTING, I'M SORRY

Oh, and part of my deal for living here has been that I help her organize her storage unit, which never actually happens party because neither of us really want to do it. Today we were supposed to try again, but it didn't happen, and she said it'll be easier once she figures out when she's moving because she'll know what she wants to keep and get rid of. 

...

GODDAMNIT WOMAN: once you are moving I ALSO MUST MOVE. And I'm not making millions in profit from selling my house and I'm not moving into a 2.3 million dollar apartment two blocks away. I will be spending all of my money trying to move into a horrible apartment probably 5 miles from everyone I know. I feel like I'm going crazy, she encouraged me for a year to just stay with her so I could find a perfect apartment, but then she essentially told me to stop looking because she was going to rent me out her garden apartment, and now that that's not happening she's acting like I'm not SOBBING IN PUBLIC about it. I was going to pay $1000 tops to live here and now I am facing a market where the baseline is $2000. 

She's also so nice, like she's trying to help me get my meds. But I'm also so ANGRY. 

Pretty Things

 

Housing problems, again

I've been staying with a friend for nearly a year, her kindness is unimaginable. I stopped looking for other housing because she said I could move into the studio apartment in the basement for one more year. But now, boom, she hates owning a house and is going to sell the house exactly right after I would have moved in downstairs. I turned down two sublets that would have been pretty affordable ("affordable" according to Brooklyn) and now I'm going to absolutely eat shit out here in the real world. 

I don't want to be uncomfortable, but also I don't think I deserve comfort. I don't work hard for it. My credit is awful and I owe so much money everywhere. It's just so hard to do things until the shit is about to hit the fan. Or until it already has. Emergencies make my brain work and otherwise I can't 1) pay bills 2) respond to people 3) get out of bed 4) anything. I feel like I'm working all the time but at the same time I know I'm not working hard enough. I wish I earned $100,000 a year, but I also don't deserve that? 

How many cups would I have to sell to make $100,000?   

oh, actually only 1666. I can make 60 a month maybe. That only a little over 720 a year. That's $50,000. I can only actually half of what I want. yikes. 

Maybe if I make 40 a month and sell them for 60 and the store takes half I can make $1200 a month. In addition to what I make then I could maybe 

My studio is also being taken away. No where for me to hang my humble hat. 

I've been sort of just waiting out these last few months, I just wanted to live alone for the second time in my life (the first outside the dorms) and just have my evenings to myself, just be able to do my hair without worrying about the dog. To be able to save more money. to cook and store it in the fridge without taking up space. To work on project and leave it out overnight. Now I'll be spending $2200 a month to live far away a studio apartment. 

I don't know. The department of education has been gutted, the EPA is being gutted. The secret police has been funded beyond imagination. I'll never make a paycheck on my own that is equal to what our secret police is being paid. I want to leave but I can't even think of how. What the hell do I have to offer the world. I feel like there's no way to be in the world without being worthy. I believe that and somehow chose to be an artist. Why, because I like it? I should have done something else, dear god I don't deserve to live. 

Everything feels like, like my sinuses and neck, and chest are made out of the sleeve that goes around your arm when they take your blood pressure. It just feels like someone is pumping up the inside of my body, not to bursting point but just enough to feel it, all the time. I laughed a lot today but I can't remember the last time I was happy. 

Dead Outlaw

Back on days of yore, early 2020, I determined that it would be my Year of Theatre. I went to see one, maybe two shows (one being the really quite amazing Hamlet starring Ruth Negga at St. Ann's Place) (she crawled out into the audience, and I wish I had bought a seat closer to the stage so she could have climbed near me) (I've loved her since Breakfast on Pluto. There weren't many half black half white women in the media back then, so it was easy to fall in love quick) before the pandemic hit, and there were no shows to see. And then I just didn't buy another ticket for awhile. I've decided to change that, I bought a ticket to go see Dead Outlaw on its very final performance. The line was around the block, which didn't make me nervous- I had a seat and time to spare. I bought a ($20) cocktail and a bottle of water, peed, and found my (frankly, perfect) seat in the mezzanine. The woman in front of me was tiny, and I had a full view of the stage. My leg did its little involuntary kick early on which means I'm enjoying myself, and I cried at the end. This being the last show, the director (I think?) came out on stage to say thank you and express how much he loved his cast and crew, and then did an encore. It was amazing, I want to see more. Why not see everything if you live in New York, right?  

Wood Fire 2025

 

I don't know why I love this dithering tool  but I really enjoy putting photos into it and seeing it turn into a relic. Somehow it makes the photo feel authentic? Like it was in the paper? 

I'm back in Germantown, firing the anagama kiln at Oki Doki. This time the crew is Cor and Em, Lilian and Chala, and of course, me. Maybe it's being a small fish in a new pond, maybe it's having time away from my life to reflect on myself,  but every time I come up here I start to feel deeply useless. I adore Lilian but it's sort of the same feeling I have being around my brother- they are so charming and capable that I fade into the background. I've got this bubble that I live in at Gasworks, and I am used to being a source of information and knowledge. I'm used to being capable there, and needed. And here I am pretty ignored, and I try and show my enthusiasm for the process, but it's not as big as Lilian's and Andrew keeps giving her fun little things to do, or people turn to her for advice or conversation. I feel like a bug. 

It also doesn't help that I never know what's going on with kilns until I do it maybe 10 times.  It was like this in college, it was like this with the gas kiln at New Clay Studio, it's like this with wood. How Lilian retains the information when it's been 9 months since the last firing, I'll never know. It's the same with most processes, it just doesn't stick to my brain. It's like trying to stick a piece of paper to a dusty wall using masking tape that was ripped off a cardboard box- it just sort of doesn't adhere. I went to the firing last night jus to observe and it was like a dog trying to follow a phonics lesson. And it's frustrating- I seem to be asking the wrong questions or asking them badly; I feel like I have to ask the same thing over and over. 

I'm not feeling suicidal right now actually, which is nice, but I've had this idea in my head, this plan for years and years now that when I turn 40 I'll jump off a bridge. I don't see a future for myself, and this is sort of a way to keep one foot in front of the other. An out, but not yet. Anyways, I don't know which bridge, but there's plenty in New York. You know when you're getting to one when you see signs on the road promoting mental health hotlines. I've start a google spreadsheet as we were passing over a bridge yesterday. It's only got that one entry, but it's a good one. Walking path, low guardrail, feels like it's a mile high, right over the Hudson. The only issue with jumping is that I've heard you might change your mind on the way down.  enough time passes between the act of jumping and the moment of hitting the grounf that you have time to think about your choice. There's that guy who survived who said something like, "I realized that all the problems in my life were solvable, except the problem of me having just jumped off a bridge," and I don't want to experience that. I suppose the other issue with jumping is that you die. 

I brought way too many things to the woodfire, and I feel a little guilt about it, but also we didn't have enough work to fill the kiln. So I kept bringing out mugs and bringing out vases. It would be terribly embarrassing to fill the whole kiln to the brim with so much of my work and have it all look like shit.  But fuck it, I'm really excited about my mugs, and my vases, and my faces, and my apples. There's a lot of shinos and wood ash glazes, and an apple absolutely covered in woodash (in a way that might be problematic when I have to clean it up... time to invest in dremel bits.) 

Blue Tate, circa 2014

 

distance or time

 I saw a vintage car today, an old taxi painted white. I don't see old autos anymore and I wonder if that's because I don't live in LA anymore or because enough time has passed since childhood that those cars are no longer on the street. New York is not a car town, people have cars to go upstate, to do jobs. No on here is in it for the love of the object. But I find myself wondering that same thing sometimes- is this distance or time that has made this memory a stranger? 

Deserving

Many years ago now Adriene passionately delivered an address against the usage of the word "deserve". No, not just usage, but a belief in the concept of "deservedness" itself. To believe that someone deserves something, or doesn't, is dangerous. It projects your morals across a situation that may be more nuanced that whatever black and white belief system you've developed in order to simplify the world into a manageble bite. I find myself rearranging sentences in my head now as I'm thinking them: from "well she deserves it" into, "well, she's worked really hard- not only for this outcome,  but in many spheres of her life. When the opportunity came not only was she ready, but able. And, on top of all of that, I'm happy for her, but jealous, and that's okay." It's long winded, but it makes me reflect more? 

^ that example is actually what made me think of it today actually. Ester just got a new apartment, she's been approved and she'll be moving in throughout the month. It's more money than I would want to spend, and I have debts with the utilities companies and my taxes that paralyze me and make it feel impossible to strike out on my own. I want to live alone but I feel like a child. All I can really think, all that I continue to come back to repeat like a little horrible mantra is I don't deserve it. I can rephrase it too: "Because I ignore the responsibilities are required to live as an independent adult, and can barely keep one thought or intention in my head from minute to minute; because my savings are abysmal; because my credit is middling; because all of this and more, I do not deserve it. There is no world except for inside my maladaptive daydreams which are the only thing that propel me out of bed in the morning in which I deserve this life. " (The Dream: I win $93 million, pay back everything, hire the best accountant and a money manager, buy 4 houses or apartments for me, my mom, Adriene, and someone else, and then live comfortably for the rest of my life, drowning in ADHD medication and antidepressants) 

Camille Claudel

 I love Rodin. There was a small exhibition of his work a few years ago at the Brooklyn Museum, in the oft forgotten about gallery on the first floor, before you even get to the ticket area. They've redesigned that foyer so many times, shifting the gift shop into a gallery and then into a classroom, and back again, I dont know if the Rodin space exists anymore in that same form. Like my memory exists in a walled off room. 

It was poorly attended the two times I went, with maybe two guards, bored, with drifted gazes boring through the walls opposite their posts. So no one noticed when I touched the toes of a sculpture. It's maddening being so close to a sculpture and not being able to touch it. I can remember visually, of course, but memory through feel is so strong. I can remember how my dads face looks partially through memory of feel, running my fingers over his face, even as his shook me away in irritation. 

Camille Claudel is always a part of Rodin's biography. Usually a chapter, or an aside. As a model in one of his pieces, or sometimes they put her work in his show. I hadn't really looked at her as deeply. 

I'm reading some of Anne Carson's Short Talks. This one caught my eye and made me look again, or for the first time? at Camille Claudel: 

SHORT TALK ON SLEEP STONES
Camille Claudel lived the last thirty years of her life in an asylum wondering why, writing letters to her brother the poet, who had signed the papers. Come visit me, she says. Remember I am living here with madwomen, days are long. She did not smoke or stroll. She refused to sculpt. Although they gave her sleep stones—marble and granite and porphyry—she broke them, then collected the pieces and buried these outside the walls at night. Night was when her hands grew huger and huger, until in the photograph they are like two parts of someone else loaded onto her knees.

30 years. Thirty years. I am thirty five, that's mostly my entire life, thirty years. Imprisoned by her younger brother who dissaporved of her lifestyle- who was a POET! He wasn't some artless fob, he was only her younger by 4 years, he only visited her 7 times in three decades, and he denied every request by everyone to release her.

I read it once and was curious. I read it again and was confused. I read it again, and then the wikipedia page, and then the wiki again, and then I put my head in my hands and cried. How do we do this to people, to people we know, people we are supposed to love? How could so many people and policies fail a sane woman, a genius, a well known figure? She lived until her 70's, she didn't tragically die young, she was merely illusioned into a young death. Disappeared away. It all happened when her father died, the wiki said "her loving and wealthy father," the last line between her and the end of her life. I'm ineloquent about this, but I will be thinking about this for a long time. I feel like I must align myself with Claudel over Rodin, like having ignored her for... 30 years... I. feel complicit. Like she's been there there whole time but in a little walled off room. 

Ocean Grove Day

 

Waiting, so I'm not early, after being late

The first sighting of a fuzzy bumblebee:  I heard buzzing behind me and caught it just as it disappeared under a wooden awning. Josie and Rachel will be upset- even the most innocent flying bug freaks them out- but I love the fat little guys. They are like little floating bumper cars, fizzing and drifting, drunk on pollen. 

Last night Samson, Ester, Lilian and I had a drink after work. I had to finish up a trynight, and Sam got off work right as I was done so we walked together to meet the other two at Sea Witch - which was *bumping* Some kind of birthday party I'm sure. We saw Maryim, a student at Gasworks, and also two different tik tokers. Samson was the only one who recognized one of them, I think our algorithms are similar. I actually really like the content of the guys I saw, but I didn't say anything to them. 

I don't know if Lilian's crush on Ester is a play act or real, maybe it's a little of both. Ester just broke up with Nick, who is a nice man, but I think everyone was a little relieved, everyone was expecting it to happen. Anyways, we were sitting there and the way optical illusions can flip an image from one reality into another, I kept switching between the reality we were in, and one where Ester and Lil were a couple. I think it would be really sweet, they'd be such a power couple.

This morning I was supposed to be on a train to New Jersey. Mom is here for two more days, and I was invited out to spend time with Tate and Mom at the same time, which hasn't happened since Christmas, two years ago (two? three?) in Tennessee. But the trynight, the drink. The fact that I'm in sleep debt. I woke at 6 but couldn't make it out of bed till 7:30. Had to buy toilet paper, the first place I tried wasn't open (really Brooklyn bodega?? 8am you're still shuttered?? for shame, FOR SHAME). I also meant to buy deodorant. I also just realized, via misspelling it just no that deodorant is a de-odor- ant. I mean, barely a revelation but I've never looked at it before.  Language is a complex made of bricks and each brick is a tome. 

Well, I didn't make that train in the end. Didn't even try. Looked at the schedule for the F, realized I wouldn't make it. Called my mom nearly in tears. I'll catch the next one. I'll be there by 1. 

I gotta go now, actually. dang. 

Post Script: I made the train, and got to New Jersey and had a really nice weekend with the fam. 

New Years Day 2025

 We did the polar plunge! 

New Years Eve 2025

 

Of course, I'm posting this a month later. This was my best effort and thank god I'm so inept at dressing up, because the place we ended up going felt like the only bar in a small fishing town- in the best sense. It was jolly and crowded, and we sat next to some really sweet lawyers and chatted with them for awhile. But this, this outfit which was a sheer top (which youth instagram just informed me is OUT) with my work pants, plus lots of eye makeup and some glitter, and big hair-- this felt like the most glamorous outfit in the whole bar. Lots of people were wearing like, cozy sweaters. 

There was live music, and a countdown at midnight, and everyone sang Auld Lang Syne. After midnight the band started playing all the hits (from the 60's and 70's) (it was the perfect band for the perfect crowd, I couldn't have asked for more). We walked for 20 minutes to the Ikea- Ester insisted that if we went through the parking lot we'd have an amazing view, but we were stopped by the cops. We all went home and went to bed. New Years Eve at age 35. 

Finding the light

Or chasing it, rather. 

This little window of sun lasted for only a few minutes. 

I took some pictures and stepped away and came back,

it was diminished considerably. 

New Year, New Me

Look, my dad died years ago, and I miss him, and I'm sure it's affected me quite a lot, but he's gone. I think that it's been the worst for mom, because when you partner with someone, you're not really one person anymore. You're a little bit them, and a little bit you. Percentages vary. But I'm single. And my friendships are surface. If I died, I think people would be upset but I think it would be like taking a rock out of a river. The empty space gets filled in immediately with water, and the river keeps running.

I'm in a mood because I came into work an hour early for apparently no reason, and I wish I had had the extra hour to put in my contacts, and choose different shoes (it's snowing, I'm wearing tennis shoes) (tenna shoes). I'm cold and I'm peeved. I want to be on the couch. Also, Sunny barked for 6 minutes this morning and I had to get up to make her stop. I'm the only one who tells her not to bark, and she stops when she sees me now, why am I the only one training her out of this habit? Like, am I crazy, we don't want dogs who just bark all the time, in the city, right? Did I miss something? Is it cruel now, and no one told me? She ate her own shit last night. I like her a lot, she hangs out on my lap and chest now a lot more, which is very comforting and sweet, but who chooses a creature that needs and needs and needs all the time, when you're already stretched so thin? 

Goals for the year: 

Get Passport. 

Get a handle on debts. 

Get back on meds. 

Travel somewhere. 

Have a happiness, even if just for a day, or a moment, or a week. Real joy. The kind that cuts through and makes a permanent memory. 

Looking Up

Questionnaire for 2024

 I've been having a grand ol' time slogging through the tumblr I've been keeping since... college? High school? Anyways, it's 1 am and I'm probably still on'y gone back to 2016 or so, plenty more to scroll through. I found this series of questions though, and since it's a new year I thought I'd try and answer them. 

end of year asks

1. what did you learn about yourself this year? Not sure. Maybe that I am not as strong as I have been in the past. I really just kind of gave up this year and if i don't change things, actually put effort into something, anything, I'll just keep on deteriorating.
2. best moment of the year? I'm not really a "remember-best-moments" kind of lady. I literally can't remember anything.
3. worst moment of the year? Probably cleaning the house and moving out. It was brutal, and unending. And exhausting, physically, emotionally.
4. what was the biggest change you experienced this year? Moving. I don't live in my own place anymore.
5. best song of the year? At the end of the year, the very end, I found a song called "Bone to Bone" by Small Fools and listened to that on repeat a couple hours a day for a few days. "Togtet" by Vanir, and other songs on my Metal, Etc playlist kept me from spiraling a lot this year. "Money on the Dash" and "What I Want" were top on my spotify wrapped, for what that's worth.
6. best album of the year? I enjoyed brat.
7. what’s one thing that happened this year that you want to change? I want to get back on meds. I am a pretty useless human being and want to be better.
8. best book/book series of the year? I read a lot of Richard Osman. I really enjoyed his worlds he built for me and my mom.
9. best television series? Oh god, I don't know. I watched Survivor with my friends, and that makes it the best show.
10. how was your love life this year? pass
11. what made you cry the most this year? weird stuff. I have been pretty turned off, but every once in a while somethign will sneak past the gate and I must do my duty and sob. And then stop.
12. biggest regret of the year? why choose. They're all my children.
13. best movie of the year? I enjoyed Challengers, Conclave, Nosferatu. I also enjoyed Drive Away Dolls, though I wish it had been tighter. I liked Furiousa, and Love Lies Bleeding too.
14. favourite place you travelled this year? I went back home, to say goodbye.
15. did you make any new friends? Yes
16. did you learn anything about your sexuality this year? It needs to be tended to or it dies.
17. what are some hobbies that you developed? no
18. what surprised you the most this year? nothing really
19. do you look different from the beginning of the year? I can't really differentiate time anymore.
20. how did this year treat you in general? the way I treated it. badly. via indifference.
21. what message would you give yourself at the beginning of the year? try a bit harder. You have health insurance, btw.
22. has your fashion style changed this year? I have leaned even farther into uniforms. I have about 6 pairs of the same pants, all the same socks. 3 pairs of the same bra, mostly the same underwear.
23. one of the best meals you’ve had this year? who can say.
24. who has made the biggest impact in your life this year? Rachel, she's housing me, god bless her.
25. what’s one thing that you hope will continue next year? living i guess, just better.

I don't know why I bothered, sad sack