the past isn’t dead. it isn’t even past.

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this is what things look like lately, a lot of lying in bed alone, wearing cute tights and having no energy or desire to leave the house. my main squeeze has been too busy to come over lately, and i’ve been too busy/tired to go over there, so my bed has turned into a nest of books, scissors, rubber stamps, (it’s weird because i’m typing this and i see my left hand typing and then i see my left hand in that picture above, it’s a little disconcerting), paper scraps, boxes of crackers, fabric, tinctures, zines, envelopes, etc. when he comes over i make things into a pile but usually i just need enough space for my body. it feels nice surrounded by mess, art tools, words. it feels like safety to me. it feels like my own little kingdom that is horrifying to most people, but the ones who make it there understand, and that’s what matters.

i am an old person lately: sewing while listening to books on tape, taking long, aimless walks to look at graffiti and plants. work has left me too exhausted to socialize and EVEN THOUGH I KNOW IT’S NOT TRUE i often feel like i don’t have friends here. trying to take care, hold on, be safe. be useful and compassionate still. everything goes in cycles. there is one exciting thing going on that i can’t really talk about here. let’s just say that the two of bottles keeps coming up in my tarot card readings. but, as exciting as this potential and spark is, it’s also highly problematic and could fuck everything up super hard, so i can’t let myself give in to it and just be stoked. what does it mean to feel a strong connection with an unlikely person? what are they trying to teach you? i really wish i had someone i could talk to about this.

feeling magical despite all the drama and hopelessness. feeling safe despite all the chaos. listening to high energy songs and also sad songs. about betrayal, desperation, hope and crushes. i just turned thirty-two! does any of it matter?

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