I’m trying to figure out how to process things.

You see, its like all of a sudden I’m grown up. I’m shopping for home owners insurance and answering phones like I know what I’m talking about. I’m running things, juggling the bills, talking about kids, getting a divorce, giving buisness advice, and organizing communities. At the end of the day I sit down in my bed and stare, the phone rings and I ignore it. Another friend I’ll have to see another time, tonight I’m too tired to talk. I crack open a Red Stripe and feel myself suspended in limbo, some where between adolescence and a white picket fence.

Its a cold spring day. The kind of day where the air is a mix of glacial running water and dryer sheet boxes with pictures of flowers and grassy mountains. I’m sipping hot coffee to warm up and keep the demons at bay. Everything has been a blur of rush, take-out, panic, phone ringing, bills, cardboard boxes, shady stoves, creatures, flyers, bills, coffee. This morning I stopped time for a second to sit with the baby chickens. There’s one that looks like some kind of bird of paradise. She jumps out of the box the first chance she gets and settles on your shoulder. Valerie.


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