Sunday 23:13:41 You dont write about yourself because youre so stuck on yourself; You do it because you want to make a cup for your brother to drink from. You want to provide the only microcosm you can for the aliens or the future or your kids kids kids or fucking whoever because despite how sick and gross and slimy and sleazy and mean and ugly they can be, you have to admit you still love people too, just like your daughters discovering she does, and you want to try to accidentally find a little bit of the universal by combing thru your own dumb specificity. And yeah youre a little jealous that shes just now discovering parties and concerts and festivals and drag queens while you’re discovering being fuckkng exhausted and having to go to work like some kind of fucking professional. But its ok because shes happy and so was her sister for at least one god dammed good day, and youll keep going to work if it increases the chances that they can have more of those. But yeah, you would like a little more hugs and music back in your own life too now wouldnt you.