There is this misapprehension that I don’t No Let me see Drawing a blank Waking up in a jar Waking up in the back seat of a car hurtling down the edge of a mountain Strawberries growing wild on the side of the mountain blur by in little streaks of vermillion. What color are strawberries? Kind of sounds like you’re just picking a color word to avoid saying plain old “red”. And why not? And what else can I do. I claim to love language; perhaps I just need it. That’s why I’m so possessive of it. Get mad when it. Goes out with someone else. I don’t know. YOu are dumb. THis is pointless. Are the midday sessions really even worthwhile anymore? I took a nap today. It felt good. It was a little hard to get up but not too hard. I’m still mad because Rick said “some of our families might find the topless woman on the cover of her book offensive and innapropriate.” God, I can just hear the cloying sucky way that he said “topless woman” in his mind. What a fucking baby. Conjures up circus images of unicycles and blockheads and sin in a tent. Woop woop woop, right this way folks we got TOPLESS WOMAN in here! Woop! And have a drink of ALCOHOL while you’re at it! What a fucking moron. How come people can’t understand that we’re human beings and we have bodies. Topless woman. You fucking git. you must have a lot of fucking nightmares that make you feel things you don’t understand. My god, it’s not even a “topless woman.” It’s a stylized artistic rendering of a figure. Fertile, nurturing, frank, and proud. Yes, it has TITS, rick. What are you going to do about all the TITS in the world? Put them in a spreadsheet and quantify them into nonexistence? Good god give me a fucking break. Fuck Mormons. Fuck all these people all rigged up to the neck in their stiff white religious cats cradles of propriety. Get a fucking hobby. Do something with your life besides draw lines all over where everybody can and can’t go and what your kids can and can’t look at. Guess what. There’s war and violence and killing and shit running through the streets and DOnald Fucking Assclown Trump is president. Give me a fucking break, this silly little illustration on the cover of a book by some lady from Wisconsin that almost no one’s ever heard of is offensive. FUCK. THE FUCK. OFF. AND GROW. THE FUCK. UP. Oh my god, it’s frustrating to have to cowtow to a little baby. I thought I was done changing diapers. WEll shit. I still don’t know what to say. Maybe I could waste some time this afternoon looking for a SHortcut that fixes two initial capitals, because there’s no Typinator on iOS and I’m sure as hell not paying for a “subscription” to the other one. Fuck subscriptions. I’m kind of in a fucky mood, I guess. Do you think we’ll be able to walk up to the Custer sign? Will it be super cold? Snowy? Slippery? Windy? Who will want to go? Who will take it as a challenge? A youth and virility and adventurousness challenge? WHo will mean it as that? What’s it going to be like having my and my brother’s families under the same roof? Is Heather a little insipid? Am I going to drink at all? Why do I wish so much Megan was going to be there? It’s not because I’m sad she’s missing out; she’s going to NY and Philly. It’s because I want to represent the entire coolness of my family, and she’s one of the key team members. But you know what? It will be good to let the others out from under the shadow of her occasionally insolent charisma. Let the quieter, more tentative ones have the foreground for a little while. As soon as Millie stops being such a fashion victim to memes and Internet-speak, she’ll be totally awesome too. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s totally awesome already. You can tell by how her room feels. The vibe in there when she’s not there. Plants like it in there. So do cats. It seems full and velvety and vibrant and quietly humming and kind of crackling with a relaxed potentiality. Like a massage in an electric storm. I’m just saying, I’m looking forward to hearing her own voice come out louder than the voices of mass media and necessary loud pushback against long habits of social anxiety. She’s in a play. SHe’s made friends. A boy asked her out and she said yes. I told you she didn’t need all those weird fakely specific “I’m ____” sexuality labels. But I’m glad I didn’t make a big pontificatory grandiose kerfuffle about them. I glad I knew enough to just mostly more or less let it go.