i bruise easily, inside and out.
every time i get dirt under my fingernails, i think of my great-grandmother, and how she scraped her nails on a bar of ivory soap before she dug around in her garden.
this morning i dreamed i threw up an enormous black ball of gunk. goodbye, issues.
bugs love me. and i love bugs. i've rescued countless cockroaches around my neighborhood, and i'm not ashamed to say that.
i don't seem to be able to cry that much anymore. are the meds that powerful, i wonder?
every time i listen to a podcast of someone i admire, i always question my own choices, and wonder what i could've done with my life to be more like her. or him.
i adore my friends. they are my family.
i love my family, but they aren't so much my friends.
watching my children grow up is a blessed relief. i'm glad they can almost take care of themselves. almost. if only they would stop demanding that i get them a glass of water.
my work is my house of worship.
i am not my mother. but i love to drink out of large mason jars, just like her.
while picking a live louse out of one of my student's hair today, i . . . well, . . . i should just leave it at that.
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