Somehow, everything will end how it must.

I was newly-eleven when my gram died. I sat side-ways in the bucket-seat of the backseat of the van and looked out the window at the Rhode Island country. I think I had chamomile tea one day as we drove up from our house in Connecticut, because I remember that I fell asleep... this was the year before when my grampy died. And the same brain-fuzz came over me as we drove up. And I sat side-ways in the bucket-seat of the back of the van on the way to the house my mother grew up in, now called my mother's brother's house instead of "Olive's house", as it had been the year before, when my grampy died. Respect for the dead, or just not wanting to have to imagine the dead retaining something many of the living do not, even if the dead have heirs to inherit.

Two deaths in a year and there's still a chasm between the time before my gram died and the time I returned to school two weeks later.




My hair's been cut. I quit my job last month. I ended it for good with my no-longer-actual-boyfriend-but-somehow-still-is-there-boyfriend.


May be moving soonish.
Let me not be stupid.