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inspired by
manyface's page, which was based off an assignment by poet Mary Howe. the goal is to document 10 observations of the real world per week.
october 09, 2024: my grandma used to love cardinals before she passed. today, while crying over the lack of living in my life, i saw a female cardinal fluttter by. i think we tend to make big things out of coincidences when we're looking to hear what we want to hear, but does the authenticity of a sign really matter if it reinforces your faith in the divine?
october 08, 2024: sometimes people are understanding. i get so wrapped up in my paranoias sometimes that i forget kindness exists in the world too.
october 07, 2024: the squirrels will climb right up to my living room window and peer in at us, sometimes. i often wonder what goes on in his little mind when he looks in at us. is it like when we look at magnified microscopic beings through scientific equipment? is it like an alien peering into a portal to a different world, a different culture, a different existence? is it like looking at a captive animal through zoo glass screens? is it like anything at all?
october 04, 2024: i got so high tonight it felt like i ascended, like i had become someone else, someone better, that Good version of me i keep writing about in storms of envy. it faded too quickly, of course---i slept through most of it, but when i woke up i felt a brief okay. i think the world is better when certain things are being filtered out of your brain.
october 04, 2024: i dont really remember what the paramedics said but in my migraine-induced haze i looked up at one of the paramedics and i saw my father in place of the person helping me and it was so surreal. you know when i get these migraines half my body goes paralyzed and i'm so out of it, i can barely speak. yes, it's a real thing, even if rare. but i remember they were so nice to me, in the way he never was.
october 03, 2024: the event i went to today was so welcoming but i still felt out of place. i am eternally a crooked wall frame, forever a mistake to be painted over, an intentional metaphor that goes so unnoticed. but despite all of this i still wasnt scared. baby steps?
october 02, 2024: it's finally cold enough for me to start veiling again (i can't do it in the summer months because i'm prone to heatstroke/intolerance). it was about 60f out today.
october 02: 2024: i finally got that stain out of my favorite shirt and i feel like me again