Whew, I really need to talk to the creek at Elkhorn about some shit. I started to type up all the various crimes and misdemeanors of my mom this weekend, compounded by the fucking horror that is the Supreme Court and my complicated feelings about having spent my whole life as the product of an unwanted pregnancy, told from a small age that I was different than the other, wanted children and my very life proof of my mother's heroic failure to abort me. I grew up a pro-life prop, brought to rallies outside of abortion clinics, sanctimonious walks for life, and other drives to fund those kind of fake pregnancy centers that offer guilt and toy fetuses to low income women so they become emotionally trapped into carrying a pregnancy to term. To say nothing of my own experiences, the fear, the purity cult, the hangups with my own body. I open up this issue in my mind, and there are fucking oceanic depths of shit. It just goes deeper and deeper. I guess I started this paragraph saying I was going to talk about it, but now I am.

I think everyone is already just so stressed out and tired. Globally, and for me, all that the last two years have been personally. I think about it and start to cry, and then get angry because that's all I ever do about anything, and I have stuff to do today. The streak my mascara left on the side of my face makes me look somehow surprised when I check the mirror. 

I planted seeds last night in the garden, barefoot, with a giant glass of wine. Mostly sunflower varieties - really bold oranges, soft pinks, "strawberry blondes," lemon colors, and the big mammoth ones that the birds love. I also planted a few types of cornflower. I like the selections of striking blue, like a blue jay's wing. I need to go for my run. I need to get the groceries. I need to drink more water and put a stamp on this bill and mail it.