And the whole point is to not be mad, right? I don’t like that side of me. I want to shut off from people. I resent my loved ones. I feel like a dog snarling in a corner in a shelter, and you feel bad because you know that dog will never

The hardest part for me, I think, or at least for now until some new phase of grief takes over, is that I have so many inside jokes that I can’t quite remember, and the only person who knew the other part of the joke isn’t there anymore.

Possibilities. And now I’m slowing down, heading into fall, work, responsibility, cold weather, and darker days, and I have to look side to side to start taking inventory of what I’ve gained and what I’ve lost somehow along the way.

It was nice, I think. I can’t do this

I’m laughing so hard the whole time. I stop for a second every now and then, wondering if there’s something I should be worried about. But I let it go, I’m fine, and I let myself just laugh. And I just keep laughing. It feels so good.

a homemade wallet made of index cards that she’d painted and then laminated with packing tape and stitched together. It was a swirling mix of dark purple and blue and black. I thought it was really really pretty. She wrote a note with the wallet. I can’t remember her exact wording but she said something along the lines of, “Sometimes the most beaut

She’s so used to helping others. She doesn’t realize this means there are lines of people who would love to return the favor to her someday.

I wish you could see I see my shit as “gross” too, but it’s real. And I wish you could see I don’t want it.

I’m not where I want, but I’m where I am, and I am choosing to try my best to not fight any of it and instead discover my new rules.