hauntedblograffiti

I’ve listened to Keaton Henson’s Romantic Works through its entirety about 8 times today. Maybe not doing that good, but could be worse, I suppose, or that’s what I tell myself each time I spend a long moment on the back porch to soak up the outdoors for a bit. I dunno, there’s something therapeutic about just sitting out there and hearing the chickens and ducks being noisy lil bastards, or the sound of the insects buzzing during the day (it’s also very nice in the quiet of the later part of the night, when the neighborhood is asleep and I go out with one of the dogs one last time—sometimes he lays next to me and I just pet him on the head; it’s nice).

Another birthday has come and gone, which I’m about as indifferent to as any person can be. I think part of the reason I’ve always gotten anxious around the date is because most of my life I’ve felt the day was a burden to those around me—growing up poor meant a struggle on my mom’s part to make it a meaningful day to me, so I always tempered my expectations from a young age because I understood the financial strain any gifting would cause. Nowadays I consider it a good day if I get a single ‘happy birthday’ because that’s just how things are around me. At the very least I try to treat myself to one cheap thing I want on the day, if nothing else (a little reminder that I do in fact deserve a treat once in a while, and what better way than to celebrate making it this far?).

My sister stomped up to me earlier and shoved her phone in my face with an angry “I hate our family.” One of our cousins posted a bunch of pics on socmed of an absolutely massive family gathering (230 people, apparently ‘closest family and friends’!) celebrating our grandparents’ anniversary. Which is. Well, sister, I dunno what to tell you, but there’s a reason mom never really spoke with her family, you know? From a young age I’ve been keenly aware how much that side of the family has a distaste for us, and the last time I saw my grandmother really cemented how much especially I don’t register in her mind (you see, my sister looks like our mother, but I look like my father while also being Fat, and we just Can’t Have That). I don’t really think about that side of the family much, which honestly leaves me with no side of the family to think of, but it’s better than giving those assholes free rent in my mind (and yet another reason that I a. don’t check socials that much and b. have not friended most of the fam; y’all dead to me just like I’m probably dead to you).

Anyway. I need someone to stop me from ordering more notebooks. I am going to die buried under a pile of them at this rate. Stationery my beloved… stop calling to me.