My eyes feel permanently blurry, but it could be because my alarm didn't go off.
I have been getting more into my artwork, which is a good thing, and it could be because my new guy is an artist and we sit across from each other and create art.
My last load of laundry was screwed up because of crumpled kleenex in my pocket. Maybe because it was the last piece of anything I had left from the funeral. Torn into thousands of shredded pieces of almost nothing except you could see pieces of it all over my clothes. The thousands of tears I cried thrown everywhere.
Maybe because now I am done crying, maybe I am done not talking to aunties, maybe I am done being a bitch through her. Who lived her life that way.
I will always miss her, I will not turn into her. Yet when I chewed out the cashier at the taco stand and wrapped the rest of my taco up into its wrapper and two napkins and stuffed it into my purse, I looked at my brother who was staring at me with big eyes.
I am not turning into her, I said. And I wondered silently why I took my taco like that when I never did.
Maybe because my neighbor's dog is knocked up and they care more about their beer instead of feeding her. Fuckers.
Yep, I am turning into her.