Dogwood.

Oh, those damn Borderlines.

Not knowing the proper social responses to life is a bit of shit. Knowing them, yet STILL having awkwardness spill from one's mouth is a bit more shit. 

Knowing that this is a disorder with potential control in the future makes it more like flowers. They grow from shit sometimes, too. 

Crazy Days

Home improvements and the purchase of a very used, very awesome, and very well-priced pickup truck have been my main focuses [read: distractions] of late. I am to name said truck, because reasons*. 

I've "focused" this week on drawing and painting and reading and gaming and planning and designing and making and cooking and writing and cat-soothing and crocheting and stretching and cleaning and witching and hugging and trying my gods damnedest to make it one day without losing my shit and sobbing. 

Friends are your family, just as you are their family. You love them. You give pieces of your heart to them, trusting they'll do the same and be kind about it all. You wrongly assume that they will always be right there, making that silly face, forever and ever amen. 

Wrongly. Painfully, naively, innocently and trustingly, but still: wrongly. 

Please, as a gift to this anonybitch with too many feels, please hug your friends a squinchy bit longer. Tell them they make your life brighter for being in it. Tell them they are your family, your bros and sis' and cousins, whatever - just don't wait. 

And hey, for the record? You make my life brighter, just by being you. 

*of the three things I swore as a kid that I'd have someday, this truck is #2. Also it is huge and I am tiny and dammit, I like that kinda shit. 

G-dizza.

That's what we called him. Our friend. My hub's brother-from-another-mother from childhood to present. Best man at our wedding. Part of our happiest and longest memories. Gone. 

Fucking gone. 

He went to sleep and never woke up. 

Fucking gone. 

We cling to each other in disbelief. Shock. Anger. 

Fucking gone. 

Why. Why, goddammit. Why at 37. 

We will celebrate the selfless joy of you. 

We miss you. May you wake in the summerland, dear brother, friend, Gabe.