June 1, 2013


Tonight it was extended family dinner at Nate's house which meant there wasn't enough room for me at the adult's table. I shared a wicker patio bench with Nate's fourteen year old brother and chewed my steak with my fingers. No place at the table? No fork and knife.

My contributions to conversation are sparse at family gatherings, including those with my own blood present.
not my blood: "you're quite tatted up" 
me: "well, you know, my dad was in the hell's angels, I've had this one right here since I was ten" 
not my blood: "you're going to be known as a liar in this family" 
...and so on

When I see my mother for the first time in months, she looks at me with worried brows and empathy. "Things don't feel so good now that you've touched down, huh?" she asks me. I remind her that days on earth are a doozy everywhere, all the time, even on the open road - just a little bit less so. And I remind her that there's no such thing as touching down.

I think for now I'd like to live inside of my Pinterest feed, land of chocolate & rosewater meringues, Isabel Marant sandals, vintage wedding dresses, Jane Birkin, pressed flowers, black sesame ice cream...


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