Tonight I’m going camping with a boy I’ve never met and the man who helped raise him. We are going to set up a tent in the backyard and play and talk and maybe look at the stars and Mars. Tonight I’ll see, for the first time ever, the man I love most with the little man he loves most. There will be egg shakers and a harmonica and laughing and stories and maybe s’mores.
Johnny Cash is dead. So is my aunt. They both passed away last night. Difference is she was young and married and, I think, finally happy.
I spoke with a friend about people who love their partners so much that when they die, they cannot go on. We agreed we found it comforting.
Today it’s cool like I remember autumns from years past. But nothing, none of this feels at all familiar.
I really hope there are s’mores.
(This post is shit. Read this and this . The least I can do is point you to good entries.
Oh, and like a total loser, I changed my hotmail password, then promptly forgot it. Or made the same typo twice. Either way, I can’t remember the answer to the secret question I gave myself 5 years ago–so I’m fucked. Until I get this straightened out, I would like to kindly ask any of you who’ve sent mail to my hotmail account within the last 2 weeks, please send it again to b [at] brittney [dot] f2o [dot] org. Thank you, and I’m a tard.)