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.)
9 comments ↓
Huh? Man you love the most, but have never met, and his father figure?
I’m confused…. but that’s hardly unusual.
This week will rock once it’s really over.
Get out of town, look at some stars, drink a little, unwind. It’s gotta help.
I too am devoid of wit. Sorry. Sorry about your aunt, too.
me am battletapes.blogspot.com (no blogpost)
the birds! pot! fun!
I love Instant Pudding.
I like Instant Potatoes.
I tolerate Instant Tea.
I’m not very fond of Instant Family.
You are also a big, cowardly pussy.
Not that there is anything wrong with that.
I noticed you dropped a lot of links off of your faves :( …I like the new site btw
whee! iLLa has a blog, finally. thanks for the inspiration, brittney.
You’re so frustratingly vague sometimes, Britt.
No wonder you forgot your bloody password.
I have a million accounts now because I can’t remember passwords.
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