Scribblings from my journal, all mixed up.
  1. There was no judgement for my apprehensible actions. I could walk in, hungover as I've ever been and say "god, guys, I've really done it this time" and someone would respond with "you think you're having a bad time? I'm pretty sure I fucked my cousin last week"
    (this is actually something I wrote for the book I'm writing btw)
  2. I set aside memories as carefully as I can, baby teeth in a jar. My dad and I, laughing as we watched a guy, drunk, dance in the rain to salsa music. "Should I join him?" He asked. My dad, trying to cook me tofu on the grill because he was in the mood for pork chops and didn't want me to feel left out. My dad, a man who raised me so conservatively-
    asking me what my tattoos meant. "And what about that one?" He asks, pointing to the one I got for him. "Please don't die." I want to respond. "Please stay here and love me forever."
  3. Coming home to find that my roommate left the air on for six hours and making her leave it off for three days as a punishment. Though, looking back, I'm not sure what I was trying to even out with this- mere pennies, I think?
  4. I started writing cursive as a joke and now I can't write in print anymore, though my cursive is illegible to everyone but me. My thoughts are no longer shareable. My words feel like cursive inside me, as well.
  5. I have four pairs of socks but at least twenty shoes, all requiring that I protect my ankles. I want to fix this problem but every time I go to the store, I buy something else instead. The other day, coral nail polish.
    I sat on the couch and carefully applied color to each toe, stuffing my bare feet into converse when they were dry, wincing as my blisters bloomed.
  6. I don't know what matters anymore. I found myself asking an empty room, "am I still a good person?" And even with only myself to judge the answer, I wasn't sure, I'm still not. When did this happen??