Photo by Drew Coffman on Unsplash

Maybe this way.

I’m back. Kind of.

Once a month isn’t enough.

Not enough time to gather thoughts, only to forget them as the days go on.
It’ll be nice to continue this practice of writing here, and hopefully, it’ll help my monthly newsletter flow more smoothly.

Reader, there is so much happening.

Today’s war photos.

Today’s war photos,

Showed a woman named Julia, a teacher, crying as she went off to do battle with Russia. She volunteered to learn how to use a gun and military tactics, and she’s wearing a modern jacket. Next to her, another woman is in a lime green puffy jacket. She’s older. A gun is slung around her.

It’s a privilege to be in disbelief. It’s a privilege to write about it here. As a writer, I think I owe myself these moments of typing through history.
This cafe table rocks, in short, stuttering movements as I type, the smell of my ginger tea wafts to me.

It is cruel in the way that life marches forward. It feels like a mockery to sit here and look at half an eaten muffin and wonder when I’ll step out for a smoke.

I cannot bear to see any more photos of old men and women with guns around them.

. . .

“I know that Milwaukee is your safe place.”

My friend Alex and I are stuffing cheese fries into our mouths. They accidentally packed it to go, and we unpacked everything, not realizing that it was perhaps a subtle hint to get a move on.

I’m surprised.

I go to Milwaukee a lot. Now that my partner lives there, and I’m still making new friends, I plan to visit more often. But I never said this out loud: That Milwaukee feels like home still. That my body, like a pinpoint of light in the dark, can easily find where it is in relation to landmarks. Like the other light points have slight threads reaching to my fingertips, the crown of my head, and let me know where I am at all times.

I go to Milwaukee to feel small: to feel weak, maybe. I don’t have to think much because I know where everything is. I know how the rooms of places I love the sound when I walk in them. I can picture the layouts of my favorite bars, walking through them while daydreaming.

I don't know if I am difficult to get to know. I haven't posted many vulnerable things in a while. I found myself withdrawing into myself, building a wall.

I don’t want to be surprised when friends show that they have been paying attention all along when it was just me who hasn’t been present.

. . .

I don’t know what I want.

In the immediate future, I want to be more present. I finally scheduled an appointment with a psych, who can hopefully,


give me an ADHD diagnosis. Something to help with my focus, and my struggle with disassociating.

I want to feel and feel deeply.
And then I want even more.




A lesbian who writes.

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A lesbian who writes.

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