Posh

I sort of have my shiz together.

Mostly.

It feels like it, so that counts for something, right?

As I wrote that I thought, what in the world? No I don't. Definitely not.

So, maybe.

It was actually 55 this day but so incredibly windy because the feels like -9 weather was blowing in.

Which is demonstrated by my hair, which I randomly cut when I feel like it looks weird, which is really not the best way to go about that.

For instance, I curled it this day. When I do that, I usually just straighten the bottom layer because it's quick and easy. But then I noticed that the bottom layer looked awkward and long so I chopped it off so it matched the rest of my hairs (which is how it should be??) and so now I think actually the bottom layer is shorter than the rest because it was straightened when cut.

Oh well.

It made sense at the time.

For my nonfiction class, I've been writing about younger years and the death of someone I loved as a second mother and it's strange to think how frequently funerals came up in my pre-teen years. I had been to four by the age of 15ish, which I think is a lot.

All I can think about is the pictures we would take. I don't have the best memory on a good day, and the more I work on this piece the more I realize how flimsy my memories of those 7th grade days are, even though they contain some of the most life-altering events and intense emotions.

But all I can think of is the profile picture, and how we ever managed to turn a funeral into a photo opportunity?

That got heavy right thurr at the end.

But just thoughts, you know?