The Polarity of Suburbia
These blooming trees are beautiful but god damn these allergies.
Set the scene: my computer is sitting on an outdoor porch table that’s taking up space in my new kitchen, the wrought iron lattice work giving my mouse a run for its money. My hands have about 6.5 long nails left on them, so I’m typing like my father who only types with one finger while his Mr.Magoo glasses are perched on his nose.
The smell of Palo Santo fills my nostrils with sweetness, because obviously, I just cleansed the space, trying my best to get back to some type of morning ritual. Rainbows are splayed against the wall from the prism I made sure to pack in our pots and pans box that made its way with us in the UHaul and I’m feeling disoriently on task as I write down random shit on this weeks to-do list.
Change address on PayPal account, find my SS card, update Chewy, buy a paper towel holder, check on the plants, find a pair of shoes for the wedding.
Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama, Georgia, Virginia, West Virginia, Pennsylvania; all the states we drove through to get back to the Motherland of Jersey.
I’ve cried a shit ton over the past 2 weeks and yes, I realize I talk about crying a good amount here, but for someone who didn’t cry for a good 20 something years, now it’s pretty much just cry cry cry and it feels so good good good.
I think about visiting IG for the first time in awhile but idk if I want to get flooded with, “I’M SO BLESSED AND NOT STRESSED TO BE LIVING THIS LIFE” or down in the dumps and depressed and sad and emo4ever and I’m stuck in this circle of Hell life cycle, but hey, I’m the one who ‘curates my feed,’ so whose fault is that?
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