Anyway. | Pretty All True

Cestoda

The things about which I cannot write writhe within me . . .

Like tapeworms, they eat at my words and thoughts and dreams.

Making things difficult.

To say the least.

When I was 13, I got a job working in the kitchen of a nearby summer camp.

Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp.

The camp hosted a series of outdoor summer concerts.

As a reward for my hard work that summer, I was given tickets to a concert. A small envelope which contained tickets for …Between us

I always like to paint this writing thing as something that is easy for me to do.

I write every day.

Done.

I have been having a hard time lately.

A hard time today.

And so for the first time in well over a year, I have no post.

I have no words.