Maybe I will. Maybe I will write something about this. Writing has always been cathartic. Back at one point in my life writing was all I had. Then the business was not so fun so, that was all. Maybe. I'll use cathartic. Has a better ring to it than narcissistic.
I lean towards IG as FB is well, politics and a tough place to visit now. Maybe it's because I can hide better on IG in the cool pictures of people doing cool stuff. But hell.
There's a Garden State or Elizabethtown here. The remains of my mother sit next to me on the shuttle from the parking lot at lax to the terminal. Every time the bus turns or stops, I jerk and grab the bag. I mean, what if this thing went over? What if I forget the bag? What if ... Everything about this is bizarre. And sucks. The smell of body odor and weed coming off the man across from me. The guy with the guitar case and one arm. The brightly lit bus. Like a fish tank on wheels floating through dark traffic. The insane amount of time to takes to go 3 miles in LAX traffic. Her she sits.
Cross country trip with the remains of your mother. Try it sometime. It's a bucket list of bizarre things to do.
I wonder if there's anything. I wonder if she's even here. When my brother Frank died a little chick a dee bird would come to the window at my parents house. Tap tap tap with his little beak. Then flitter off to a nearby bush and return later. Tap tap tap. I read that birds visiting is your deceased one letting you know they are ok. Maybe I made that up, hard to say. Today while I was walking around in a fog dreading this night, pow, a bird hits the window and flies off. Pow. Rattled the window. Poor guy hit it hard, but never missed a beat and was gone quickly as he came across the tile roofs of the new neighborhood.
If it was her, she needs to practice her entries. #life #amileinmyshoes