“No mere goldfish, these.” By Julia at her dining table


Friday February 3, 2017
7:38pm
5 minutes
from the Windows display

I don’t think I ever cared about the fish we had when we were growing up. I think I wanted to, and I meant to, but it never hit. My sister seemed to care about them. She gave them names, she put tiny pellets into their water, she sometimes made up songs about them. But then she also kept killing them and had to flush them down the toilet and then get three more replacement fish. And then she did it again. I can see how one would think they’d be an unfit mother if they never figured out just how hard it is for goldfish to actually live in the first place. I realize now that I also couldn’t care about them because when my sister got them for her birthday that year, I also got a pair of white Barbie running shoes with sparkly pink laces. I was very busy.

“filled with feeling but generally paralyzed.” By Julia on Lindsay’s couch


Thursday February 2, 2017
11:19pm
5 minutes
From an interview with Miranda July in LENNY letter

My fears are bigger than Maggie’s but I dont want her to know. I tell her I don’t care and she tells me that I should. I tell her that it doesnt concern me so why should I even bother and she tells me to get educated; to get it right. I lie through my teeth because the lies are little enough to pass through uninjured. I lie through my teeth because the second step after waking up is leaving the bed. Because the one after that is looking myself in the eye and agreeing that more needs to be done. I tell Maggie it doesn’t interest me because it hurts to care so much and still be rooted to the darkness.