“Got a call from a flower shop.” By Sasha at her kitchen table

Saturday December 9, 2017
8:16am
5 minutes
From a text

“Had the weirdest dream last night…”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mhmm. I was riding this snake, like it was pretty much a crocodile but it looked like a snake? And I was riding it, totally naked, riding it into this forest, but the trees were all silver, like the leaves were silver and so was the bark – “

“Please stop.”

“What?”

“I will actually die if I hear one more of your dreams. I will die.”

“What are you talking about?”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”

“I always tell you my dreams…”

“Yeah, you do! And I fucking hate it! The only person who is interested in your dreams is YOU! You’re such a fucking narcissist that you just assume that other people are going to care what your mind involuntarily comes up with?! You know that dreams mean nothing, right? Freud was an idiot!”

“What’s your problem?”

“YOU AND YOUR DREAMS! You and your need to talking non-stop about your dreams! Weird shit happens in my dreams, too, but I write it down in my fucking private journal if I really have to get it out, I don’t bore someone who I supposedly care about with every agonizing detail!”

“We create all this poison and spread it to others” by Julia on Q’s couch

Friday December 8, 2017
12:50am
5 minutes
The Four Agreements
Don Miguel Ruiz

Here’s a little feather caught tight in the zipper of your backpack. Feel it rip and tear when you try to pull it out. Lose a part of yourself. Lose a part of what you need.

It’s a purple little feather.

It’s soft and light. It wants to be

given to a three year old to put on

a Christmas card for his mom. Let him tell you that he wants to use it

because it would make his mother happy. Let him feel like you weren’t

trying to hoard it for yourself or for

a different kid.

Here’s a ruined purple feather sitting

lifeless at the heel of your boot.

Tell it you’re sorry.

Tell it you weren’t thinking.