march 22

Yesterday I lived. Much more than the day before. Or I felt more alive. Which I can conflate.

I think this is a lifestyle blog, only the lifestyle is “struggling”. I suppose that’s the case for the majority of people whose labor is branding themselves. Making content of their lives. When I told my therapist I intended to start this, I brought up my distaste for social media. It is a part of my job, but the individual as consumable. The tension being that I too would like to be consumed. That it feels good to take photos of my life and say, yes, that’s beautiful.

Don’t you think so too?

I saw the sun yesterday. For an hour. Shining over the yellow church where they pass out food on Tuesday afternoons. There were two white men standing in front of me who always talk so loud, about nothing. Pretend politics, a farmstead I don’t believe is real, repeated talking points from cable news, a pastiche of other people’s opinions. Not that I’m immune to it, I take in so much on Twitter, but at least I have to sift through. At least there are so many people more of the angles get covered. The algorithm filtered into factions of radical left thinkers, poets, and pop culture. Do you think Pedro Pascal is gay? I give up two spots in line to stand next to a group of Ecuadorian women. They talk about their children, about work, cars, food. My brain has to work to understand the language, it’s practice rather than an interruption.

The volunteers at the church warned they didn’t have much food today—mostly strawberries and leeks. But when I got home and pulled all of this out of the paper bag, dripping from the bottom with crushed berry juice I didn’t cry, but I almost did. And I think I would have if I wasn’t so tapped out. I get to processing it all, roasting vegetables, freezing strawberries and bananas for smoothies. The card from yesterday was right, abundance.

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