not much really ever

15 Feb

Most of my weekends are spent inside, trying to get even further inside, so deep inside that if someone were to search for me, she might find a dimming lamp and a warm spot on the couch where I sat and drew or nothing, nothing at all. And I’m okay with this. Most days, I’m really, really fine, like I’ve told you a million times. Thirteen stories down, there’s a pool and a recreation room where children have birthday parties or attend family gatherings at which they scream and splash or sit on the side and cry, but are outside doing things like everyone thinks they should. And maybe they should. I should have, so I did, but I think I’m done for now. And I think it should be okay for me to always answer nothing when someone asks what I did last weekend.

But if I’m wrong and if it’s not, I went to a restaurant, church, and I drew these pictures.


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