linus gives good advice to pajama clad things in trees.

my car got rifled through in boston. it was the most of a bummer. my passport got stolen and also some lollipops, but that's about it. whoever broke in found my small wooden box which had some plaster teeth in it, about ten or twelve marble notebooks written in by a 2nd grader named mimi, my dog's pillow and rawhide, a 3 year old gourd in the cupholder, and at least a thousand bobby pins. what was the point, dummies?

i watch fiddler on the roof more than most other 23 year olds. i might also imagine i can fly more often than most other 23 year olds.

i don't know. i can't even remember.

a few good misunderstandings and one really good indian feast and there even was a perfect parking spot right out front.

an abbreviated list. it's longer, really.

reminiscing about my roadtrip. new tattoos.

Mostly its about me, but it's also maybe about you. Also, c'mon, i'm really good at tetris.

i am packing to move again. i am an accumulator.

a portrait of my grandpa. in my favorite of his shirts.

i think about everything a lot. the actual QUANTITY of that word. and making too many pies.

a portrait of my grandma. don't show it to her, she won't like it.

it says it all, okay?

i'm forgetting things, a lot. faster than i thought i would.

first page of a new sketchbook.

our pod from the outside. plus, small icons of the food i ate, and whiskey makes my belly burn.

another view from a ferry boat.

a view from a ferry boat--the mountains of washington state really looked like they were drawn in pencil, and not actually giant rocks in front of my face.

our small friendship pod--one man, one lady, and one dog. our books and blankets, my pillows, one flashlight, and coyotes howling outside.

on my roadtrip, the world was unfolding in front of me like an envelope.