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Hello Daddy, Hello Mom: 11.7.11

I'm your ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb. I cannot get this out of my head for nothing today. I have no idea where it came from and why it won't leave. It could be worse.

It could all be worse. Hanging up the phone last week before I knew I should have, I felt like I could hear the tick-tick-tick of my mind cooling off, the little angry gears silenced, engine off. Goodbye Dad, Goodbye Mom.

(Except right now, with all that's changed, that's not how I want conversations to end. I've been blinking back tears every time I think of what we're all really not saying. Triggers are all around me. Yesterday, it was pausing at a painting in the museum and having a clear-as-day memory of my dad telling me about brush strokes, how to look at them, trace them back to the artist's intentions, immediacy springing out of paint 2 centuries old. Goodbye Dad.)

Every kind of distraction these days seems welcome. These days themselves seem welcome.

reflect - reinvent ....rayclaire@gmail.com... what i used to think... what i hear... what i see... where i'd like to be...

the black apple... the girl who... sarah brown... thunderpie... evany... jenny b harris... posie... claude le monde... artsy... fartsy... jeff... random person in texas... another rachel... smitten kitchen... more of me... still more of me... even more of me...and yet still more of me...more of me but not for free...

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