I like being creepy, and I like being myself. I like lace and femininity, pink and black, the sheen of satin, the way old film captured images in black and white. I also really like blood, champagne and corsets. I feel very old, but I am very, very young. This past month (the end of May and so far in June) I’ve been trying quite hard to manifest a lot of things that I want. More clothes, restocking makeup and then some, watching so many terrible movies. So much cotton candy floss extra nonsense. I’m having trouble connecting to the real world. Watching a good movie without texting. Reading a book instead of click bait trash that I found browsing Facebook instead of washing and setting my hair. Tearing off my nails and then waiting a whole week before getting new ones put back on. But in the candy glitter that I’ve been spewing there’s some diamonds. I set up a new sewing area. I finally upgraded my iCloud, got my roots done, redownloaded an app that reminds me to drink water. I went in the woods. I tended to my last blueberry bush. I cleaned my car (sort of). I felt like when the War Rig was stuck in the muddy mucky mess of where The Green Place used to be in Mad Max Fury Road. I swerved, stopped, but I used a tree-thing to get myself back on track.