Pickled
One of the best things to do with nearby food, and I’m totally going to sidetrack.
My daughter visited today, and we told so many stories. I always overshare, but I’m ok with that a little, because my mom never told me real stories until I was almost 40.
We (me/child) started with our relationship with sleep and noise and people nearby. She has already shown more skills for self-care than I ever learned.
Wait. I turned being pickled into being messed up with readily available checking-out liquid, but I’m only a person who stands as a totem of bad choices. I told her stories of late-night drunk assholes. Many of them were me.
The last one: I was loading out amps and stuff after a show in Hamtramck, and someone yelled out the window to “shut the fuck up.” He went on to tell me about little kids and school. I was gutted in the best way possible. I still am grateful for his yell into the void.












