fingers grip the steering wheel and I twist the volume to drown the sound, to drown out this small talk. modest mouse. this is a long drive for someone with nothing to think about. Dad, I love you, but right now I love Issac Brock's voice more and I don't want to talk about the world cup. 

back home to the desert, I'm chewing dust and gulping excuses. making plans not to make plans. I've kept my entire family up with my tireless coughing. my sister thinks I have valley fever. my mom told me my lungs just need to become acclimated to the air quality here. I tried to tell her that's not how it works, but whatever parasite is scratching up my esophogus  cuts me off.  it's fine. I think the parasite was on my side all along.

god I miss redwood trees. 

god I shouldn't listen to simon and garfunkel and write porn. (yeah it's an assignment ok)

trying to hard - I mean, he's trying to hide. god. he's trying to hide it. it's hard. it's hard to hide how hard...