Day to day to day to day

Yesterday the cops showed up just after the hockey game ended. Wanted to know if Mary was here. When the cops are standing in your kitchen, no matter what they are there for, it feels a little like your fault. Mary's still crazy, still might go to jail, still part our problem.

Monday my dad lost his job. Fired for being too mean to work with. All the euphemisms they told him. Had to, "let him go," because "the company is moving in a new direction." I still knew. Fired for being a jerk. It happens more than it should.

My great aunt is preparing to die. Cancer. She can barely walk, barely breathe. It's radiation, or wait til the cancer kills her. She gave me her envelopes this week. You don't give someone your envelopes if you are expecting to use them.

Today it is raining. So much rain. I can't deal with the rain when I feel like I have to walk. I have to go for a walk or else I will go crazy with all these thoughts and news choking the rational processing part of my brain.

I hope tomorrow it doesn't rain because I deserve to have a good art crawl after a week like this. I don't want to show the girl who hates Hamilton, one of my favourite parts of Hamilton on a backdrop of unending rain.

Waded through my things instead of puddles.

I cleaned my room today.

Found my old Pearl Jam t-shirt.

It's worn and has small holes in it.

Eddie was drunk off of wine pouring himself over an amplifier.

Seats that weren't even worth the price

To anyone else but us.

Found my ripped jeans.

Wearing them, I remember the last time I wore them.

That little bar in that little town.

How she took the bus home alone.

Too ill to be bored.

Found my black sweater.

The one I wore to camp.

The left pocket is torn from carrying too much masking tape.

Not covered in clay and paint now, but if feels like it should be.

Found letters to my favourite stranger.

She'll never get them all, there's too many,

And they are all missing pages, and envelopes.

It's what it feels like when someone doesn't have room in their life for you.

Came across

brutalized National Geographics, red yarn, knitting supplies, a letter from the east coast of dreams, old hockey cards, sequins, thread, three glue guns, photographs, mail, abandoned index cards, an unopened cat calendar from last year, pens, permanent markers, water colour paintings, ice cube trays I used to mix paint in, half written songs, pennies, guitar picks, at least a hundred drawings, doodles, and sketches of cartoon girls, old papers from last term, a hidden stash of mechanical pencils, exacto knives that were never used for cutting paper, bad poetry, old notebooks, clothes my mother bought for me and made me wear even though I hated them, and many other wonderous, sad, and surprising things.

All this still doesn't chase away the weight of the clouds

The weight of the week.