phthalombrage | (no subject)

I wish I had written down when exactly my father rearranged our backyard. It happened several times. I wish I remembered what it looked like when Charles Schulz died. I know I was in elementary school. The internet tells me I was in fourth grade. I was probably happier. I remember the deck being in the back of the yard, Jim sitting on it with a newspaper, sunlight through the branches of a tree, a younger version of myself with lighter hair (I add in the huge glasses after I know how old I am) stepping up and down the steps of the deck when there were bricks nearby and greenery behind (cookieflowers perhaps?), turning the thought over in my mind... but it may be a lie. I can't google the history of the layout of my backyard. Yet.

The leaves are starting to turn and fall. My grandma used to send them to me in the mail. To whom can I mail leaves? I'll need to carry a camera tomorrow. It is getting colder, but only just. I am doing fine, thanks; I don't know what would make you think otherwise.

I wish someone would aim a webcam at the fence and keep track of its changing couches de peinture. It would be fairly easy to rig off of Purnell.

I'm still afraid to go to the Cluster. I feel intrusive; it's better here in this other less illustrious (xlustrous?) cluster where I can be anonymous.

I miss my dance studio for years on the set [15,3) years ago.

My mom is fat.

These are actually not lies.