This weekend is pride weekend, and it’s official, SLC has a great big pride parade. It was an hour and a half long. I laughed. I cried. I woke up late and walked down from my house on what was a very beautiful June morning. The temperature was perfect. I hated standing there by myself. I tried to get beyond that.
I’ve been writing again. I doubt it will last since I will be starting school again soon. I’ve tapped into the same mode of writing I had when I wrote stories as a child. It is strangely conversational, uninhibited, commercial–just me telling stories about things that don’t have a point or a moral or a critique. Although, I know enough to know that some sort of moral or point or critique may emerge. It is a kind of writing that is just about me telling stories to myself so that I can better make sense of something or so that I can entertain myself or so that I can experience something that I want to experience, even if only (*only*) through writing.


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