I wish I had more to tell you. Sometimes this place squeezes me like I want to squeeze you. Puts both hands around my windpipe and says SAY IT. And I say "it?" And it says HARDER. And I say "IT"? And then we're both embarrassed and sort of back away from each other.

There is always the desire to say. But there are not always things to say. I don't really differentiate between "things worth saying" and "things." I don't know what "worth" means, mostly. I like free and I like the internet, which is the equivalent of liking dumpster diving. I just mean, things, there don't seem to be things these days that sit still long enough to exist in words, or that exist in words at all.

This is maybe the worst post ever.

I just needed to 'check in' so bad.

I want Indian food.

I don't feel like drinking but I want to be drunkish, which means I want like 1.5 shots of tequila.

If you don't like spicy food then I don't know what to say to you.

If you don't like what I cook when you come over and I cook for you, then I don't know what to say to you.

My daughter remembers everything, what foods were eaten at what rest stops and what Christmas decorations adorned which houses in the neighborhood. Sometimes she likes my cooking, sometimes she prefers straight up hot dogs, which she thinks is my cooking.

I want new dresses and shoes and a few other things strictly for me.

My mom's birthday is this weekend. I don't have any daddy issues, which is probably good news for my husband, but I have what I'm suspecting is a host of mother issues, which I guess might be bad news for Beatrice.

She likes to say "Oh Mommy you're so cute."