Updates!

This is Milo, aka star of @frenchiebutt on Instagram. I love him.

Why does WordPress keep changing its writing format. It’s like it’s in college trying out its sexuality. Or in high school trying out different outward identities.

Anyway, I haven’t posted in a while, and this is just to keep my blog from looking too empty. Otherwise I’ve been busy with school (I’m slotted to graduate in January if I pass this semester!) and work/not-working and pining for puppies and just everything.

Posts I have in mind that will hopefully come soon:

  • Articles about cool things if I can get them out in a timely fashion
  • A comparison on purported leather frags; some of which are lies I tell ya.
  • A comparison on cold weather gourmands, possibly.
  • The post on the preservation of New York City’s Chinatown that I still haven’t gotten to.
  • Maybe a mini-bio or two of people I like reading about, like Danny Meyers, Elizabeth Holmes

Alright, I have an exam in less than 4 hours, I should go.

“He didn’t end his pain, he just passed it on to others.”

The morning after I killed myself.

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up. I made myself breakfast in bed. I added salt and pepper to my eggs and used my toast for a cheese and bacon sandwich. I squeezed a grapefruit into a juice glass. I scraped the ashes from the frying pan and rinsed the butter off the counter. I washed the dishes and folded the towels.

The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love. Not with the boy down the street or the middle school principal. Not with the everyday jogger or the grocer who always left the avocados out of the bag. I fell in love with my mother and the way she sat on the floor of my room holding each rock from my collection in her palms until they grew dark with sweat. I fell in love with my father down at the river as he placed my note into a bottle and sent it into the current. With my brother who once believed in unicorns but who now sat in his desk at school trying desperately to believe I still existed.

The morning after I killed myself, I walked the dog. I watched the way her tail twitched when a bird flew by or how her pace quickened at the sight of a cat. I saw the empty space in her eyes when she reached a stick and turned around to greet me so we could play catch but saw nothing but sky in my place. I stood by as strangers stroked her muzzle and she wilted beneath their touch like she did once for mine.

The morning after I killed myself, I went back to the neighbors’ yard where I left my footprints in concrete as a two year old and examined how they were already fading. I picked a few daylilies and pulled a few weeds and watched the elderly woman through her window as she read the paper with the news of my death. I saw her husband spit tobacco into the kitchen sink and bring her her daily medication.

The morning after I killed myself, I watched the sun come up. Each orange tree opened like a hand and the kid down the street pointed out a single red cloud to his mother. The morning after I killed myself, I went back to that body in the morgue and tried to talk some sense into her. I told her about the avocados and the stepping stones, the river and her parents. I told her about the sunsets and the dog and the beach. The morning after I killed myself, I tried to unkill myself, but couldn’t finish what I started.

By Meggie Royer

New layout!

I have to be up at 6 and should be sleeping but instead I changed the style of my blog again!

Check it out! It’s a little more casual, definitely more bold. Not completely sold on the heading picture yet, might go buy some pomelos and the appropriate colored paper and redo it since the photo’s not technically my art.

If you love me and care about my well-being, tell me what you think!

i’m writing music again

because i don’t really know what else to do right now.

internet week starts for me tomorrow and there’s a distinct possibility that i might be at the tomorrowland premiere in new york tomorrow night though.

fingers crossed.