those little woven fingertraps—that I have to let myself feel crummy to feel good, that winning requires losses, and that sometimes, when the city planner was a dork, I have to turn around a bit to eventually make it home ♡

Feeling defeated, I let myself have a bad day and remembered my favorite metaphor for life:

Atropos is one of the Three Fates, “The Inflexible One.” Her sisters measure and weave our mortalities into lengths of thread, but Atropos cuts them, deciding how we lose and when we die.

I think this has been a failure of mine—endlessly squeezing my intuition and inclinations into little ice cube trays, each attempt a small, separate, cold cube.

But what about delusion? Resignation? Change? Endings? Warnings? Defeat? Unrequited good will?

The rugrats need hope, I need hope, hope that things aren’t truly as upside-down as they seem these days with the vitriol and fighting and killing and distraction and distaste for our fellow human beans.

I’ve been handing her the same essay lately over and over and she’s going to make me repeat the grade.

Hope hope hope hope hope—I keep thinking I have to write about hope.

Thank you so much. You’re incredible.

that’s so sweet wtf 🥺 ♡ we’ll make it through fren

that means so much! more coming soon friend ♡ come meet us next tour??

oh shit i think about you two often ♡

maybe i do maybe i donttt

do i even wanna know

no but great mimes think alike afaik

i agree with this