Things are gearing up in Chicago. It’s going to be difficult to keep my eyes off of my feed and on my work tomorrow.

Right now, I’m freshly showered and staring at tiny lights in between words/thoughts.

Being a mama is so freaking difficult, you guys. My goal, as a parent, is to allow my children to have as much freedom as I feel like they are capable of handling responsibly, and to allow them as many choices as I can.

Sometimes, that makes things a lot more difficult. Sometimes…I’m not entirely sure I’ve made the right choices as a parent, so how can I expect my children to make the right choices as children?

I found this poem fragment in an old journal:

Usually my relationships die like Elvis

on the toilet.

This one

Kurt Cobained – offing itself

before it had a chance to become what it swore it never would be.

(I’m glad I still have heroes. I’m glad I still have dreams)

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