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Hi mom,

Don’t know where we left off, what what last I told you.  It’s been such a fraught week, even for its shortness (brevity?  your call).  L’s back to her plans for leaving the industry,  I’m procrastinating like I was in high school, and dad’s calling “just to shoot the shit.”

Well the shit’s been shit, & everything is V. WEIRD.

L said something that set me off _really_ missing you this evening.  Can’t even remember what it was, only asking her to stop, not in anger, but in grief.

It rolled over me so fast, I didn’t know what to do with it.  It made me realize that I’d been burying my feelings for this past week.

Let’s just call it this past week.

Please.

I wish I knew better where you were, who you were, so I could get some kind of guidance, here.  I’ve got too much shit in my hair.  I’ve got too much shit in my eyes.

As always, against all reason, I hope that you’re reading this (in spite of my handwriting), & feeling missed.

All my love,

Ian

PS I’m trying to find the joy in this, but I’m not certain where to look.  The closest thing I’ve found is the mural next door, juxtaposing the holes blown into that Orlando night club (you probably haven’t heard about this– I hope), with a rainbow flag created out of newspaper articles.

I’ll show you a picture.

Maybe the only way to fight tragedy is unity, like our time out there building your garden.

Maybe this is thin soup.

Maybe it’s time I go to bed.

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