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Scheherazade
from Crush, by Richard Siken

Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake
and dress them in warm clothes again.
How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running
until they forget that they are horses.
It's not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,
it's more like a song on a policeman's radio,
how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days
were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple
to slice into pieces.
Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it's noon, that means
we're inconsolable.
Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us.
These, our bodies, possessed by light.
Tell me we'll never get used to it.

I started this poem several years ago on a road trip to California. Driving through the desert, I was upset/angry at the proliferation of tourist traps (frequently involving dinosaurs, because dinosaurs?), the commodification of Native culture, the blatantly environmentally unsound oases of golf courses and casinos. It never got an ending, though, and I just dug it up a month or so ago as I've been dabbling in the slam poetry scene here (which I really like and am sorry I ever mocked). Not brave enough to read anything yet, but I'm trying to get the writing gears turning again.

The American west is no poet’s desert —

No uniformly rolling dunes swept up in one glib, glowing, golden descriptor;

No articulate Sphinx’s paws ever prowled this dusty rock.

This is the dreamscape of a jaded documentary filmmaker:

A dull, rude, scruffy American desert,

Sun-seared face stubbled with scrubby sage;

Drab brown, muddy red, faded green: a peasant’s garb to a king’s gold.

Her once-majestic silence marred by garish billboards

Prostituting history’s remains,

She is a whorish desert —

Nature, brown and wrinkled

In the peeling face paint of a two-bit courtesan

Peddles her counterfeit wares:

Scientifically inaccurate dinosaurs

Charge down travesties of teepees

In the name of commerce.

The desert, trollop that she is, knows her own:

Dull, rude, scruffy Americans

In their garish, guzzling automobiles,

Their lurid neon t-shirts,

Rush the plastic dinosaurs and painted Indians;

Gobble up this processed, pasteurized, pre-packaged historical substitute,

Yearning for a taste of their heritage,

Oblivious to their incremental contribution to the ever-widening gash

Across the face of Nature, history,

The desert.

This was once a poet’s desert,

The muse of ardent young lovers

Whose passion swept through her, consuming.

She has known an amorous touch,

The caress of brush and pen;

Has spread herself, wide and fertile, to be sown and reaped,

Bearing fruit to gentle husbandry.

Of late, grown weary and drained,

She has known man’s jealous grip;

Felt him thrust into dry, unwilling soil,

Unnatural liquid coursing through her like a drug.

Painted in garish greens, bedecked with cheap jewels,

She is an aging, spurned mistress.

A few still have loved her truly,

Asked of her only stark beauty;

Have seen she needs no adornment

And let her age with grace.

Others, too young to have burned with her passion,

Have yet taken her in, battered and used up,

Surrounded her with the flowers of her youth

And tried to heal her scars.

This is a poet’s desert, but I am no poet —

Am only a girl of trees and water,

Of raindrops on broad leaves

And grass underfoot;

A girl afraid of the open sky,

Turning pale eyes down from a paler blue

Only to be seared by the sand’s heat,

Ringed round by mountains

Too far and too close for comfort.

I need a narrower heaven, a more crowded earth;

The solace of trees and the promise of water

To slake my fear of thirst.

I would be a poet, yet I am a desert

Of dull, rude words and scrubby verses,

Two-bit muses and counterfeit passions

A peeling facade of truth.

I am only a desert,

Yet welcome, poet —

Take whatever beauty you may find.

Crossposts: http://sadie-cocopuff.livejournal.com/175131.html

Tonight I accidentally unearthed some scripts from my freshman year Creative Process class. We spent a lot of time talking about childhood memories. When I was younger, I couldn't cry when I was sad. It made me so frustrated. Now I'll cry at the drop of a hat, but I remember feeling like something was wrong with me. This first one is about all the times I wished I could cry.

Kelsey and I have been best friends ever since we were born. Our moms were best friends before that. We swim together, play dolls together, explore her farm together. Today she’s at my house in town. Our moms are inside talking and drinking iced tea. We’re playing outside in the tree house. “Kelsey, come down! It’s my turn!” But she doesn’t want to. “You’re just a spoiled brat!”

(Mimicking adult voices, at first quiet, getting louder.) “It was just an argument. They’ll get over it.” “You always take your own kid’s side.” “That’s not what this is about.” “I don’t approve of the way you’re raising your daughter.” “Why are you making such a big deal of this?” “Come on, Kelsey, we’re leaving!”

It’s been a year since I’ve seen her. “Dear Diary, I miss Kelsey. “Dear Diary, I want to write Kelsey a letter. I will look for her address.” “Dear Diary, I found it!” “Dear Diary, today I sent Kelsey a letter. Mom wanted to know what it said. I read it to her, except the end: P.S. Best wishes to your mom. Maybe her mom will like me again.” “Dear Diary, today was the Kolache Festival. Kelsey’s mom had a booth at the end of the street, but she wouldn’t let Kelsey come down to my house. She came down the sidewalk to say hello but her mom made her go back.”

It’s been ten years since I’ve seen her. “You didn’t tell me Kelsey was going to the movie with us! I didn’t know she hung out with the drama group. We used to be best friends a long time ago, before our moms had a fight. It was so weird seeing her again. She’s really changed. I don’t think she recognized me at first. I wonder if she remembers when we were friends. That was such a long time ago…”

After Kelsey, I make new friends, school friends: Audrey, Candace, Heather. In third grade, Heather starts getting headaches. By the end of the year, she isn’t in school anymore. They explain to us that she has a brain tumor and has to stay in the hospital. She doesn’t come back for fourth grade. My mom takes me to see her in the hospital. We take her a rainbow hat with a propeller on top: mom says she doesn’t have any more hair because of chemotherapy. It’s too dark in her room. I don’t say hi because she can’t hear me. Beanie Babies everywhere; on the blackboard across from her bed, a math problem, incorrect – “to challenge her mind.” Her parents go to get coffee while my mom sits with her. I sit in a wheelchair outside her room reading Little Women until it’s time to leave. I don’t understand why we came. “Dear God, please, don’t let Heather die. I’ll do anything if you make her better. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”

“Hallie, Heather spoke her first word today! She said ‘Mom’! They think she can come home soon.”

“Hallie, I have some sad news. Heather passed away today. Can you tell your parents for me?” “Dad, Mrs. Johnson needs to talk to you!” I don’t cry. My dad doesn’t understand, but some things are too important for crying. That night we play on the playground, waiting for our to parents take us to the funeral home. Audrey hands me a piece of paper: “…I wish I could die, for now my friend Heather is up in the sky. Oh Hallie, I don’t know what I’d do if it happened to you.” I don’t want to show my mom. “Mrs. Gammon, look what Audrey wrote!” I knew she would cry. In her casket, Heather looks like a doll with pearly pink fingernails. Heather never wore pink when she was…alive.

My granddad has had health problems for the last few years, but nothing to worry about, my parents always said. He’s just getting old. It’s normal. In the car with my mom, I listen to her cell phone conversation. “What’s wrong with granddad?” “He has a tumor in his chest. They’ve decided not to treat it. The chances of success for surgery are too small.” Long pause. “How long?” “He could hang on till Christmas. Maybe months longer. Nobody really knows.”

The universe splits off into another reality. Here, I live my normal life. There, I remember that granddad is dying. I spend as little time in that other world as possible. “I went to the doctor with them.” “Did you talk to your dad?” “Yes, he understands.” Dad and I visit grandmother and granddad’s house almost every day after school. I get used to the oxygen tank, the nurses who come in to keep him company, the repetitive conversations. One thing doesn’t change: granddad still makes the same corny jokes as ever. Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!

He still seems strong at Christmas. I stop holding my breath and forget about that alternate reality for the time being.

It’s a few days before Valentine’s Day. It won’t be long now. I hope he makes it: Valentine’s is his anniversary. We’ve stopped visiting. By then he’s mostly gone. Mom says he’s not in any pain, but he’s not really granddad anymore. He makes it to February fifteenth. Around midnight, my dad calls. “Hallie, let me talk to mom.” I know. I go back to my French collage. Some things are still too important for crying.

This one is considerably more light-hearted. I didn't like playing outside much when I was a kid, but when I did, these plants that used to grow around the tree in our front yard were my favorite toys. To my parents' credit, they never got mad at me for uprooting the landscaping.

Today is bright, hot, clear and sunny – a perfect day for a parade. Our front yard is on the main street of town. Our sidewalk is old and broken, and between it and the yard is a black rail fence that I like to walk on. Sometimes I’m a tightrope walker, but today I’m leading the parade. I need a flag, a baton, a crown. The plants that grow around the big tree in the front yard are perfect. If you pull them just right, they break off at the root, and you have a thick, smooth stem, maybe a foot long, with a wide leaf at the top. I use them as arrows, brooms, flags; and if you slit the leaf very carefully with your fingernail, you can bend the stalk in a circle and poke it through the slit to make a crown. Today I need lots of leaves. Some of them break in the middle of the stalk, and some of the leaves tear, but it doesn’t matter – there are plenty more.

You can’t have a parade with just one person. I go inside to find my little sister and her stroller. She doesn’t need the stroller – she can walk now – but I like to push her around like a parade float with wheels. I make her a leaf crown too, but she doesn’t want to wear it. I give her a leaf flag to wave instead. I march up and down the sidewalk, pushing the stroller, waving my leaf baton. Where is my audience? Only a few cars drive by. Not many people are going places on a Sunday afternoon.

It doesn’t seem right to march without music. I go inside again to find my tape player. It’s made for little kids, with big, colorful buttons and a microphone – I’ve had it for a long time. Sometimes I use it to record songs I play on the piano, but I don’t want those for my parade. I pick a tape out of the tape box, one of my favorites – the blue one. I don’t know what it’s called because the label rubbed off a long time ago, but it has good sing-along songs. I take the tape player outside and set it in the middle of the sidewalk that leads to the front door. I turn it up as loud as it will go, but I still can’t hear it at the end of the sidewalk. Sometimes when I get back to where I can hear it, my marching doesn’t match the music, but I skip to get back in step, leaning on the handles of the stroller.

I have music now, so it’s a real parade, but there are still no people stopping to watch. Maybe they don’t know it’s a parade. I run inside again and make a sign with crayons that says “Parade! Admission $1.” I have to dig through the junk drawer to find Scotch tape, and I have a hard time sticking my sign to the fence – the tape peels the rust off. I use a lot of tape and try not to touch the rust. I don’t like to get my fingers dirty. It’s a little hard to see the sign because of the ivy growing under the fence. I hope people can see it from their cars. I think they should be able to – it’s almost as big as a stop sign.

I keep marching up and down the sidewalk, singing along to the music, pushing my sister’s stroller. After a little while she gets hot and cranky and wants to go inside. I push the stroller without her, but it tips over too easily without anybody in it. I march by myself. Now I can beat my leaf baton up and down like the conductor of a band, stepping with my knees high. My tape runs out and I have to stop to rewind it. Still nobody is stopping to watch. I guess they can’t see my sign after all.

The sun is going down, glaring in my eyes, and I’m getting tired of parading. I haven’t seen any cars in five minutes. I turn off my tape player, throw my baton and crown in the grass. The yard is covered in leaves. I leave my sign on the fence – somebody might see it and want to come to the next parade. I didn’t have an audience today, but that’s okay. Maybe one of these days…

Crossposts: http://sadie-cocopuff.livejournal.com/174875.html

I've been reading for a while now about the progressive demise of LJ, and have started seeing people jump ship over to Dreamwidth for a variety of reasons, mostly having to do with fandom. Personally, I don't want to lose eight years' worth of journal entries, and having them in two places seems like a good way to ensure that. I'll be posting here but crossposting to LJ (this entry being a test of how well that works), and I'll keep checking my LJ flist. Let me know if you make the jump too.

Crossposts: http://sadie-cocopuff.livejournal.com/167092.html

I've been organizing my computer files in the past few days. It's extremely soothing. I read articles about how the hierarchical file structure is becoming obsolete, but I can't imagine how I would function without it. In any case, while organizing and moving things around, I found a bunch of old poetry, some of which I am posting here.

This one was written as a final creative project for my Dystopian Fiction class at Duke TIP, summer 2004, right after sophomore year. The title (in Latin, because I was very pretentious at 15, and also we'd read a lot of Donne sophomore year) means "books and bodies."

( libri et corpora )

The next two I'm throwing in for entertainment value -- we had to do this horrible vocabulary book called "Wordly Wise" all the way through middle and high school, and for each chapter we had to write a paragraph using some prescribed number of vocab words. In order to make it less dull, I decided to go for poems instead of paragraphs (as will likely be obvious, bold words are the vocabulary words). Both of these are from September of senior year.

( Apologia of a Monster )

( Hydroponic Rose )

And this last one I wrote in a more-or-less serious manner, the spring of senior year. I never could figure out what I wanted the punctuation to do, so I left it out entirely.

( Autumn Laughter )

Current Mood: nostalgic
Current Location: Espresso Bueno, Barre, VT

( libri et corpora )

( Apologia of a Monster )

( Hydroponic Rose )

And this last one I wrote in a more-or-less serious manner, the spring of senior year. I never could figure out what I wanted the punctuation to do, so I left it out entirely.

( Autumn Laughter )

Current Mood: nostalgic
Current Location: Espresso Bueno, Barre, VT

I'm sitting in a lovely little cafe in downtown Montpelier, waiting for the girl I'm going to be tutoring in French to arrive. I am drinking French roast cafe au lait. It is delicious. In a few hours, I will go pick Emma up from work and we will go out to dinner with her mom and her mom's friend, who wants to introduce Emma and her daughter. This weekend we're going to Middlebury, to wander the farmer's market, see friends, probably go to Two Brothers for a drink, then stopping by Burlington on our way back Sunday.

The only gloomy spot in all this wonderfulness is that I just found out the priest at St. Stephen's transferred to a church in Palo Alto, CA, at the end of May. I was looking up service times with the thought that I might go Sunday morning, and was very sad to see that he was no longer listed as the rector. Father Terry was wonderful, and I was looking forward to seeing him again. I think he may have been the first openly gay religious person I ever met.

Other than that, the first part of summer has been lovely. Emma and I basically did nothing in Texas but eat at all the different places I dragged her to. And drank a fair number of margaritas. The road trip up was alternately really fun and kind of hellish. Graceland was pretty neat, Niagara falls was AMAZING. I stood in a waterfall! Driving late into the night, especially in winding, foggy back "highways" in Vermont, was dreadful and I never want to do it again.

Since getting here, I have found the post office, Espresso Bueno, the public library -- clearly, the only important places in town -- and signed a lease and put down a security deposit on an apartment. It's not completely ideal -- for one thing, it has no internet -- but I am pretty grateful to have found someone who would rent to me for just two months, so I'm going with it. I'm currently unemployed, apart from the aforementioned tutoring, but I just met a girl at dinner tonight who said she might have some temp desk work at her business. I'm content to bum around, but if something comes up I'll take it. All in all, I'm very happy about the prospect of this summer!

Current Location: Capitol Grounds, Montpelier

Current Location: Capitol Grounds, Montpelier

I've been signing petitions on Change.org for a while now -- at first I wasn't convinced it could possibly make a difference, but their Victories page says otherwise. If nothing else, I find out about things I care about but would rarely hear about.

Well, I read about Old Navy's new line of Pride shirts on afterellen.com a few days ago, and then I came across this article today, and I got a little frustrated. Apparently, gay pride is only marketable in 26 stores out of Old Navy's 1000+ locations in the U.S. Apparently, my identity and equality are commodities that are only a safe economic bet among less than 3% of Old Navy's customers, and they couldn't even extend the line's availability to their online store. Personally, I find this offensive.

So I decided to take my armchair activism up a notch and actually write my own petition. If I've done it right, it will arrive in the email inbox, not only of Old Navy's customer service department, but of the CEO of Gap Inc., which owns Old Navy. I didn't want to be obnoxious and email-blast my friends (clearly I have no such compunctions about the owners of Gap and Old Navy), but if you have a second and would like to sign, it would be much appreciated. You can find the petition here.

Current Mood: miffed

Current Mood: miffed

The Texas House approved a budget provision late Friday requiring state colleges and universities, if they use state funds to support "a gender and sexuality center," to spend an equal amount on a center promoting "family and traditional values."

While many members in the chamber cracked jokes and guffawed, the amendment's author, Rep. Wayne Christian, said the University of Texas, Texas A&M and "some other schools" have centers promoting "alternative sexual practices."

"I'm not treading on their rights to that, to teach alternative sexual behavior," said Christian, R-Center (right). But he said they must match it, dollar for dollar, with advocating heterosexual, "traditional values."

Christian's amendment speaks of any center "for students focused on gay, lesbian, homosexual, bisexual, pansexual, transsexual, transgender, gender questioning, or other gender identity issues."

Rep. Joaquin Castro, D-San Antonio, asked, "What is a pansexual?"

Christian said if Castro would go to UT's or A&M's gender and sexuality centers, "they would teach you."

The vote on the amendment was 110-24.

This wasn't even on my radar, because seriously, who comes up with these things? It's such a false analogy. LGBT resource centers are there to raise awareness and acceptance of the existence of LGBT folks, to provide support to a group that often faces harassment and discrimination in everyday life, and to create a community for people who may have trouble finding others like them because we are prone to invisibility and marginalization in mainstream culture.

Now, think about how ridiculous that sounds if you try to translate it into a "family values" context:
The Family and Traditional Values center exists to raise awareness and acceptance of the existence of heterosexual, married couples with children. It provides support to straight couples and families, who often face harassment and discrimination in everyday life. It creates a community for heterosexuals, who are often marginalized and invisible in mainstream culture.

Really, guys? LGBT resource centers do not teach that being gay is better than being straight, or that being gender-nonconforming is better than fitting into a traditional gender role. A family and traditional values center, on the other hand, will no doubt teach exactly the opposite: that straight is inherently superior to gay, that women should be women and men should be men. An LGBT resource center does not exist to oppose the rights of heterosexuals; a traditional values center would probably consider one of its main goals to stall the progress of LGBT civil rights. Equating the two types of centers is comparing apples to rotten bananas, and is simply insulting.

Current Mood: hopping mad

Current Mood: hopping mad

this morning i wore my french sweater dress and boots, and wished i were clicking down the cobbled streets of poitiers and drinking café au lait from cute little cups instead of coming home from church to put on pajamas and commence the usual sunday marathon of grading and lesson planning. i like teaching, but i dislike not having enough energy for the adult life i could be having right now. bryan is a reasonably interesting city with a fair number of cool things going on, and i'm always too tired and/or sick to take advantage of them. i make it through the week so i can sleep 10 hours a night on the weekend.

case in point: i planned to go hang around first friday (in the aforementioned sweater dress and boots, like a classy adult instead of an exhausted teacher) while my brother went to a school party and my parents celebrated their anniversary. but by 7 p.m. i looked (and felt) so deathly my mom sent me home out of fear i wouldn't be able to drive safely much longer. i was asleep by 9. where is the life i was looking forward to having? it was much the same way at midd -- too many things to do, not enough energy to keep up. for heaven's sake, tell me it gets better.

post 20+ hours of sleep, i'm awake enough to contemplate my work without feeling like curling up and dying, but the tired-by-tuesday, sick-by-wednesday, well-by-sunday, wash/rinse/repeat schedule is getting to me. christmas will be wonderful but too short, what with grading exams and putting together spring syllabi and planning for the first week back. oh, and creating a curriculum for my elective, which is happening. i am pleased about this, but daunted by the amount of extra work it will require.

in sum: tiredtiredtiredSOtired. help?

Current Mood: exhausted

Current Mood: exhausted

my laptop has experienced hard drive failure, precisely one week before its applecare is up. as long as replacement is covered (no reason it shouldn't be, since i didn't drop the poor thing), no harm done, as everything is backed up. i'm very grateful to my dad for getting me that external hd last christmas. in the meantime, i am fortunate that my mom regards her computer as a tool for work rather than recreation, and as she has no work this weekend she has no problem with my coopting it.
a student was expelled this week for bullying. i'm feeling a little off-balance about it, and like everyone at school needs the chance to sit down and talk about bullying and how to be civil to one another. still thinking about how and when to try to make that happen.
as usual, it is saturday and i feel as though i've been hit by a truck. i can keep it together all week, but friday at 3:30 p.m. i just start to crumble. fortunately i don't seem to actually be sick this weekend. way to go, immune system. (still, it's saturday night and i'm in the pajamas i went to bed in last night. this is an indication of my general involvement with life today. which was about 0.)
there will be massive amounts of work tomorrow. i'm somewhat (read: very) behind on grading, and i just remembered that i'm giving the pre-algebra class a quiz monday, meaning i first have to write a quiz. it's irritating how that works.
i'm really excited for glee this week, though i probably won't have time to watch it till next saturday. kurt can haz bf?
i've been watching skins for hours and hours today. i finished gen 2 a couple weeks ago, so i've gone back to gen 1. still good, but my heart belongs to naomily...it would be awesome if they were in the movie coming out this summer.
so, so tired. time to sprawl on my bed and watch more tv till i become comatose. (not to worry, i promise i become a real person again when the sun rises.)

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Location: bed

my laptop has experienced hard drive failure, precisely one week before its applecare is up. as long as replacement is covered (no reason it shouldn't be, since i didn't drop the poor thing), no harm done, as everything is backed up. i'm very grateful to my dad for getting me that external hd last christmas. in the meantime, i am fortunate that my mom regards her computer as a tool for work rather than recreation, and as she has no work this weekend she has no problem with my coopting it.
a student was expelled this week for bullying. i'm feeling a little off-balance about it, and like everyone at school needs the chance to sit down and talk about bullying and how to be civil to one another. still thinking about how and when to try to make that happen.
as usual, it is saturday and i feel as though i've been hit by a truck. i can keep it together all week, but friday at 3:30 p.m. i just start to crumble. fortunately i don't seem to actually be sick this weekend. way to go, immune system. (still, it's saturday night and i'm in the pajamas i went to bed in last night. this is an indication of my general involvement with life today. which was about 0.)
there will be massive amounts of work tomorrow. i'm somewhat (read: very) behind on grading, and i just remembered that i'm giving the pre-algebra class a quiz monday, meaning i first have to write a quiz. it's irritating how that works.
i'm really excited for glee this week, though i probably won't have time to watch it till next saturday. kurt can haz bf?
i've been watching skins for hours and hours today. i finished gen 2 a couple weeks ago, so i've gone back to gen 1. still good, but my heart belongs to naomily...it would be awesome if they were in the movie coming out this summer.
so, so tired. time to sprawl on my bed and watch more tv till i become comatose. (not to worry, i promise i become a real person again when the sun rises.)

Current Mood: exhausted
Current Location: bed

once again, spent the afternoon at the village cafe, drinking a delicious delicious mocha and lesson planning. pre-algebra is all done for the week (but it's one of my favorite classes to plan, so i guess it's all uphill from here :P), though i have to make some worksheets and go buy more candy for another variable activity. bribing my 7th graders to like math, you're thinking? why yes, absolutely. sugar makes variables much friendlier.

as an added bonus, i got to hang out with kelley for the first time since school started. we managed to solve all the world's problems in our several-hour conversation. just kidding. but it was happy, and i had orange juice to counteract the mocha-induced dehydration (and to stave off any marauding bugs that might be looking to make me sick -- i've had a sore throat for a couple days out of every week since the first day of school).

prior to all this, i spent several hours of my morning playing volleyball against the saint michael's team, which was a great deal of fun, but unkind to my shoulder. the same one i messed up by falling off a bike on a remote island off the coast of ireland. it's protesting loudly, though i've hushed it up a little with modern chemistry. the ragtag team of teachers and parents did beat the volleyball team, but it was a near thing. they've improved wondrously since the beginning of the school year. one of the 6th graders consistently gets overhand serves over the net. i was pretty impressed. most girls that age just haven't developed the muscles to exert that kind of force. they play two more games this week, and then their season is over (way too soon, imho, but this is what we get for not playing in any league -- when your team has a 6th grader and a 12th grader on it, it's pretty hard to figure out where they should go). but basketball and soccer are starting up. go saints!

gluten free pizza for dinner, followed by a gluten free donut. i consider this an excellent meal, if not exceptionally nutritious. now, off to read any number of things that are lying around waiting to be read, and maybe watching an episode or two of "skins" (a rather good british tv show) if my dad ever gets off netflix...

hope everyone else is having a similarly satisfying weekend.

Current Mood: content
Current Music: "glee" in the background

Current Mood: content
Current Music: "glee" in the background

in the village cafe: "everyone in austin is exactly the same, all super liberal hippies and shit"

(judging by further overheard snippets of conversation, i don't think this guy is particularly conservative himself, so i'm choosing to find it funny rather than sad)

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Hallie

April 2015

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