Roadbenders

The little blue room I sleep in at my mother’s house is filled with stacks of clothes, rolls of canvas, scattered brushes and sundry cosmetics. I have been packing for over twenty four hours now, and I don’t feel I’m any closer to done. I have gotten very good at packing in the last six
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When I started this in August, I tried to live it out loud. To write about everything that was happening, good and bad. It was a lot of good, mostly, at the beginning – exciting new experiences, new places, wonderful new friends. I wrote about my mother’s illness in November, and have written since about
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There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.

My dad wasn’t around much, and when he was, there was usually drama. But for some reason, when I turned thirteen, he decided it was time to give me a guitar. He played, his dad played, and my dad never had any sons. So he gave me a 1979 Takamine acoustic, a jumbo dreadnought that
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Lester Vetter Originally uploaded by metafilter’s_interrobang. I love this. Jenn and I found a yearbook from 1947 at the thrift store last week. John Ralston drew a picture of each member of the senior class, one a night for three months. Brilliant.

The sun has been up for an hour; the paramedics left thirty minutes ago. Last night, I got home from my cousin’s 3rd birthday party around 7:30 to find Mom vomiting in the bathroom. She started a new drug to increase her white blood cell count, a shot in the belly once a day for
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