march 2015

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ufo factory bathroom

You are here. Your friends are too.
Well, like outside the door. Not IN the bathroom with you.
You are uncomfortable with selfies, but comfortable here.
The walls are pink. You shift your stance in the light. You snap a picture.

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b-room, driver’s side/backseat studio

You are here. Your feet cross the threshold of a beat-up room you’ve been in before.

You play and record songs with two of the closest people in your life.

Jo is the very best at snacks. You’d considered naming your band Snacks at one point.

You all want to capture this moment in time, and Jo is going to have a second kid. You know things are going to change a lot.

You have no idea how giant that statement really is.

april 2015

dreamland theater, ypsi

You are here. You’re with these same bandmates, playing at a fest you’ve played every year since you started this band/playing bass — including playing right after you graduated school. Even that one year your guitarist had to go take a breastfeeding break in the car. These babes are some the most solid, most make-it-work women that you know. You are loyal.

As you’re starting off, some idiot tosses a beer can and an insult.

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You plant your feet, square your hips, throw that beer can right back and holler right back at him. This boy’s dumb anger is not yours to carry.

You launch into a set that might well be your last as a band, though none you know it yet. You’re having a long-planned surgery in a month, and life’s taking some twists for everyone, as life does.

september 2015

a farm, your house, the doctor’s office

You are here. Look, you’ve recovered from surgery!

You dance, hopping up and down, you celebrate, you stroll out to the fire, warming your feet by it — fancy shoes aren’t really made for the slight chill of a September night in the country.

You find a tiny bump in the shower, so you visit the doctor (he has braces. it’s disconcerting)

He tells you not to worry.
You worry.
You are right to worry.

april 2016

your backyard

You are here, somewhat to your own surprise.

You are so, so tired, but finishing the second part of a three-part, nine-month marathon. You are mostly napping. Wanting nobody to need anything from you. You do not want to be needed. You need yourself and you need other people but they cannot need you, it takes too much.

You go to the hospital every day. You are so. damn. sick. of the hospital. But grateful it can help you. But also, did I mention tired?

Most days when fatigue hits, it’s heavy as a surging wave in the ocean. Suddenly, you need to lay down. You think of those weighted blankets, and imagine someone just running around throwing them on people. That is how it would look. Instant crumpling.

There is no choice, no coaxing the body with caffeine or breath or movement.

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You are here. You are a shadow, in more ways than one. Your silhouette is different, because, wig. You’re wearing a hat because of the suddenly bright sun and hypersensitivity to light. It kind of makes you look like a shootout villain at high noon in a western.

You lay in a hammock under a blanket, in true Michigan style. The crocuses reach upward, and hyacinths pop.

You are here.

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