Widely taped and traded

It's hard to make out in baseball hats.




In my dream we were about to have sex again, finally, deep kissing with our shirts still on, pants off and pressed up against each other. Right before you slid into me you had to step outside for a moment, we were on a boat or a spaceship or some other kind of fantastical public transportation vessel, and while I waited for you to come back Hanna started having another seizure in the large cabin to which we'd snuck off earlier for the purpose of having sex, and I knelt down beside her and held her and talked to her gently.

I woke up not long after, and not long after that Hanna really did seize, on the bed this time, then sliding down onto the floor where she spasmed and peed a little and I held my hand between her head and the bedframe so she wouldn't be hurt and you heard me from the bathroom and sprinted to the freezer for a bag of cold butternut squash to hold onto her back with your pants unzipped.

Hanna has the purest heart of anyone I have ever met—yesterday she found a fledgling magpie stuck in shock in the dirt beneath one of the biggest trees on the disc golf course, its mom yelling frantically, and she walked up gingerly, sniffed it ever so gently, and then gave it its space to learn how to fly. Another time when she was chasing ground squirrels in the big wide field beside the river she caught up to a little one with paralyzed back legs frantically trying to haul itself into a hole, and once again she came to a stop, sniffed it ever so gently, and then watched it protectively while it crawled back into its home. She is so gentle and good and she doesn't deserve for these seizures to keep happening to her. Why don't they pick on somebody their own size.


What if I put it on the phono.


Perhaps we really will get to hear that 45-minute weird Dark Star played through the nice speakers.


Because I am a 32-year-old woman I am trying to use real em dashes these days.