a hundred peaches set out to ripen on the workbench in the garage; stepping out on a june morning to graze on blueberries and raspberries; fresh caprese every night in august the year my dad planted 20 tomato shoots in march; being sent out to pick basil and chives and rosemary for dinner; bean stalks climbing up the side of the house; the cat laying in a sunny spot by the rose bushes no vices, cooking 3 times a day, endless cleaning of the kitchen, idle talk with the neighbors, mending clothes, midday naps with the dog, the climate of the Willamette valley in the summer (the best in the world). my parents who are kind and giving and a normal amount of overbearing and excessively religious. unfortunately i cannot let myself move back because i find myself slipping into inaction- the blanket of childhood weighs down on my entire body- i know i will not make anything of myself if i don’t have responsibility for my life

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had a day off today and was tempted to lay in bed but something called me to go hiking instead. i forgot to bring my journal so i am going to recap the day right here. i didn’t ask anyone to come with me. brought some meal prep chicken tacos and a bag of cherries and climbed 1500 feet to my picnic spot. gorgeous panoramic views of central oregon spread out around me. i thought about where i came from as i passed dads and their begrudging kids, and i wondered if i have what it takes to get where im going… a shirtless man running down the trail with Tool blasting from his phone stopped to accuse me of not calling my dad. when i finished i jumped in a busy lake and washed the dirt off. i have a minifridge and some boxes of silverware in my car so they made a racket as i drove down the mountain access road. im not sure we have free will and i was trying to wrap my head around the implications of that.. i got stuck in traffic after the famous Sisters rodeo this morning, i stopped at a gas station for onion chips and stood behind a 6’8ā€ glass of water in a cowboy hat who looked like he may have been a disgruntled bullrider. i listened to Hank Williams and George Strait and remembered what I love about America and then a Johnny Cash song came on that my grandma used to like and i cried. i picked up nicotine gum from my sisters house. they’re building a staircase outside. i spent 3 hours cooking. i set my alarm for 6:45. im thankful for inertia
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Not that anyone will care, but to understand me you have to understand this: I was raised by Christian Protestant fundamentalists, the youngest of 4 by 10 years. Although I resent the church and the theology I desperately tried to make myself believe, I am grateful for their teachings of serving and loving others, even if they contradicted themselves when they told me to fear the evil nature of humanity. I was named after my grandma, who lived with me for 11 years of my childhood and remained ever trusting and kind as she fell victim to dementia. By the time I was 8 my parents seemed to have tired from raising 4 kids and intensively caring for a 90 year old woman, and I was free to bike miles across town to the library unsupervised, and patch myself up when I fell and bled, and lock myself in my room to read every spare hour of the day. I would read while I ate breakfast, I would read while brushing my teeth, I would read and I wouldn’t hear it if someone called my name. I discovered the internet soon after and unfortunately the curiosities it offered won out over literature. When the internet taught me I wouldn’t live forever in heaven under the tree of life with Teddy Roosevelt and my grandpa, I was on my own to process and panic and pretend to pray. My family came from Norway, across Canada, down to Northern Idaho to work in the lumber yards, and finally to Oregon when starvation wages hit the shop teachers. My mom grew up on elk tongue sandwiches and I was never allowed to leave a plate full. I always struggled with friendships, not because people didn’t like me but because I have a tendency for isolating myself. The people I love most tend to be strange and upfront and vulnerable. And I do love my family, but more than anything I want to be independent and meet many strange and upfront people who will lead me to adventure. I am almost 20 and I am an artist. I have no tattoos and I am reckoning with my potential.
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If money and time were no object, I would do everything. - Harvest and grow vegetables - Deep clean my bathroom - Paint murals - Lay in the sun - Play the cello - Make dinners that aren’t cold pizza - Visit the library - Crochet clothes for stuffed animals - Update my portfolio - Forage for mushrooms - Paint my toenails and not smudge them - Make banana bread - Write a children’s book - Sew a quilt - Listen to audiobooks - Put up shelves - Meet up with friends - Learn how to bind notebooks - Sell big art - Wash my car - Visit the public market for local honey - Brush the cat - Write secret poetry - Go camping - Make stained glass - Create my own plushies - Send postcards - Make a zine - And so much more This is my everything season, life is too short to live as a plain bagel. The seasonings of the season beckon, and I’m ready to experience it all.

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