Ten.Two Thousand, Two Hundred & Fifty-Five
One more week.
Bad length.
Third outfit change. Can’t get comfortable.
He says it. I hadn’t realized it. But it makes sense. “I’m getting older, I say.” She uses the word “perimenopause.”
Aaaaaaand there it is.
I somehow forgot that I had no computer. Sometime in the afternoon, they say. Oh, I need to go back home.
You have to put on pants for the eye doctor.
“Her mom said we look like twins with our hair pulled back.” “He said, ‘You look like your mom,’ when we were at Sunshine.” “I don’t see it.” “I don’t either.”
Everyone is so grown.
