first thanksgiving i'm spending alone. my family sent me fifty dollars to buy myself some sort of meal for the holiday. i don't think many places are open. and, to be honest, i'm pretty comfortable in my room and don't want to leave. it was really windy earlier, but i think that has died down a bit.

a poem that i definitely forgot i drunkenly wrote but submitted to my schools litmag because it doesn't really matter to me if it gets accepted i just think it's funny to force people to read it:

art is bullshit

i’m plucking hairs off my big toe

it can’t change anything

satisfied by the white bulbous ends that come up

when i do it right

we're destined to follow the same routines

me with these hairs, people with their jobs

i miss slacker culture

i'm gonna drink some water

thunder rumbles my walls

and go to bed