god, i can’t even. i can’t even anymore. i literally cannot even. i think i could even at one point but by this point i absolutely cannot even. i can’t. i can’t even. i mean, it’s just so, it’s so very, i can’t even, you know, i saw it, i mean, i saw it, i saw it happen and then trevor said something and i was like i can’t even right now and left. i can’t even, when i think about it i can’t even. i can’t. i can’t. i can’t even. can you…? could you even if you tried? cause i tried. i tried to even and i couldn’t, i laid on the ground and just tried to even and i couldn’t. i spent a week trying. a whole week. turned off my phone, went out into the woods, laid on a bamboo mat in a log cabin built by my grandpa in the summer of 1936. they, my grandma and him, had run off to montana to escape the depression and live off the land. they had a bunch of seeds, a .30-06, some bullets, i think that was it. ate nothing but stuff they killed at first, had to eat everything so they wouldn’t starve. just eating meat doesn’t have enough nutrition, you see. that gun is still there, covered in cobwebs. everything was covered in cobwebs. i spent a week just cleaning the place and setting up rat traps and stuff like that. and then, you know, no TV, no radio even. no smartphone. i was off the grid. i brought a bunch of luna bars and firewood for cooking. groceries and whatnot. i didn’t know where to put them because there wasn’t a fridge or even an icebox. how the hell did people keep their produce fresh back then, you know? i ended up cooking a lot for the first couple of days, after i cleaned, i mean. i cooked up stews and chili and stuff that i could put in tupperware and live off of for a couple of weeks. i wasn’t thinking of the long term, i just wanted a few days alone in this cabin, to think, to rest, to recuperate. and … i did. it felt like i did. it was sunny the whole time, clear skies, i was about a hundred feet away from a brook, like an actual babbling brook. it was gorgeous, it was so quiet at night, kind of scary, but i was literally in the middle of nowhere so i wasn’t scared. not of people at least. maybe bears. but it was so serene, it made me feel so peaceful, so connected to the earth. some nights i would just lie in the little, stiff bed in the single room of this cabin and i’d stare out of the window at the trees rustling in the breeze and i would just cry, i’d cry for hours, cry about shit that happened to me and shit that hadn’t, cry about the future, and cry-laugh and laugh and get angry. i had all these feelings that did not need to hide behind anything anymore. no people to judge me, no crazy, extenuating circumstances that lodged stress in my chest. it was glorious. no makeup, no need to “prepare” myself for anyone, men, women, anyone. i’d go hiking in the morning and eat stew in the afternoon and nap and none of my worries were worries anymore. then, on sunday, i packed up all my things and drove back into town, watching the woods slowly dissipate, replaced with the urban jungle of skyscrapers and people. i saw an old man with a walker waiting to cross the street and i cried so hard for him my chest hurt. he was so lovely, just a little old man being beautiful and gentle. and even then, after all that time spent alone in a cabin in the woods, i still can’t even. i can’t. i can’t even. i just seriously cannot.