delight | (no subject)

4:37, while ascending over Lake Michigan, is the part where I started crying again. I mean, not really crying crying, there was no sobbing, just tears behind my eyes. And when you have the kind of autoimmune disease where you don't actually produce any tears of the non-emotional sort, tears welling up is a noticably big deal.

So: tears. Tears that could have been crying if I didn't redirect them.

Tears because my friends are still on the ground behind me and it could be February before I see them again and because it's Lake Michigan and dad isn't here.

My pancreatic cancer bracelet is on my wrist and Sarah's necklace is around my neck, and I have them with me in a way but I also don't, and it hurts that I don't know when I can travel again to be with my friends, even when I can't be with my dad.

And my mission is to make my neurotic people-fearing dog an amazing traveler.

And my other mission is to be able to bring my dog where my dad is.

first-person narrative of life was what I was going to do with Pillowfort, but I think I can also crosspost it here. not that I have a Pillowfort, but I wanted to play with it.