Posted on April 16, 2017April 16, 2017 Happy Easter if you celebrate Christ’s Resurrection. There’s some dude dressed up like the Easter Bunny halfway down the block and seeing him from my window freaks me out. I don’t understand how some man sweating in a polyester get-up is celebratory. I don’t understand celebration in general. I tried to celebrate the day by going up to the _. The _ that will always be one of my favorite places. So much has happened around my time w_ on it. [Huge chunk of tangents removed, 475 words, mostly about being in a bad way, about the shit _’s putting me through, about the co-worker from April 14 and how he just loves making sure everyone know he reads Zizek digitally orthographicized, Žžžžžžžž fml gfy pretentious whatever i see right thru all yr shit.] Before I went up to the woods, I went to church because I figured my father would want me to. I sat there blaming god a little bit, maybe wished I had the capacity to believe in something, avoided selfish prayer, prayed for my parents, prayed for my mom, prayed my dad would live past 75, thought that maybe this city is too easy, prayed to my dead godmother, thought about sewing rosette appliques on all my summer clothing (pink ones, black ones, should they have leaves), thought about the gardener bit and all those weird illustrations of the Resurrection from Catholic school with blanking yellow tulips in them, thanked my father’s God that people aren’t obliged to hold hands while Our Fathering. The 7-year-old was right to cringe at my version of Sunday best.