sometimes you’re going to screw up over the dumbest and silliest things, and you’re going to be angry at yourself, sad for screwing things up, and it’s all ok, you’re still valid and you can make even greater things while you’re still alive. you’re a good kid. I love you.
I think it stumbled into a rural-gothic novel this weekend without meaning to. It involved a possibly dead neighbor in the woods, an inability to get a hold of a single damn law enforcement official to ascertain actual deadness or not deadness, an endlessly barking dog that wouldn't leave its yard despite nothing keeping it there, and a traveling caravan of cowboys.