Yes, there is snow atop the Colorado mountains in the month of August.
I finished Elissa Schappell's Use Me last night.
Truth: I started reading it early this summer and then lost it in the pile of books beside my bed. When I picked it up to finish this month, mom was suddenly dead.
Truth: I laughed and cried while I read it. Mostly, I cried and bit my pillow.
Truth: There is no such thing anymore.
Truth: I seek ghosts for succor and look for omens in the woods. Then I curse all the ghosts for their disdain and avoidance. Curse them for visiting people who hate ghosts-- for talking to folks who fear ghosts-- while this ghost-hungry girl goes famished.
Truth: I am famished for her. I cannot eat enough of my mother.
Stop. Turn around. Tell me your story.
"On the first anniversary of my father's death, I realized that it was possible that because I'd been building him up in my mind for so long, preparing for the day when I'd lose him, I'd missed the man altogether, and now he was irretrievable."
I left Elissa's book in our Funky Little Free Library (for locals who'd like to read it). It's a great book. A book I didn't expect to need in the way I've need it this month. A book I didn't expect to use as a scaffold for the fucked-uppedness of grief but use it I did. Use each other we must. Use the love we find. And just keep on using it until we use it up.
