Well, it’s my birthday. My credit card, the clear plastic laminating stuff is peeling off so it wouldn’t go in the machine right. The worker typed in my stuff manually and asked for my zip code.
Was reading this article about what happens to homeless people in Phoenix when they die. Their bodies are buried by prisoners in orange clothes while prison guards watch. The article has pictures, and I was looking at the prisoners in prayer, which made me cry.
I bought a postcard Support Your Local Farmer and a cute bamboo spoon for myself while Ming parked. The postcard is for my friend in Idaho who isn’t really a farmer anymore.
I miss my dad, which is making me cry too. But we did our best. No regrets, I think, as I list the options of what I could be regretting.