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It's almost June. It's June. With the significance the month holds in my life, often I feel like each time I look up it's almost June. Or just after June. Which mostly means it never ends. Each day, I have a dead mother. Some days I'm better at dealing with it than others.

I bought (am paying off???) a new phone. The photo quality is amazing but I've been so scared taking any selfies. This is one pale, cold morning. I hate this season.

I've had this paragraph and the idea of a "catch up" post in my gmail drafts for weeks now. Each morning I think, I'll type on my taxis and stop when I get to work. But I don't. The other evening, I told Mercy that I'm not writing and not writing is making me anxious and unhappy. But writing also makes me anxious.

A full month at my new job is done and dusted. I'm still not sure if it's working out but I'm there. I'm making it work. I'm grateful to have work and a way to pay my way. But it being this time of the year means things are rather unnerving. It's hard to fall asleep at night, it's even harder to wake up in the mornings.

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Pointless images from my ig to break up this post

When Mercy and I were out, it was for first thursdays. It was all my fault, really. I saw an artist's weird melanin fetish artist statement and wanted to go see the work and Mercy offered me company. We didn't even stay five minutes at the show by the artist whose medium is primarily computer rendered graphics. Sure, I got the aesthetic and kept saying it reminded me of Inkomazi cartons. But the venue was smoky and small and I got offended by the person dressed like Ashton Sanders. We then went WAM where there would be a performance piece that we did not get. We seemed to be the only ones who didn't get it because when it finished, everyone clapped and promptly got up and left. We were still waiting for context. Maybe first thursdays is better in warmer weather. We then went to eat American burgers and chips and cry (me).

I worry that things are not getting better, that I'm not improving (in the way I cope with being alive, cope with being alone, cope with being me) that I'm at a standstill or, worse, paddling backwards. So it's better to not write or plan or think. Instead, I scroll or over think work or count on my fingers all the bad things and the time that's ticking.

I'm glad it's no longer March, tho. I'm glad we're (still) preg with twins. I'm glad I'm not afraid of myself and my hypothetical love most days. In all my 👎👎👎👎👎 feels, I'm always comforted to know that, surely, ngeke kuhlale kunje. Or something. 

If you're a black African woman who writes or makes art, please submit to the next issue of my zine. he theme is survival and self-care.

Lol I can't wait for these updates to not be like this. I have hope. I hope you're doing better.