Mark Phillips' Pages: Workbook: April 2020

Workbook: April, 2020

April 30, 2020: "It was her choice," sure.
April 29, 2020: Guilt, for my lack of understanding.
April 28, 2020: My mother's depression was one of many outcomes of the severe abuse she suffered as a child.
April 27, 2020: The fetchin' neighbor lady suns!
April 26, 2020: White people at the laundromat won't sit with Mexicans.
April 25, 2020: The terminal shuttle is a flat-bed truck, open to the sky.
April 24, 2020: I've restarted the book I was reading the day we met.
April 23, 2020: When I prayed to God to take care of you I heard him laugh out loud.
April 22, 2020: Ritual:
April 21, 2020: Late twenties, sun-blasted skin, stubble, smells of beer.
April 20, 2020: I am in the pool.
April 19, 2020: Gone forever.
April 18, 2020: It's ironic that things die by growing too big.
April 17, 2020: I watched my grandmother cook.
April 16, 2020: I miss him.
April 15, 2020: When he flew to California for their wedding he brought a handful of small gifts.
April 14, 2020: Her paranoiac vision of communication.
April 13, 2020: Pretzels were the first food I taught myself to like.
April 12, 2020: Philosophy professor, University of San Diego.
April 11, 2020: Dude!
April 10, 2020: I personally experienced the great Santa Barbara oil spill of 1968 when I came out of the ocean covered in it.
April 9, 2020: "And when it happens, it's com-plete-ly nach-rul."
April 8, 2020: I drove through the town where we used to live.
April 7, 2020: Kitty killed the little bird's mate.
April 6, 2020: Apparently her husband suggested me.
April 5, 2020: 12B chows a very messy breakfast sandwich which ends up on her jeans...
April 4, 2020: Interesting to never dream of it.
April 3, 2020: Music to murder to. Interesting.
April 2, 2020: You're not unhappy I kidnapped you?
April 1, 2020: She had ghosts in her bed.