Lessons From the Kissing Booth

I bought a little blue electric typewriter yesterday, and the noise it makes seems to fill in the empty spaces inside my skull nicely.
I've named it Esther.
I spent the day thinking about my little typewriter in the hazy sort of way that I usually think about cute boys.

Everything has been difficult lately, and it all became more so last week when my stepmother called to say that my grandmother attempted suicide. She swears now that she didn't mean it but it turns out that 10 or 15 of the 40 pills she took would have done the job nicely, and no one seems to know what to do with either her or themselves. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel.

There are all these echoing empty spots like air bubbles in my brain, and the typewriter noise bounces around inside them and gives them something to do. It makes me happy, and I like the rhythm of words. I can't yet figure out if I like writing letters on it, but that just means I'll have to write more letters to find out.