Weiner Dog Tank.

A lot can change in 111 days.

A life can be flipped around in 111 days.

I'm living with my girlfriend and one of my best friends and her mom and gramma and my dog and their dog now.

I'm coming home smelling like pizza.

I've got tickets to a concert in Chula Vista, California.

I've got my own car.

I talked my dad out of killing my mom.

My parents are going to rehab.

My hair's a bit longer now.

I've got a few new tattoos.

You ever have emotional flashbacks?
Like, the emotions you feel during the flashbacks aren't relevant anymore, and you know for a fact you don't feel them anymore.

But when you get hit with a song, or location, or just a familiar sensation, you feel it all again.

I've had those a couple times recently.

They were opportunities to remember the good times but replace my first thought with them from you to her.

I'm gradually replacing you in my mind.

Casually bringing you up in conversation was the first time I thought of you in weeks.

It's 112 days now.

I'll never forget you, that's impossible.

But I don't think about you.

I don't worry about you.

And when I hear My Only Swerving, or eat cajun food, or look at my dog, it's not you they remind me of anymore.

It's falling asleep on my best friend's couch and being so fucking glad that I found sanctuary in this new person who didn't really know me or owe me a god damn thing.

It's going on a spontaneous food adventure with Mason and Kat, and talking about Deadpool and porn the whole time, laughing our asses off.

It's relief that Callie now has a new friend to run around with and play with and teach and expel energy with in this big new yard with her big new friend.

I've got a Weiner Dog Tank on my arm and he's saving me from emotions I don't feel anymore.