Celebrate The Small Milestones.

I was reviewing drafts on my blog from early March this year, and here’s my sweet, earnest Early March blog post. 

(One day after this, I tattooed my last tattoo and went into quarantine.)

March 13, 2020:

As whole shop, we decided not to do Friday the 13th, because there’s this weird virus going around.

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A Gentler Apocalypse Podcast with Sam Smith, from Disruptively Useful/Creative Showcase One.

Remember how this week I promised to give you updates on the incredible artists making strides towards connection, community and purpose, in the midst of a global pandemic? Making good on that promise today.

My buddy, Sam Smith, is an inventor, ecologist, hardware store worker and now a podcaster as well.

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SIX REASONS WHY SOCIAL DISTANCING IS SO HARD FOR HUMANS.

We’re on day three of our official quarantine in Portland, Oregon. The tattoo shop is closed. The mayor has graciously created a memorium on rental evictions that will last six months after the emergency and people are lobbying for a rental freeze. My mother wants me to move home. I am tempted to rescue my sister from one of her 11 golden retriever puppies… and social distancing is being more difficult than I anticipated. 

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NEW CLOTHES, NEW ATTITUDE

QUESTION: When will everything stop feeling like a Jesus Christ Timeline? 

LTR———//////ME\\\\\\\\——————PD (post divorce)

THIS TOO SHALL PASS. Make the most of it, and fuck it, tell the truth, part of the truth, and pieces of the truth that suck, or are funny.

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Grad School for This Artist, Yay or Nay?

There’s a buddy of mine that’s going all the way. She’s taking her education to the Ph.D. Level and girl wants me to match her. She has her own, very important, totally useful reasons for doing what she is doing, because she’s in the sciences. I am in the arts. 

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I Don’T have to be good at Divorce

Who am I kidding though? Post-divorce Finn is a whirlwind, who if she had money, would be taking all the strange workout/dance classes she could until her excess nervy energy burned out into a distilled and hopefully fit, version of herself. 

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Late night, not right, Typical KindA sadness

Late night, not right, typical kind of sadness, type of sight. Tears drizzle past the lamp light and I fight back concepts of drain rights. He said this, she asked that, my heart broke in twelve pieces this time and they (the great & grand five- who know me best) say “Stop, right there.”

“Don’t let her heart beat deceive you. Don’t let her cunt-cept receive you. But go right ahead and fuck strangers.” What sound, valid pieces of advice I receive from the wisest humans yet to help me parent me.

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