At my current age of 39, my father was doing fuck if I know.

My mother was coming off postpartum depression from my youngest brother’s birth.

Beyond that? It is a mystery.

You know those moronic laws that outlaw being gay? That entire category of legislation can die in a dumpster fire.

My dream home is a small cottage. One and a half bathrooms to the ratio of two bedrooms. A kitchen that isn’t too small, with an actual, functional hearth in it. Or a wood stove. With a low maintenance, edible garden my brother Aaron and I teamed up to create outside, and a Dutch door painted either cherry red to welcome travelers or purple to let everyone know a witch lives here.

Maybe a tree that’s perfect to climb up and read in on lazy days, and a hammock for in the summer.

A home filled with laughter, love, and the occasional cat whisker.

If I got some splendid news, I’d tell my dear ones about it. Mellon, J, Reffie, and Chele, most likely. Depending on what time of day I got the news, I’d tell my sibs and Grandma Gator.

All right, I know I’m going to get some flack for this but my favorite candy is black licorice.

Yes, I know, it’s gross to a lot of people. I am not one of them.

The internet, as we know it today.