Henry came home and took Chooch back to work with him so I could maybe avoid being admitted to the psych ward this afternoon. I spent my time alone laying outside with a book about Albert Fish called “Deranged” (entirely apropos) and taking pictures of the wildflowers in my front yard. I never take pictures of flowers, ever. Endless photo streams of flowers is one of my least favorite things in the world. But I figured since my grandma was gypped out of a proper send-off, the least I could do is post some floral photos in her honor.
Everyone deserves flowers when they die. Fine, even Katy Perry.