A little reflection never hurt no one supposedly

 Northern rural California is a funny place to live. Not particularly in a haha type of a way but unfortunately real life isn't usually all that hilarious anyways. Poppy grew up like many people in her county, up some mountain with breath taking views, wildlife and what she wouldn't really realize until high-school, bless her parents, poverty and generational trauma. Up said mountain, Poppy spent most of her youth reading, wandering the forests, smoking weed, all that good emerald triangle children shenanigans. Back then we could take random stuff out to the forest with whatever flammable materials we could snatch and set it on fire without taking out half a county. Although poppy was born in 1996, her and her sisters didn't grow up with electricity, TV, cellphone service later on when they became available or any of that. Hell, they didn't have a working toilet until poppy was about nine or ten. Today, Poppy still lives on that mountain and still doesn't have great reception and doesn't even know if landlines exist anymore. She thrives in this environment and really doesn't like to leave if she doesn't have too. So long as her, her animals and their basic needs are met, which thus far (praise some higher power) almost always are, Poppy could give a fuck about the other bells and whistles. 

    We all suffer from some side effects of childhood, whether intentional or not. Poppy is no exception. Today, at 26 years old, she's been finding it easier to be able to reflect on past transgressions, although there's always the nagging question, "well, what in the flying fuck is even the point of that?" Considering self-reflection is basically a form of self torture, though nobody wants to admit it.

     Recent revelations have had poppy left wondering if perhaps she's been reflecting on the wrong issues. It's easy to look back on the sad, unbearable events in our lives and end up bumming ourselves out to the point alcohol fued black outs and random sex are better than the the eventual reality we find ourselves in at the end of such reflections and even then it's a blackout so there's no remembering of any clear instances, thought or action, then the next thing we know it's 12 years, six cars and two DUI charges later and we're not doing any better than we were. Then there's the sinking voice again that says, "well at least it went fast and you don't remember most of it anyway, fuck it."