Friday, March 4, 2016
calamitous felines counsel nefarious matchsticks
in the darkness of night the police notices are far less visible
the couch smells not like me but like my friends
the cat sleeps on the comforter in the closet
Fuck. there I said it. suddenly I remember climbing to the top of the castle in that New York City park
I made a giant vat of chili and we ate some of it.
The rest I've ladled into jars.
I will put them in the fridge and we will eat the leftovers over the course of the next few days.
Thank goodness for my poems.
I might have forgotten that I love you.
I did not pour myself vodka at 10 o'clock this morning, even though I wanted to, and on days like today I will consider this a victory.
Don't assume that you know what I'm talking about.
How lucky I am, how amazing it is, to be friends with people who also remember my first grade.
I will tell you a secret I have seen a lot of frogs at the base of the first hill near the lesser-known trail head for Trout Run. They leap into the water and hide under the tree roots as I pass.
I will tell you another secret I have been in love with you for so long.
I will tell you another secret I care very much for his feelings.
The wounds in the corners of my mouth are healing more and more every day.
On the mornings that I remember to write in my journal I also try to remember to write
I am living the life of my dreams.
We've lived a lot of places.
Let's keep the adventure going.
Thursday, March 3, 2016
It is in my nature to be extremely conscious of my surroundings everywhere that I go, which is why I was so startled when the black dog with the red collar appeared beside me in the trees and then darted in front of me on the trail at breakneck speed. I was surprised that I didn't hear it running up on me from behind, but there it was, inches from my right thigh, and then in front of my feet on the steep, rocky incline, and then out of sight again as quickly as it had first appeared.
There's a special place in hell for people who spraypaint their names on large rocks in the woods.
As I sat on the large rock overlooking the river I was feeling very sad and alone. I had fallen, hard, on the slippery trail an hour earlier, and in the minute that it took me to assess my injuries and pull air back into my lungs I teared up a little, because I had thought I would be there on that trail with someone else, and instead I was splayed bruised and muddy on the side of a steep forest hill, alone. In other words, I was not having a very good day. Come to think of it, this year has really gotten off to a lousy start, and most of last year sucked too. So it was the collective weight of a bad day and a shitty year that contributed to my sitting on the large rock overlooking the river, feeling very sad and alone. Then a bald eagle flew by me, right past the rock at the same level as my body, and I reached out my hand as if to stroke its feathers, and I started smiling and crying at the same time, only this time it wasn't so much that I was sad as it was that I remain grateful.
It saddens me to see Vagisil deodorizing Feminine Wash Creme stacked ten rows deep on the metal shelves in Giant's first aid section. There are several reasons that explain why I feel sadness upon encountering these rows of Vagisil, which I will now enumerate. First, the fact that there are so many bottles of Vagisil deodorizing Feminine Wash Creme on Giant's metal shelves suggests that the people in charge of ordering Vagisil from its suppliers ran the numbers and determined that this product is in high enough demand that it is worth Giant's money to invest in stocking the shelves at least ten bottles deep. The second reason is directly related to the first, and in fact serves to explain why the first reason bothers me in the first place. This reason is that, by implication, the fact that Giant's suppliers have determined that it is worth the company's money to invest in a vast supply of Vagisil suggests that a vast array of women feel the need to deodorize their feminine body parts. By extension, this implies to me that a vast array of women have accepted that there is something dirty, or wrong, or otherwise unpleasant about their feminine body parts, and that it is consequently their responsibility to do something to mask these parts and/or to alter them in such a way that they are separate from their original state of being. They might do so because our culture encourages women to otherize their own bodies, and this message is so pervasive that it is often very difficult to eschew its influence and declare No, I will not deodorize my feminine body parts. No, I am not gross or wrong or any less attractive for refusing to do so. The third reason is that the rows of Vagisil deodorizing Feminine Wash Creme are located within Giant's designated "First Aid" section, thereby implying that there is something medically or otherwise critically necessary about deodorizing women's feminine body parts. The fourth and final reason I feel sad when I encounter Vagisil deodorizing Feminine Wash Creme stacked ten rows deep on Giant's metal first aid section shelves is that I worry sometimes if I am too prescriptive in my judgements. While I may feel viscerally opposed to the sight or utility of Vagisil deodorizing Feminine Wash Creme, perhaps other women value the role that this product plays in their lives. It makes me sad to think that my determination of the oppressive and dehumanizing nature of Vagisil deodorizing Feminine Wash Creme might make another woman feel badly about herself for choosing to use it.
All this time I thought he really liked me. Maybe he doesn't really like me.
For several years I thought he understood what I was feeling in those moments when I dissociate because I am afraid. He did not understand what I was feeling.
Now that I have told him, he still does not understand.
No matter which direction I choose, I'm a statistic.