Thursday, October 23, 2008

I have 26 projects which is 20 too many and about two too many emotional trusty feelingsy conversations a week and too many people to trust and one birdlike girl whispering there is no trust not if you want to be safe and that makes sense. I think I used to be a good person. I think I used to be able to sit by the ocean for a moment in grey fall and know that ocean and that grey and that fall. What you want to remember is never how things were. But I can romanticize the coldest truth. My one gift -- I can make a story of anything.

I remember holding the hands of so many people I do not speak to anymore. I remember once my arms moving without my telling them to in time with some foreign chanting. I remember an early music trio in a stone cathedral in Paris, playing in echoing silence to a packed funeral. I remember the ocean bending like a marble and vast. I remember hairy armpits and meatless plates. I remember fighting with the Pacific ocean in a borrowed bathing suit with boyshort hair-- it won. I remember coming up to my parents' house during college, how safe and warm that first inhale through their door always smelled. I remember wanting to be beautiful. I remember wanting to be ugly. I remember so much sadness and rain in Ireland. I remember not wanting to forget. I remember my dog Shadow, in the end, with three legs. I remember being in high school and wanting to be touched. I remember laughing when my Grandma died, because I was a stupid, scared teenager. I remember so many people telling me I was too sensitive. I am still too sensitive. Now I just know how to throw it.

So me being like this I figure I only have a few options. Be an abusive twat, be a boring depressive, be an addict, or just work a lot and fervently. I don't much like making the people I love unhappy, think being boring is worse than dying, can't even get addicted to cigarettes no matter how hard I try, and swear to mom I haven't been drunk in weeks, so I guess that just leaves the stupid work and going and going and trying to remember how to love everyone.

There is a long fat closeknit scarf in a bag that I hope to finish by Christmas. A year ago right now my life was just about to change. I am so much better in so many ways, but I used to want it all inside of me. Now I am trying to learn how to love without hurting. I have goals now, and self-sufficiency, and thick skin, but I used to know how to listen to words and waves and the flapping of crows and the singing of sand.

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