Thursday, February 21, 2013

not such a prude, after all

silent rush of movement
an agreement
only takes two nods
and a batting of lashes
you met me there
and i didn't have to ask
or answer
in the grainy dawn
fingers bruised from the cold,
hushed walk,
at four
in the morning
left your sheets,
warm

Thursday, February 14, 2013

shred for life


shred for life
So I signed Caden’s death wish and got him a skateboard.  It’s been an interesting couple of weeks.  It was definitely odd when he walked by me and was all, "See ya, Mom, I’m gonna go shred.”
He’s been watching youtube videos and instructional videos of these kid skaters and is telling me the names of all these tricks he’s going to learn. I’ll be glad when he can just stay on his board.  He’s surprised me though, because after a few days, he already seemed fairly comfortable on it. He told me today that he feels “weird” without his gear on, and he wants to “shred for life.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I guess I’m on board. Well. Not literally. I would break my fucking leg. I tried. I fell. He laughed. Shithead.


Day 1
shirt says, "Built to Shred"



this happens, a lot









Getting the hang of things




duh

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

double shower head

slippery, slick arms
pull me from behind
whispered, thick words
drown
in my ear

his urgency burns
my skin,
suffocates the air

but all i can think about
is the soap
burning in my eye

and the water, getting cold

Monday, February 11, 2013

waiting


the problem lay
in the lack of trees
it’s airless here,
no ebullient fireflies
only stale words-
wasted vagaries
the fuck is the point
in a blistering breeze?
no dry limbs to caress
no broken bones, skinned knees
 
so still, it sits
con-tem-pla-ting
longing for movement
from you?
or me?

pale bruised light in the sky
aujourd' hui


This life is so short. Yet, still, we wait.

au +‎ jour +‎ de +‎ hui; since hui comes from Latin hodie, the phrase literally means "on the day of this day".

sick day

Little dude has strep throat, so he spent the day in bed with movies and Gatorade. I spent the day on my couch pretending to grade papers and do lesson plans. I am extremely lazy.

That is all.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

it's okay, this time (and the next, and the next)

long sleeves and dark glasses


insistent drops
pregnant splashes
on the windshield
she’ll sit here all night
green glow from the dash
bathing her
desolate voices from the radio
butter on the bruises
like ice, but warmer
the keys don’t really matter
maybe some other time,
some other night

(what if she stays?)

Monday, February 4, 2013

my social experiment

I’m shy. Extremely and painfully shy, sometimes, depending on my mood, or how bipolar I’m feeling on the day in question. I don’t like doing anything that draws attention to me; it’s gotten worse the older I get.  Bowling can make me uncomfortable....karaoke would probably make me have a seizure. My social anxiety is stupid, and one of the things that I really, really despise about myself. The people in my life who know me well often forget this about me, because I’m an open book once I trust and know you. And I'm a giant idiot.  But I’m very, very selective about who I let in, and who gets to see me be an idot.

 Being around strangers, though, it makes my fingers go numb. And makes me feel super fucking awkward.  The only medication, I’ve found, to my shyness, is drinking. So when I go out, and have to be social, I feel like I have to drink. I’d much rather spend the evening hanging on my couch, reading a book, writing, or watching Urban Cowboy. Or Labryinth. Or St. Elmo's Fire. Or Space Camp. Ooooh or The Last Starfighter. Or Flight of the Navigator. Sigh. And, while I'm living in the 80's,  I’ll have a glass of wine, sure, but when I’m by myself, it’s just for the taste. Not for the way it affects my personality.


Out at bar. A few drinks in.
Totally friendly.
For the past few years, I dated a guy who worked in a bar. Not a mellow, small bar with live music and dark, hidden tables, but a loud, smoky, stupid, club-type bar. The crappy club music was so loud, you couldn't hear anyone to have a conversation, and everyone was so drunk, it didn't matter what they were saying, anyway. For three years, he worked at this bar, while he was finishing school, and even when he was done with school, he didn’t quit the bar. So I’d go there, a lot, to see him. And while there, I drank. Excessively.

The last few years, it got worse. I would get black out drunk.  It was never on purpose. I just knew I had to start the night off with a drink, so I could talk to people, or I’d have a panic attack. Apparently, I wasn’t allowed to bring my book to the bar and sit in a corner. So, I would tell myself, no more than two, but someone would always pour me a 3rd, 4th, 5th. I barely weighed a 100 lbs., so it didn’t take much.
So anyway, this last year that I’ve been on this period of, I dunno, self-discovery, I’ve had to admit to myself that I am not able to stick to my limits while I’m out. Which also made me take a closer look at why I feel like I have to drink while I’m out. Which ALSO lead me to try to be, um, socially sober, I guess.  You know, go out with some girlfriends and attempt to be friendly without the aid of my liquid courage.
It didn’t work out so well. Apparently, I’m a bitch when I’m sober. Wont go into details,  but one comment directed to a friend about me: "I can see why she's single."
On couch. Sober. Not too friendly.
 But totally myself.

I CAN’T HELP IT. PEOPLE ARE STUPID. I CAN’T DEAL WITH STUPID, SOBER.

So, in conclusion, I’ve resigned myself to my couch. For the rest of my goddamned life.