________________
​
The light
is coming down
I know this because
it now streaks in the room
and moves with the wind
whereas before
it didn't.
________________
​
the streets are dark
the windows bright
I stop and see my neighbors watching tv
the next house, empty
but then I see a child run in,
a woman follow
they wrestle around, disappear again,
I enjoy watching these unfamiliar lives
​
---
​
a muffled voice below
I put my ear to the floor and
spend the next 17 minutes picking up words of
your conversation
​
________________
​
Your eyes are pointy
they poke mine and I try to make mine
poke back
this eye contact doesn't break
it feels like a century connected
but when it does
you turn and walk away
I don't know you and I never will
you are a stranger to me
but I think about those pokes
a few minutes still
​
I sharpen my gaze to look around
but you are gone
I'm sad for a moment
but this happens everyday
I'll find gentle eyes,
harsh,
quick,
empty,
searching,
and I know I can reflect it back
________________
​
I MUST SMILE TO THEM
FALSELY
HOPEFULLY THEY DO NOT KNOW ME
WELL ENOUGH
TO KNOW THAT IT IS FALSE
________________
​
The Bell Jar, p. 96
​
"I didn't want my picture taken because I was going to cry. I didn't know why I was going to cry, but I knew that if anybody spoke to me or looked at me too closely the tears would fly out of my eyes and the sobs would fly out of my throat and I'd cry for a week."
________________
​
12:06am
​
There is a squirrel living in my crawl space.
He stole my bags.
I had a paper bag full of plastic and cloth bags, and they are no longer in the spot I placed them. He (I'm calling the squirrel a he, though I'm fully aware it may be a she) took all of my bags. For a nest, I'm assuming
At various times throughout the day, I hear him. Scratching around. Running back and forth in there. What is he doing? Preparing the space for winter? I know he is using my bags.
I don't know where all he has access to. It may only be in and around and under my bathroom area. It may also extend to below my floor or in the walls.
When I am in the kitchen, I can hear him scratching and yelping (what is the sound word for what a squirrel makes? screeching? squeaking?) above.
Once, maybe actually twice, I readied my phone with the flashlight, yanked the door to the crawl space open, flew my arm and head inside, looked left, and we locked eyes. There he was. He looked for only a moment, then scurried away.
That was before he stole my bags.
My landlord said someone sealed the eaves to the attic, but clearly not. Unless, he has been in there this entire time and not left. That seems unlikely. Today, as I walked outside to go to the coffee shop, a squirrel rustling in the leaves caught my eye. Our gazes connected.
Was it him?
Would he recognize me?
Did he recognize me?
He scampered up the tree and out of my sight.
​
________________
​
stream-of-consciousness-experiment
​
hands trying to hold a pile of sand
sand trying to hold a pile of hands
fifty-four busy fingers typing on one keyboard
forgotten snotty Kleenex in your date's jacket pocket
enjoying the sunset from your windowless basement
tracking the rhythm to the footsteps of strangers
the cash register actor handing you back a quarter and a dime
mimicking the bizarre faces of your neighbor's dog
anthropomorphizing the sidewalk and apologizing for stepping on it
lackadaisically dropping your laptop and asking Daddy for a new one
using the almost empty toothpaste for a month
throwing away the barely empty water bottle after a minute
________________
​
ONLY DUMMIES HAVE HEARTS
​
A line I stitched into a piece of fabric almost exactly one year ago. I don't know if I fully feel this anymore, but it seems that most places, especially work, we're meant to keep our emotions, our personality—everything that makes us who we are—under wraps. Do what you're told to do, don't stir the pot, don't give too many of your genuine thoughts. The world that has been created and fostered for so many years is one that, in a corporate environment, you must be just like everyone else. Indistinguishable from your coworker. The only place in which this isn't present is venturing out on your own to make your own business. Then, individuality, emotionally charged work, and differentiation is celebrated. But not many have the opportunity to do this. And so, as we go from job to job, we learn how to keep more and more of ourselves under wraps.
________________
​
In looking for things to be excited about, I looked back on a book that deeply affected me, Einstein's Dreams.
A poignant excerpt:
"It is a world of impulse. It is a world of sincerity. It is a world in which every word spoken speaks just to that moment, every glance given has only one meaning, each touch has no past or future, each kiss is a kiss of immediacy."