Grape Nuts

I remember them. Those skinny light brown barley pebbles picking away at my not so permanent retainer. I took them with a heavy pour of two percent milk, two spoonfuls of white sugar, and a minute forty seconds in the microwave.

Something is wrong when you've been back one day and you already feel the crunch. Or maybe something is horribly right. Depends on the person you are. Or how much you weighed at birth. Or how many extra curriculars you collect.

Some people don't work. How? Just tell me. How do they not work all day. Who pays their rent? Jesus? Tinker Bell? Trust fund? Chase bank? Grandpa? It's OK. We all come from different socio economic backgrounds by some chance whisper on a wind. No judgement as always. But, I'm violently curious. Instead of going around the room and introducing our pets and a book we read over break, I want to know what you do all day. Is that crass?

Have I been emotional blogging? That is a good question to ask.

The truth is you're never ready.

No one is prepared to chew on their own teeth at five in the morning at fifty below.

So fast,
Skin and Jam

The road was littered with dead bodies

so we pulled into a super 8 in beautiful sunny Millbury, Ohio.

Only sixty three dollars a night for law, order, hot water, and white, cheesy pizza.













I wonder how long I'll listen to this electric heater mill generations of humidity. Trusting this cave of semen stained cotton weave to taco me up tight. We are shredded and limp. Nothing to do but sleep. We are trying to get home from beautiful sunny DC in our four door Honda with our hand written lists of goals and affirmations.

If you have enough money for an impromptu night in a super 8 you are officially an adult.

The front desk person had a tattoo of a tiny sailboat on her index finger.



We describe our surroundings as best we can in an effort to realize our mortality.




Wet Spots,
Skin and Pepsi Products

OK I'm Over My Anger

I am.
I swear.
I'm past it.

I've now been without you more years than I was with you. So, we're OK. It's all done. Peace. Deuces.

But, there are a few things you should know

like

1) You would love my mother in law. You guys would talk about architecture and babies.

2) You would love New Jersey. You would soak the sun and rock the chairs. You would love the woman that married my father. She's not married to him anymore so it's OK. You guys would talk about me. And shoes.

3) And there is a universe that exists in which you still live with the blankets that swaddled. Me. You saved them in cedar. And it would feel so good to look at old photos and open old pantries. And grind old coffee. And sink old cushions. And be the special one. The favorite accident. The fat pixie.

4) And I don't know who created the universe with the ball that is eternally in my court.

And I don't know where any of this comes from. I honestly don't. I hate not having a point. I hate talking about me for a minute. I hate complicated. I hate people who have to go away. I hate not knowing where exactly one is and if one should get out of the tub. And I think you're a beautiful giraffe.








Never.



Mother.
Skin and Ghosts.  

Mint Lemon Scrub

Wake up whenever
crawl to shower
take
have silent damp conversations with wall
crawl to Precise Tea Cafe
curl up in corner
with laptop and list of goals.





I got a lot done today. Like seven hundred words. I got a lot done last year. Even the stuff I didn't accomplish I still feel like I accomplished because they're on the list. And if it's on the list it's like half done. I read that in the Buddha book. Also, I end the easy days with hot baths and grainy scrubs. And one of my best friends got engaged. And one of my other best friends is moving to the coast. And one of my other best friends I never see anymore. And I keep calling my mother, but her mailbox is full but it's OK because I would just hang up anyway as soon as she answered. But, by the time I'm soaking in deep sea minerals all I can think about is my breath. And I haven't needed my emergency inhaler in like a month. And I think that has more to do with piece of mind than you think. And sometimes I hate the corners of my apartment. But, I've been breathing through this abundance pot lately. It's like a Netty pot only you don't have to stand over the sink. And I have a lot of cool stuff. And I love it all. Plus I have my life raft so everything is fun. Even when cap sized and flailing. Even when freezing and busted. Have to laugh. I mean, that face. That face.

Bears and Girls,
Skinny

From a High of Fifty

We are coming to you live from beautiful sunny Portland, Oregon.
So far we have had three Kraft beers, two cups of coffee, one black pepper sausage, and a lot of sweet dreams.
They keep their soy milk on the counter here in sunny Portland.
They also name their houses here in sunny Portland.
Things like castle
or compound
or silk


I'm sitting in a wing backed chair in front of an open coffee shop door wondering if I should read some more of my book or meet my brother at the Chinese dumpling buffet.
I bet if I picked up that banjo everything would suddenly make sense.
I was looking forward to this span of six days with my life raft and my siblings and our friends.
I look to the easy times.
They look great.
Amazing shoes tied to cute aprons held upright in adorable wooden pins.

Brunch anyone?

I'm a writer.


That's great,
Skin and Gillian Welch

For those of you keeping score:

I'm twelve hours away from finished.
I splurged on some vitamin D serum for my face and it is working miracles.
I went to central Ohio this weekend for an angel food check in.
She's sad but good.
She's angel food underneath.
(I miss my mom too.)
And when it gets like this, our second floor windows speak to us. They mew secret window languages.


And if I just keep breathing that old in and out ribbon of light I'm pretty sure I can crank these final pages out by 5pm.

But, the most important thing is looking right up at you behind soft bangs
from zebra print onesies.


Skin & Footnotes

Grand Daddy of Chicago Holiday Entertainment.

The jury is still out on this whole revision thing.
So open.
So early.
Like when the automatic doors to the hospital on Winnemac slide wide open with a gust of hot air and an eye full of pastel panels not because you are visiting a loved one but because you are walking to the Clark bus stop and are cold and thus hugging the Wall.
It's all peripheral.
It's all blind spots and ear buds.
The nice man at the front desk doesn't seem to mind.
He's busy.

Your headaches have shifted to the left side of your face.
But, this time it's not so much an ache as it is a fuzz.
You have fuzz head.
Happens to everyone you're sure.
Prefer obstructions.
You'd rather obstruct than revise.
If you're in front of an audience that is.
My revisions are private.
I'm a goat.
Great.
Keep going with that.
Put your writing in a box and stack it in the crawl space over the garage.
Next to the water damage and the twin bed.

~Gas & Light