i’ve been sick a lot this year.  like, little kid sick.  with the kind of cough that only a sick little kid would have.  

and it’s 2016 and i’m congested in my infested sad grad bachelorette pad.  and if i’ve taught myself anything, it’s how to take care of myself.  if that’s what too much netflix and not enough water means then i’m a ******* doctor.  

my hair is unwashed and my face is about twelve difference colors.  and i conclude that yes, i am in fact too gross for groceries.  

so today i don’t think i have any tools to collect the courage to talk to the cute boy at the deli even though i’m vegetarian so perhaps it’s not meant to be.

and it’s hot in here.  the taste in my mouth is familiar, and i close my eyes trying to place it.  through the ringing in my ears at the bathroom sink, i can hear 1996 and you’re there on the phone

and i’m on the couch and you’re not checking on me but you’re balancing your checkbook.  tom brokaw on nbc is telling me everything that’s wrong with the world but i hear you laughing and that tells me everything is right.  

and the sourness in my stomach makes me think of the suspense of a summer storm.  and before tom holden on wkbn turns it over to weather, you tell me that it’s going to rain because the leaves are turning over.  and you turned off the tv and you turned on the radio and you lit a cigarette and even though you were out of your suit and in your gym shorts, you looked like the most learned man in the world.

and i open my eyes and i look in the mirror and there you are, staring back at me.  it’s even more glaring when i’m tired.  you cant make eye contact with me in person anymore but you can't beat the mirror.  at least with the magic of a mascara wand i can see the parts of you i want to see.

my stomach turns a little more at the thought of how many times the world has turned since 1996.

whenever it rains in the summer.  or i find a picture of you laughing.  or chicago comes on the radio, i forget everything you’ve ever done.  and you’re the person i want to be again.

welcome home!

i don’t have money for balloons but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, white and yellow might be just enough color to welcome you back to northeast ohio.

it’s a nice contrast.  against the grey sky and the grey grass and the grey trees and my greying hair.  

but enough about me.  tell me what you’ve seen.

you’ve seen the pyramids and the pyrenees and the pygmies and the phillipines and i’ve seen pennsylvania and passed through Paris township

you’ve seen thailand and i’ve seen a therapist

you’re taking your life as far as you can take it and i take a pill because there are times when i just can’t take anything but enough about me

welcome home

i don’t have money for flowers but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, we could take a drive while you talk to me about all the girls you’ve seen.  

the ones who are prettier than me with beautiful accents while my tongue is heavy with the cleveland “A” and my hair is turning grey and i’m starting not to wear so much makeup but you won’t notice anyway

you’ve crossed mongolia while i threw pennies in the monongahela

you’ve leaned your head on the wailing wall and i’ve leaned my head on my bathroom wall, wailing because i actually wanted you after all

i looked so beautiful that day and you know it.  i looked at the mirror and thanked god for giving me at least one day.  

and then i looked at you and i cursed him for not giving me at least one more.

welcome home.  

i don’t have any plans but i figure since the county had enough money to repaint the roads, we could end up wherever you wanted.

i don’t know what the roads you’ve been on were lined with, with but here they’re lined with telephone lines and cash advances, even though no one talks to each other and we’re not advancing on anything, let alone cash

things haven’t changed.  except my hair is getting gray but you’ve known me for twenty years, it was bound to happen someday.  and i’ve decided that not wearing a lot of eye makeup is okay because i can see my family every day that way

but enough about me.  tell me what you see.  

i don’t have any place to be.

there’s this invisible gremlin with his hands around my neck and yes, i say HIS because yes, he’s a man, what else would a gremlin be.

he’s got his hands around my neck and he has another set of hands around my arms.  and my eyes are locked with his and i'm entranced.

i wish i could say he was as beautiful as vishnu with his four arms and enchanting mystique.  but i wouldn’t be caught dead praying to this guy.  

he pulls my hair and he grabs at my ankles and don’t get me wrong, there’s a time and a place for that.  but this is always at the most inopportune moment. because while i’m running away, he calls out to me,

“hey!  remember how terrible you are?  remember how you’re actually incapable of doing anything?  remember how literally no one likes you?”  

and i freeze in my tracks and i look around hysterically, begging that no one heard him.  and i open my mouth to say something but he’s throwing pencils at my head like nate in my civics class and what did i ever do to you, nate?  

my brother likes to remind me that he cried on the homecoming court and i wish i could say that i felt vindicated but ever since i felt the eraser hit my temple, i realized i should probably keep my mouth shut because these linoleum halls are run by basketball shorts and beauty queens, not band geeks

nate threw pencils at my head.  he didn’t put his hands around my neck.  he wouldn’t be caught dead touching someone like me.

this invisible gremlin is all over me.  and i’m kind of indifferent because i love any kind of attention.  he bought me so many drinks in college and i thought, for a while, it was a good system.  we’d drink and we’d dance and we’d follow those adult rules of not talking about work or family while having fun.  

and then the next day, he’d hit me in the face as sharp as the wind on wood street.  “remember, you’re in love with someone who doesn't love you.”  “remember, you’re too awkward to get past the job interview.”  

he keeps me up all hours of the night wanting more from me and my muscles are tense but with no touch of intimacy.  

i’ve spent my whole life being the tallest girl in the room but he has his shoe right over my head.  people watch as he brings me to my knees and they STILL ask me why i’m always apologizing.

it took me years and years to end up realizing that i was apologizing for him.  like an exhausted midlifer apologizing for her ******* husband.  but my favorite stories are the ones where she gets a fresh haircut and a new dress and she realizes she’s worth more than Bud Weiser hollering at her from the recliner and then she writes a new ending for herself.

so thanks for the pencil.

when i’ve lost my keys and i’ve completely overturned my apartment
when i’m collapsed and sobbing in a frustrated heap on the carpet
when i’ve spilled cocoa krispies all over the nightgown that has seen over half my life
when i’m standing among girls who are half my height
when i make the mistake of wearing a gray shirt to the gym
when i bite my thumb nervously because i can’t seem to fit in
when i refuse to wear my glasses even though i can’t see
when i’m asking my mother through tears what could possibly be wrong with me
when my bangs are sticking to me because my kitchen is too hot
when i dance after too much ***** and my friend politely asks me to stop

i remember when you said i was gentle
you told me i was gentle and suddenly i’m bite size
a miniature form of myself dressed in lace
and i wait patiently for someone to pick me up
but smile with perfect contentment in my place

i’m of that particularly pretentious belief that each and every one of us is larger than the biological self

our connections can reach far beyond far beyond the movement of our mouths into something metaphyiscal.

the crazy biology teacher at my old high school knew this and she sent herself into a panic over my brother’s white aura.

and in this roy-gee-biv of being, gold means good. blue means beautiful.  red means you’re hot and dangerous but i’m gonna touch you anyway.  green means get the **** away from me you freak.  

i can tell you with celestial certainty that my aura is spiders.

spiders.  spider moms and spider dads making millions of spider babies on my soul.  spiders crawling all over my face and out of my mouth.  spiders crawling out of my shirtsleeves.  spiders in my hair.  

i invite you to bathe in the light of my spiders.

i make people uncomfortable. i frighten small children.  i make grown men run away in terror.  i have high corners so i’m prone to webs.  i bask in the warmth of damp basements and nauseated screams.  

while my brother is busy being a pure soul.  while red seems out of reach.  while all the colors mix together in fantastic combinations unavailable in any box of crayons, i’ll be watching you all.  silently with my spiders.  judging.

i drove so fast.  
i drove so fast and yawned the entire time.
it was the adrenaline after packing too fast
and crying because it was working out for me to see you.

i ate too fast.
i sat at my mom's kitchen table trying to catch my breath
it was the comfort of hearing her voice again
as warm as the tea i drank too much of before going to bed.

i ran too fast.
i ran too fast after sleeping in and burning the coffee
it was the assurance of only living down the street
and the surprise of you being discharged early.

i stumbled into the first floor of the lobby
i hurried up the stairway
i whirled around

and the second i met your eyes in the elevator i realized
i would have crawled.

your chatter itself is like an old friend.  the friend that i invited to dunkin donuts because dunkin donuts closes at ten.  if we went to eat n park, we’d have never left the table again.  

i knew this and i knew you.

the friend that i ended up telling too much to and you were getting on a plane so what else could we do?  

i knew jet fuel would taste gross but i drank it anyway because i wanted the drama of waiting to see you again someday.

my eyeglass prescription changes every year but i still see the same things.  every year i anticipate death and what my tax refund will bring.  

my lungs fill with oxygen then flood the air with flames.  the oceans i rarely get to swim in still ebb and flow the same.  

i could search between the bindings of every book ever bound.  the soles of my shoes could cover every inch of the ground.  

i’d still be left without a dollar to my name because nothing on this earth has been as constant as your change.