notes on revolution
it seems as if the sun will never get closer.
oh, you go to my head!
i try to post my writing on days that end with -y and i try to lie less often. i try to be intentional with money: i buy stuffed animals at the gas station and waterproof mascara at the sephora inside of kohl’s and go another day without buying toilet paper. i try to speak in terms of “i will” instead of “i hope.”
i try not to bite my cuticles. when i think about doing something, i question the voice telling me to do it.
i liken the new year to a period of hazy hibernation instead of frantic self-optimization. i remind myself to breathe and eagerly gulp the air. did you know snakes only have one functioning lung? i try not to lay on my stomach.
i squeeze the water out of the sponge once i’m done doing the dishes. i water the plants. i heard once that plants respond well to verbal affirmations. i tell the plants, “you can do it!” and — since they don’t respond — follow up with, “you’re not dying.”
i think about 2023 being my year of rebellion. then i remember i turn 21 this year. i wonder what there is to rebel against when you’re pretty much an adult and no one cares much about the legal things you’re doing. i doubt much, but i’m willing to try.
i listen to sugar ray and the sundays and pretend it isn’t january. i tell stories to my friends and hear theirs, too.
how about this one: on new years’ day, i had no food in my fridge so i decided to do something both indulgent and, yet, familiar: drive fifteen minutes to get a coffee and a breakfast sandwich. i was taking route 2 and had to brake for a jaywalking woman. she was dressed in her sunday best: pencil skirt, kitten heels, nylons, the whole get-up. it was 10:09. after i nearly rammed into her she scurried right through the doors of the baptist church, like a little mouse. she was late. i said that out loud. “that woman is late to church.”
i guess she figured it was better to show up to the first service of the new year late than not at all. or maybe she was always late to church. either way, i admire her spirit.
here’s another one: my friend emma is an au pair for a german family. they never had lobster before, so they had it for dinner the other night. the little boy was so taken by its shell that they put it through the dishwasher and let him keep it.
i admire his spirit, too. sometimes i feel so taken with life that i just want to polish its edges and make it my trinket, occasionally toss it between my hands. i think a lot in terms of endings: conclusions, neat ones. closure. here is where the story ends. i hate that part, the endings. i dread them. i tell stories to keep moments alive just a bit longer. and we all have so much still to learn.