Science

Reunion

Tonight Beth told me that I had beautiful feet, and I remembered that this is true.    

I've been living with people who hate feet, who get nervous around them, who'd wear tube socks with their sandals if it weren't for the dirty looks, and so all this time, I've put them away.  To be considerate, I guess.  

But I love my feet!  They are really nice.  Jason Le told me so when I was in 7th grade, my mom has loved them since I was born.  I know the feel of her hands on my soles as she held them still to trim my nails.  "These are Lee feet," she'd say and pull on a toe, "Like Bac Bac's."  

It feels kind of awful to realize you've forgotten something you really like about yourself, like taking your best friend for granted.  But in a way, tonight was like a happy reunion.  I came home and took another look down there.  Yes, indeed, they are very nice feet.  Look at you!  There you are!  

Yeah, Rosamund Purcell

Yesterday afternoon, I fell asleep on the couch after making a week's worth of angel-hair pasta folded up in red sauce with kale.  My apartment is too cold; we don't know how to transition into fall.  

The boys woke me up, bursting in the door, yelling, "DID YOU REMEMBER TO PICK UP BATTLESTAR GALACTICA FROM THE LIBRARY?  CLARA?"

"SHE DID!  SHE WINS!"  

Argh!  I couldn't feel my toes!  My jeans were stiff and cold!  But they were so joyful around me for remembering our new adventure, Season 1, science-fiction, that I carefully unfolded and stood up to remember my legs and rub in my eyes.  I love them, these boys, after all of these months.  I think they're mine.  They make so much noise, banging around, putting together plates of boy food, hot dogs and sandwich bricks, laughing at their own jokes, rubbing their bellies.  They're still a different animal, they're still apart.  But I want to stay with them, like family, like soup and bread, the way I want to stay with Theresa, forever.  

Home, Home, Home.

First Post

photo by alejandra laviada 

i wonder if i should go back to school some day and study something.  i have not been paying attention lately.  don't know what to look for in faces and trees.  i see the squirrels running with fruits in their mouths, and i tell myself, "think something!  quick!" 

"fat squirrel," i think, and end thought.  

don't know where to put things. 

the artist constructs her own agenda, a peg wall, and gathers things throughout the day to bring home at night.  facing the wall, she pins the gathered things up in different patterns.  she arranges her notes as if there were a symphony backing it all, she believes in the significance of her collections as fact.  

what does it mean that i want her conviction but refuse to act on my own?  what does it mean that i sit on my hands, even still.  well, they're cold, i rationalize, my fingers are stiff and the days are getting shorter.  i don't want to move yet.  i don't know yet why.  yet i'll watch everyone else in their dramatic whirls whirl on by.  yet i'll write, "should i go back to school?"

"do you think?"