I think the pages are doing their job: reminding me, once again, that lessons take time to learn. This week was lucky. These days are lucky. The luck is still coming. I’m not worried about it running out. I’m keeping life light and simple until it’s not anymore. I’m letting the cycles run their course, because if I resisted they would run anyway. I’ve been getting a lot of sleep and drinking a lot of coffee. Loving on my friends. Dreaming. Writing and writing.
18 March 2024
Instant coffee, mom’s old sweater, tired tired face, but a full heart. After work yesterday I met G and E at the park, The wind made us giggly. When it got unbearable we head to a neighborhood spot for Guinness’s. Braiding our arms together we dipped our lips into foam, our percentages of how Irish we were making us one. Soon J joined us, as well as E’s coworker, another J. Another round of beer and a lot of laughter. From there we plotted our next location, agreeing on the prospect of pinball.
We sauntered for a few blocks, grabbed a corner and some cash, and played on the Jaw machine. It was my first time playing in well over a decade, but once I got in a rhythm I felt like a cat chasing a laser. The ball went round and round, up, rocketing all over. Eventually my coordination gave out. J jumped in and scored over 40 million points, which I‘m not sure what that even means.
After a good run we sat together again, having giggle fits and talking about loose summer plans. Someone mentioned going to G’s and twenty minutes later we were sprawled across her apartment. G started to make pasta, J recovering an old batch of martinis he had made a week ago, other J trying to fix the turntable, E on guitar singing me a song she wrote about me. Nothing could’ve been more natural, more home feeling, more indulgent, J handed us coupes garnished with a twist and joined us on the couch. G joins us with a big plate of pasta we pass around, talking about time’s fabricated existence and what’s the perfect amount of time. We debate. There is none, in my opinion, except the time kept by music and art and books and photographs.
As we neared midnight we stacked the plates and cups and said our goodbyes. I hopped on the train, buzzed, smiling to myself. When I got home I climbed into bed, head on my pillow, promising to linger in the morning.
And this morning I am here with it on my teeth to write. To go outside and write, drink coffee and writer find poems and write. I shower and clad myself in my Old Black Favorites, hair long and smokey. Extra instant coffee in my mug this morning, pen and pad. I write and I listen to a tase of Jack Johnson, just two songs to remind me of a me that has shape-shifted.
20 March 2024
Open and quiet. I just finished yoga, which I haven’t done in nearly a week My whole body is a blossoming flower. As I breathed into each pose, I imagined petals peeling back, a center revealing to the sun. Open and strong. This is the true new year, the true beginning of a new cycle.
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