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there are no promises that can be kept
by gift we live by right we die
grace is optional
except when it’s not
the grace to bear grief
is sometimes always never
the only prayer there is
in these hot, breathless last days, it’d do us to get on with the praying
sooner than later
Things my dogs have eaten:
My pristine Blackberry 8530. My Emmie chewed right through the ALT button and I had to buy me a whole new phone because a broken ALT button means you can’t properly punctuate texts and emails. (Did you know that new 8530s are $500??)
My Blackberry phone charger
My replacement Blackberry phone charger
My peanut butter crackers
Raisins (this is toxic to dogs but of course, it didn’t affect my Poppy at all but I have the vet bill to show for my lack of attention)
The once-white grout in between my tile flooring
My G.I. Jane dvd
At least 8 pairs of shoes (seriously)
At least 2 tubes of Neosporin (not toxic but beware of the doggie gas toxicity you will experience)
Entire ketchup packets
Bread that was supposed to be all mine
At least 6 book covers (good sources of fiber, apparently)
At least the edges of 4 other books’ pages
More rugs and towels than I can count
Each other’s poop (grisly discovery)
Worms (specifically earth worms, not parasitic ones)
A dead bird (almost)
My newly-bought used digital camera (telling are the teeth marks on the lenses)
My USB drives with all manner of writing on them (okay, they didn’t actually eat them but that was a close call)
My daddy’s hand
My neighbor’s respect
My car floorboards
All of their toys
Their dog bowls
My purple sweater
My blue sweather
My pea green sweater
My Clinique cranberry lipstick. R.I.P.
The contents of my bathroom trashcan
The dogs have also eaten away the anger I feel with they happiness they bring…especially when they are asleep.
I went out with this guy once who ended up blocking me from his phone. He was very tall and good looking and ended up saying he didn’t know how to block people from his phone so it was weird that I was blocked. I just said whatev and let it go because the distance was too far anyway but he was a nice guy basically (aside from blocking me). Anyway, we’ve remained the closest of FB friends. Or at least we’re Facebook friends. Which means we acknowledge each other to some degree. This is a guy who went through a nasty divorce and he said it would be hard for him to get married again. He moved to NW Arkansas in June and had a world wind romance and next thing I know, his Facebook status is Married. I’m happy for him and terribly jealous that I myself have not had a world wind romance that resulted in a manic-induced marriage to someone I barely knew. I mean, it sounds like something that would happen to me but hasn’t. Yet. I have hope, dear readers.
The Boy and I are officially just friends now. Platonic friends. Which I think means we will never see each other again. Truthfully, I’m okay with it.
I don’t know why I feel optimistic but dammit, I feel sure I’m going to find me a good man and be in a happy relationship soon.
college professor that he was
It’s called climate change, not global warming
Some places get colder
I’m getting colder
My seas are rising
and my summers are shortening
The end of summer came a month earlier each year, 2008-2010
August -> July -> June
2008 -> 2009 -> 2010
Next year, there might not be a summer at all
me: How’s work tonight?
him: pretty slow
him: what u doing up
[it’s 2:02 am on a Sunday]
me: Good question. I keep waking up.
me: Are we gonna still see each other or…?
him: Yah I have to you about that but don’t want to do it over text
me: ok, not a conversation I’m looking forward to but I get what you’re saying.
him: sorry I’ve been so distant
me: I’m good at reading the writing on the wall. Let’s just leave it at that for now.
• his thoughts weren’t worth my penny, I decided (much too late)
• if you want to keep him, don’t let him take you to Hot Springs
• I’m needy
• I’m weak
• I’m bull-headed stubborn
• if you want to get rid of him, talk about your own problems
• if you like him, you can sit through any story no matter how many times you’ve heard it or how vulgar and unbecoming it is
• if you like him, he will not like you
• if you agree that neither of you will play games, accept that you’re both playing that game
• I’m accommodating
• I’m sweet
• I’m a good listener
• weed is never a good conversation starter
• weed is an awkward topic of conversation if you’re not into weed
• telling me you tried to sell weed to an undercover cop and that as a result, you think you were “framed” even though you admit to doing it is cause for concern and perhaps a reasonable moment to challenge him on his “it’s not my fault” mentality
• sushi is okay
• shorties don’t do it for me
• kawai (spelling?) means cute in Japanese
• Republicans scare me
• tall men are unreliable
• tall men are reliable
• I don’t like body odor
• I like sexy texts but most times, sexy texts ruin a relationship
• I don’t like to hear about maps in the Middle Ages
• I have a birthmark on my face
• I have freckles
• not everyone is gay-friendly
• straight guys can be insecure
• men are robots
• men are funny
• I fall in love with laughter
• I don’t like rice balls
• as it turns out, I like blue eyes after all
“you know what comes next,”
I say to him with a sad smile
it’s a smile I think he’ll come to know well
on my lips
a song from yesterday
words not quite audible
not quite decipherable
the melody doing the work
working the doing
working the words
on my lips
The punchline wasn’t the real punchline
Or at least it wasn’t funny
Like most things
It’s what comes after the punchline that matters most
On Monday, happenstance occurred. Happenstance, I say, because I’m not sure I believe in fate or destiny, puzzle pieces fitting together just so. I see a yellow sticky note on my office floor. I leave it there for several hours. I have things to do. In the mid-afternoon, I pick up the note and take a look-see. I’m jolted to see it. His email, the asshole, who ruined the name Steve for me, although I never liked it anyway. The one with no affection for me. His email, who I’d finally forgotten. His email, written down a year and a half ago just in case we ever started communicating again, still waiting to be typed in my compose box.
He’s not much to me, not even painful to think about. He’s nothing. He’s an asshole. He is Steve.
He facebooked me a few months ago and I told him to never contact me again.
I’m not sure why I can’t bring myself to throw the sticky note away.
A good date is always a bad date for a writer. I get a rush of delight when I realize things have gone horribly awry and I’m stuck in a situation that I will be forced to endure for another 53 minutes. It’s sweet, the taste of the meat of him, the reassuring thought that I own this story now. I can twist and spin and create a reality of terror and delight for myself and, hopefully, my readers.
I had a date yesterday. It was very awkward until we started making out. He had squinty eyes and was a bad kisser. He wore a pimp ring on his finger. I admit to liking it.