Grind
Heavy weight already before getting up. I wake up before my alarm; I need to feed the cat. Not my cat, and I won't make him wait. I should just go in pajamas, everyone around here does, walking their dogs and having their early-morning lung-clearing smoke. I put on the hoodie I've worn every morning--it's already caked in hairs--throw on pants. Pat my girl, put her dish down, leave the apartment, fumbling with keys--was it mine that's the less-tarnished?
I should walk. It's not raining yet, sometimes even sunny. How is my blood sugar? I don't trust it this early, no time for breakfast--I won't make him wait. I drive, mad at how loud I left my music on last night and half-empty bottles, cups and cans in cup-holders. No music this early. Still heavy, keeping the demons out.
Fumbling with keys again, stepping up, jingling. I hear him, his bell, sometimes a meowl. He tells me how late I am--breakfast is normally earlier. I talk to him like an old friend, ask questions without answers, kiss him goodmorning, feed him. Then I wait--check my phone, I'm so tired of checking my phone. ` message from "george" or "Lina"; 3 notifications, 1 notification, no notifications--why do I care? I care because I'm bored, lonely--does anybody remember me? No news in the feed--same old stories. I have no status.
The beast has finished, what I waited for. He announces himself, jumps up, purrs, kisses, rubs, kneads. His hair is everywhere, on my face, on the couch. I don't bother cleaning up anymore. I keep talking to him, wondering if he gets as lonely as me. "Only one more week, cat."
I leave after fluffing his blankets--if he's gonna be alone he might as well be comfy. I promise, always promise, to come back. Now I have to argue with myself over eating, getting dressed, getting ready. Eventually I get to class, marching down sidewalks satisfied with a decent parking space in the empty summer lot. I live in class: 2 hours of mental distraction. I take careful meticulous notes--sometimes easing and rewriting just to write nicer. "Art takes time," says my favorite. "Just know and embrace that you're on the journey." Existentialism, surreal poetry, search for meaning, drugs, sex, bop, beat, beat, beat. I concentrate on the paper pages of print between my fingers, clicking the pencil to sharpen the edge, crossing-uncrossing my legs, thinking, analyzing, reading, thinking, thinking thinking thinking about something worthwhile. But why can't I do these things these men have done?
I take advantage of breaks. I walk the long hallway to the bathroom, down the dangerous steps, smiling if I pass anyone. I don't know them but we're all the same. I get drinks--two fountains along the way, one drink before bathroom, one drink after hall, one drink after bathroom, one drink before classroom. I check phone--some friends are awake now, want to hang out? Sometimes I want to ask, solitude can be mad. Put phone away, check volume for good measure. Sometimes I talk to the guy next to me. He has a name and I've heard it, but don't remember. Four weeks = single serving friends.
Finish class and go down three flights of stairs, it's always still grey, raining. I have the urge to go somewhere, anywhere--nowhere to go. I drive home, get stopped at all the same lights, turn corners too quickly, open window or turn on heat. Past 2, mail should be here. I never get anything I don't know about, but I check. Just the paper with our names in Sharpie, no package slip or bill to pay today. I only like the excuse to go in the office--girlish crush on cute sassy manager. I drive, too fast, back to flat, trying to park away from pollen-spraying trees; I just washed my windshield.
I should eat. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I sit for hours, think for hours, paralyzed for hours--sometimes I lie down and sleep, or pretend to sleep--warm, heavy cat body on my shoulder or arm or side or stomach. Today I slept like the dead, woke up rattled, electric, pulsing. Feed cat. Dinner? Somewhere in that box--need TV during. Finish show, do dishes, books sprawled out on bed, already 9. 100 pages of reading, 5 hours... work work work work work work. Have to take breaks, mind in state of ADD. Need to write? Sometimes I can't. Keep looking at rainbow clock. Keeping out demons. Check facebook, check phone, check messages. MUSIC! Trance hip-hop world pop. Not alone with music.
Time to make tea, keep reading--eyes falling out, take out contacts. PJs, toothbrushing, wash face, shower? 12 but done, bored, sleepy--heaven in bed, I set alarm, turn of lights. Headphones with more music--meditation kind of? Barely remember taking buds out of ears, stuffing MP3 under pillow, covering arms with blanket--gone.
I should walk. It's not raining yet, sometimes even sunny. How is my blood sugar? I don't trust it this early, no time for breakfast--I won't make him wait. I drive, mad at how loud I left my music on last night and half-empty bottles, cups and cans in cup-holders. No music this early. Still heavy, keeping the demons out.
Fumbling with keys again, stepping up, jingling. I hear him, his bell, sometimes a meowl. He tells me how late I am--breakfast is normally earlier. I talk to him like an old friend, ask questions without answers, kiss him goodmorning, feed him. Then I wait--check my phone, I'm so tired of checking my phone. ` message from "george" or "Lina"; 3 notifications, 1 notification, no notifications--why do I care? I care because I'm bored, lonely--does anybody remember me? No news in the feed--same old stories. I have no status.
The beast has finished, what I waited for. He announces himself, jumps up, purrs, kisses, rubs, kneads. His hair is everywhere, on my face, on the couch. I don't bother cleaning up anymore. I keep talking to him, wondering if he gets as lonely as me. "Only one more week, cat."
I leave after fluffing his blankets--if he's gonna be alone he might as well be comfy. I promise, always promise, to come back. Now I have to argue with myself over eating, getting dressed, getting ready. Eventually I get to class, marching down sidewalks satisfied with a decent parking space in the empty summer lot. I live in class: 2 hours of mental distraction. I take careful meticulous notes--sometimes easing and rewriting just to write nicer. "Art takes time," says my favorite. "Just know and embrace that you're on the journey." Existentialism, surreal poetry, search for meaning, drugs, sex, bop, beat, beat, beat. I concentrate on the paper pages of print between my fingers, clicking the pencil to sharpen the edge, crossing-uncrossing my legs, thinking, analyzing, reading, thinking, thinking thinking thinking about something worthwhile. But why can't I do these things these men have done?
I take advantage of breaks. I walk the long hallway to the bathroom, down the dangerous steps, smiling if I pass anyone. I don't know them but we're all the same. I get drinks--two fountains along the way, one drink before bathroom, one drink after hall, one drink after bathroom, one drink before classroom. I check phone--some friends are awake now, want to hang out? Sometimes I want to ask, solitude can be mad. Put phone away, check volume for good measure. Sometimes I talk to the guy next to me. He has a name and I've heard it, but don't remember. Four weeks = single serving friends.
Finish class and go down three flights of stairs, it's always still grey, raining. I have the urge to go somewhere, anywhere--nowhere to go. I drive home, get stopped at all the same lights, turn corners too quickly, open window or turn on heat. Past 2, mail should be here. I never get anything I don't know about, but I check. Just the paper with our names in Sharpie, no package slip or bill to pay today. I only like the excuse to go in the office--girlish crush on cute sassy manager. I drive, too fast, back to flat, trying to park away from pollen-spraying trees; I just washed my windshield.
I should eat. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I sit for hours, think for hours, paralyzed for hours--sometimes I lie down and sleep, or pretend to sleep--warm, heavy cat body on my shoulder or arm or side or stomach. Today I slept like the dead, woke up rattled, electric, pulsing. Feed cat. Dinner? Somewhere in that box--need TV during. Finish show, do dishes, books sprawled out on bed, already 9. 100 pages of reading, 5 hours... work work work work work work. Have to take breaks, mind in state of ADD. Need to write? Sometimes I can't. Keep looking at rainbow clock. Keeping out demons. Check facebook, check phone, check messages. MUSIC! Trance hip-hop world pop. Not alone with music.
Time to make tea, keep reading--eyes falling out, take out contacts. PJs, toothbrushing, wash face, shower? 12 but done, bored, sleepy--heaven in bed, I set alarm, turn of lights. Headphones with more music--meditation kind of? Barely remember taking buds out of ears, stuffing MP3 under pillow, covering arms with blanket--gone.