coping strands
Like the purple colored strands of Rory's hair, I am infusing small strands of meaning in my life. I can't find much otherwise lately, and this helps me in its way.
I wore a hoodie of my dad's he sent up to Canada the other day as my way of having his presence around me that day. I spent time with him in that way because so seldom do I get to see him for real.
My friend Whitney has these sunglasses with heart frames that I am wearing now. Their silliness counteracts the turmoil in my gut and their shades hide the fear I can't hide myself in my eyes. A fear that I can't quite name.
I cut my hair recently. It's something I've been wanting to do for a long time, but just haven't had the cash. I had it styled like Kristen Bell's was in Veronica Mars season one. Attempting to emulate her this way somehow makes me feel that Veronica Mars is a part of me for the day. Veronica and her amazing strength that can survive all manner of cruelty.
I keep a specific picture of my daughter inside the front cover of the novels that occupy my time. Each time before reading about other people reacting in fictional worlds, I stare at the heart of my own world. The picture was taken the Christmas morning when Sasha was two. The night before, I spent at her house on the couch with her. I got to wake up to her little face on Christmas morning and feel the weight of her in my arms. So many parents take these miracle moments for granted, because they're given such moments more often. That's the only night Sasha and I have spent together since I moved out on my own some two years ago.
I wear a particularly immature but pretty ring on my finger when Sasha's not around. It makes me feel comforted as if she's with me. The other day she wore my pretty thong sandals she picked out for me herself on my last birthday. Her feet were so tiny in my gargantuan adult shoes. It made me smile to see her so excited to wear something of mine. Thinking of her every second makes the time that I spend with her the best in all the world; thinking of her every second she's gone brings my psyche to a place I'd rather not talk about. Desperation attacks me and, like a trained child, I migrate to the immature ring and keep it with me for the rest of the day.
I keep a sunflower on my little porch that Joe bought for me. I have never been skilled in keeping plants alive, but Joe and I are determined this one will live on. He's looked a bit wilty from the start, and hence I named him Wilton. I visit him with my cup of water as one of the first parts of my day.
I'm going to take the heart-shaped sunglasses off now and face the people at my friend's house who are in the room around me. That's brighter now.
I wore a hoodie of my dad's he sent up to Canada the other day as my way of having his presence around me that day. I spent time with him in that way because so seldom do I get to see him for real.
My friend Whitney has these sunglasses with heart frames that I am wearing now. Their silliness counteracts the turmoil in my gut and their shades hide the fear I can't hide myself in my eyes. A fear that I can't quite name.
I cut my hair recently. It's something I've been wanting to do for a long time, but just haven't had the cash. I had it styled like Kristen Bell's was in Veronica Mars season one. Attempting to emulate her this way somehow makes me feel that Veronica Mars is a part of me for the day. Veronica and her amazing strength that can survive all manner of cruelty.
I keep a specific picture of my daughter inside the front cover of the novels that occupy my time. Each time before reading about other people reacting in fictional worlds, I stare at the heart of my own world. The picture was taken the Christmas morning when Sasha was two. The night before, I spent at her house on the couch with her. I got to wake up to her little face on Christmas morning and feel the weight of her in my arms. So many parents take these miracle moments for granted, because they're given such moments more often. That's the only night Sasha and I have spent together since I moved out on my own some two years ago.
I wear a particularly immature but pretty ring on my finger when Sasha's not around. It makes me feel comforted as if she's with me. The other day she wore my pretty thong sandals she picked out for me herself on my last birthday. Her feet were so tiny in my gargantuan adult shoes. It made me smile to see her so excited to wear something of mine. Thinking of her every second makes the time that I spend with her the best in all the world; thinking of her every second she's gone brings my psyche to a place I'd rather not talk about. Desperation attacks me and, like a trained child, I migrate to the immature ring and keep it with me for the rest of the day.
I keep a sunflower on my little porch that Joe bought for me. I have never been skilled in keeping plants alive, but Joe and I are determined this one will live on. He's looked a bit wilty from the start, and hence I named him Wilton. I visit him with my cup of water as one of the first parts of my day.
I'm going to take the heart-shaped sunglasses off now and face the people at my friend's house who are in the room around me. That's brighter now.