ostensibly packing to visit a grandmother
apologies for the lowercase, but i woke in my bed this morning after a night of intensely troubled dreams to discover that i had been transformed into a cockroach. not even an enormous cockroach, just a normal size one. as a consequence, i have to jump very very hard on one key at a time to type anything and also i cannot reach the shift. they warned me something like this might happen when i became an english major.
this is an internet meme, pretty much. friend to self absorbed procrastinators everywhere.
nashville, tennessee.
everyone i know. just not all the time. maybe only for a few seconds ever, but they’re probably good seconds to have.
no. we got a dog when i was eight; my mother hated cats and my father’s allergic. we didn’t have space for a pony, and i wasn’t allowed to have a lizard-i forget why. i rode horses at a farm for a while, it was supposed to be therapeutic. i saw kittens being born. they didn’t look real yet. they were too slick and sightless-their eyes just swollen bulbs of jelly hidden by opaque flesh thin as tissue. the mother licked them clean and their ears sprang up, it was like she was calling them into their proper form and features with every tiny hook on her tongue.
i did.
i think i just kept breathing. that was most of it. no matter what, my lungs just kept going, and my heart. and there were books, and ink bottles, and paintbrushes, and my parents on the shore. there were so many stars. there were people who wanted me to stay with every tiny hook…and i was lucky. the lifeguards always pulled me out before things could get serious.
green.
how should i know, i can’t perceive anything like that.
light pink. for once, that’s how they came. it isn’t because i was careless with the washing.
too many. although, well. does it count if i didn’t mean to do it? does it count if they probably deserved it? does it count if i left because they didn’t need me anymore, or were better off without me there? does it count if i was a stupid-ass kid and thoughtlessly, innocently callous in the way that stupid-ass kids are?
(yes, it counts.)
i like peach cobbler a lot. also other kinds of fruit cobbler. with ice cream!
sometimes. mostly i didn’t, though, if i’m honest. mostly it’s okay, now. not wonderful, but i’m doing the practical thing and i’m doing it surprisingly well.
of course. what species do i look like?
i think i’ll find out when i’m older.
in kind of a metaphorical way, yes. literally, i’m doubtful, but i really, really hope it’s out there.
some do.
sometimes.
six, maybe.
maybe i’ll find that out when i’m older, too.
irresponsibly.
black and gray striped turtleneck with black jeans and red lipstick. and orange toenail polish.
when joel plays the guitar. also vicodin. also the aforementioned cobbler. also any time i try to get actual serious work done late at night.
stale cigarette smoker’s spit and orange juice right after i’ve brushed my teeth and dog food and sometimes cream sauces.
occasionally.
not anymore.
not really truly, but i keep an open mind about it, not least because it appeals to my sense of…circularity? cyclicism?...and because i can’t imagine ceasing to exist forever. but i also can’t imagine what a flock of passenger pigeons sounded like when they blocked out the midday sun, so there you go.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
what do you want? when traveling, how do you pack? do you believe you are a good person? what is your earliest memory? what do your teeth look like? can you dance? how many people have you pretended not to love? is your room neat or messy, cluttered or spartan? do you hang things on the walls? are you without place? are you in a hotel? how tall are you (in whatever kind of shoes you generally wear)? did your fish die? do you have any brothers? who saved you? when did you first feel ashamed of yourself? what is your favorite movie? what was the last thing you ate? what is the best possible color for a sky to be?
a bunch of people are having a stoned orgy across the hall. my roommate and glass-eye s. and this girl whose name i don't know are painting our nails in here, which is difficult now that i am a cockroach. soon we might go into the other room wearing false mustaches and see if we can convince them that we are police officers. meanwhile, we speak of powdered wigs and goosebumps books.