(no subject)
The first step of having a productive day is to actually put clothes on. This, for many people, can not only be challenging, but unconquerable, as well. Having to put clothes on is the reason why I have spent so many Sunday mornings in bed, rather than exploring flea markets for old keys, or book fairs on one of the last warm weekends of the year.
Since moving the Brooklyn, I’ve become accustomed to opening my window and looking up at the tree that pushes into my window. The breeze is starting to get colder. The leaves will die soon. I was thinking of rolling a joint this morning even though I haven’t smoked in months. Lying in the sun with my feet propped up against the wall made me nostalgic for carefree days when I didn’t think about the fact that I had organs- and the remarkable fact they still work after the abuse I put them through, or bills.
Fall is my favorite season. It’s scarf season, and tea season, and the sidewalk is covered in reds and yellows. I feel the chill in my bones, but it's not here yet, and as long and it's not here, I'm happy. I used to hate the rain, until I started treating it as a message from the earth-God-whatever: Hello Sonia, nothing is required of you today. So I curl up with tea and a book and watch as people run past my window.
I just settled in to my new apartment, and I’ll be moving in a few weeks. That’s what my life is, putting things in boxes. I never bothered thinking if this was the apartment I was going to decorate. It never is.
When I was young, my mom never read me stories about love, but of adventures. Instead of buying me dolls, she bought be a bow, and beautiful arrows until I was old enough to take lessons. She told me that the world is big and that no one should ever stay in one place for too long. This all came from a woman who married young, had children young, and was left with nothing in the end. She doesn’t tell me those stories anymore. She also doesn’t understand why I don’t call, or why I have trouble staying in one place. Sometimes, when the line is silent with awkward tension, I want to smile and say, “Tell me a story….” But the words get stuck in my throat.