Where did it start? Or where does it ever start? I don't know. But I can pick up pieces and put them together.

I was my sister. or i was in my sister's body, rather. But she wasn't in mine. At least, I wasn't aware that we had actually switched insides. But this was a sister that I don't already have and I was not a me that I actually am. If that makes any sense...

Anyways, my sister (whose body i am now invading) was engaged and planning to get married but two weeks before the wedding decided on a last minute trip to disney world which wasn't far away because she lived in orlando with the fiance. I was staying in an apartment with five other girls, all my sister's friends. Earlier in the dream, when i first realized that i was no longer myself in my own body, i started to act a bit crazy. I told one of the roommates that I could fly. She watched while i tore apart the slanted ceiling with my bare hands until a hole big enough for my body to fit through developed. I jumped through the hole, flying and returned later that night to a house full of no one that even fucking noticed.

The next day, I was reminded of 'my' disney world trip and encouraged to start packing. 'My' fiance, Mark would be there to pick me up soon. When he arrived, I told him that I thought it would be better if i took the disney trip SOLO (thereby avoiding any hand-holding, kissing, possible romance, etc...). Mark actually seemed relieved by my offer and told me to meet him in the car when I had finished packing. He would drop me off at the hotel.

One of the girls asked me why there was a hole in the ceiling of the living room. I told her that Mark liked to carry me around on his shoulders when he gets drunk. She totally bought it! I was starting to really rule as being not me.

When I was assumedly ready, I ran outside to meet up with Mark, the fiance. There were parked cars everywhere and I had no idea what kind of car he drove. I looked through my sister's cellphone only to discover that there were several Marks, all with different last names, none titled 'My Fiance' in her address book. I felt like a jerk of a person for not knowing my own sister's fiance's last name. Whatever though.

I called each Mark until one answered with, 'Why the hell are you just standing there? Come on!'
I looked around as it started to rain, squinting to find a body in some driver's seat. Finally, he flashed his lights and i hopped in.

In the car, Mark tried to talk about the wedding. I just made jokes, talked over him with weird sentences or sang songs. He was noticeably confused. When we reached the hotel, he tried to kiss me goodbye but instead I told him to come inside to the hotel bar for a quick drink. I even offered to pay.

'You're offering to buy me a drink? I don't remember the last time you paid for anything since we started dating...' So he came inside, i bought him a rum and coke and we talked about everything that WASN'T the wedding for a couple of hours. Mark was actually a real sweet and interesting guy. I think we hit it off! That seems strange considering i'm currently my sister and he is currently her husband-to-be...

It was time for him to leave and so I walked him outside. We talked some more and laughed and talked and yadda yadda yadda. Then he looked me sincerely in the eyes and said, 'To be honest, I forgot how amazing you are.' (He really did say that. I didn't make up this cheesy dream stuff! It happened!) Suddenly, without warning he grabs my face and kisses me. Deep. And I didn't pull away. I knew I should've pulled away but hey! I was saving my sister's marriage/engagement here! That would've just made her look bad.

Mark was a strong man with big arms and enormous height. While kissing, he swooped me up into his arms and spun me around. It was pretty fucking romantic and awesome. In the process of saying goodbye, i woke up.






There was another INCREDIBLE dream I had involving me traveling by boat to this island where there was a steel city with buildings that touched the sky with their points. And there were paths through a metal forest where little children lived and starved and my mother, a hermit lived in one of the steel rooms where she slept on pipes and watched a television set attached to the ceiling. I wanted to save her but she refused to leave. She had to watch over the children, sleeping in the man-made woods. Make sure they didn't get out of hand...

when the clocktower paints a shadow on the rooftop and we don't see it because we are below the ceiling
when a daughter raises her mother in the outskirts of a garden because she fears feeling guilty
when you walk out of a store holding a can of shoe polish that you thought your dad had purchased
when i dial the number,
push send,
think a moment,
hit end
contemplate dialing again
but dare not
finish

would anyone ever truly know the goings-on of the ongoing?
if it weren't for the outgoing platforms of the all knowing?

how did we do
when do we done
what we did do
when we had none?

timberwolf in the wool coat looks to the window
his hindlegs, sturdy as those under a table leaf ache
cornish hen hits piano keys rhythmically with her wings
feathers gather in a heap below the bench

outside snow falls aimlessly on animals that sit
on the heads of hares, the ass of a mule, eyelashes and bush
timberwolf finds the kitchen warmer without windows and
cornish hen plays an etude that quickly makes one forget his place

He stands transfixed by the slight ripples of the afternoon breeze through the grass, the yard. How each blade moves on its own; a separate beat. He wonders how it is he never noticed such a sight. He wants to survey them closer, take a peek at their individual paths. Instead he shifts his weight from toe to heel. With his hands tucked in pants pockets, he resembles his grandfather. He watches the green sea a moment before heading inside.
Thomas had been dating Minnie, an office building security guard and burn victim. It was one and a half months until he saw her naked. It was in the darkness of her living room after she had put the kid to bed. Thomas had savagely torn off his own clothes while Minnie was in the bathroom. She stumbled into the dark room, mouth agape. Thomas suggested she show him her skin in the moonlight. He was never one for seduction but after much coaxing, Minnie gave in. Thomas did not dare blink as Minnie reluctantly discarded her skirt and sweater. In just a turtleneck and stockings, she sat beside him in the dark.
"Please be natural with me," he had said. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her shoulders, to run his fingers up and down her back. Minnie's knees were locked. She didn't seem to feel comfortable. Thomas sat legs spread, arms crossed, devising a way to get Minnie to let loose.

Today is monday. Though tonight is actually Tuesday morning.
I am too bloated to ride my bike to a party that I want to go to.
All of these things are not good.

I have had the same cold for 1.5 weeks. It hasn't gone away despite my lack of drinking and increase in rest.

I just watched banana kill a bug with her mouth and then lick it rapidly in her paw. She is still doing this.

Today is Friday and not one thing has come of it. Karissa and I watched one and a half movies, both finding ourselves completely disappointed.

I wore a dress that makes me look prego.

I love the block I live on. Everything smells like magnolias.

wow. that last post was pretty gay.

i guess i just get melancholy and ridiculously dull without sleep.



today, my roommate dropped her keys down the bathroom sink. down the drain. Yes, this is true. i watched her try to pull them out with a fork. then a pair of scissors. then tweezers (which were my idea) and finally a wire hanger (also my idea). i have never heard someone whine so much verbally in my entire life. it was like watching a dumb and frustrated comic strip character trying to do something equally as dumb.


a woman came into the cafe tonight. she smelled how a rotting vagina might smell if filled with swampy goo. three out of four workers agreed. we watched from the kitchen as she ate snickers-flavored cheesecake and licked the plate clean.

i have been working heaps of hours at a coffee shop and vegan friendly restaurant. they're the same place. i have been drinking less which is good. but i have also been sleeping far less which is not so good.

at four in the morning when i usually leave the place, the city opens a new set of legs. people come out from underground to stand at intersections. old men park shopping carts at bus stops. last night, with my head out the taxi's window i saw a man that couldn't have been a man. he had an enormous bald head and a long beard. his ears held large gold hoops and he wore a dark suit. his shoes were pointed and made clip clop sounds. i'm pretty sure he was a genie but not the good kind.

lately, i have back tracked. i feel like i'm back in college or the period between graduating and moving to the city. that lull where i felt useless and young and delinquent. when i look in the mirror i see a pile of garbage in the shape of a human body. when i drink a beer, i can't finish it. i get frustrated with everything and cigarettes have been making frequent visits to my lips.

i would like where i'm at if it were five years ago. that would make more sense. whenever i hear my roommate's key in the front door, i feel terrified and i shut my bedroom door so she won't see me sitting here. idling at my desk. i haven't been less creative than i am now in a very long time. that sentence is confusing. sorry



all i want is for the weather to be more constant. the sunshine to eat the shade. the birds to not sing at five a.m. when i'm finally pushing myself into bed.

and all i really want is to feel like i'm doing something that maybe i should be doing at this age. i don't know what that is exactly but i'm determined to find out. hopefully before summer's end.

oh, how i love getting picked up by my little brother from the train while my cousin sits in the passenger seat describing the difference in conditions of roads. here and in minnesota. and when he opens his mouth, a drawl escapes. if i knew him a bit better, i would pinch his cheeks all day so that they always stayed rosey.

and oh, how i enjoy being greeted with a glass of white wine from my already tipsy father as my mother talks excitedly with her sister and my uncle stands awkward in a corner. when they smoke on the back porch, they bring in the smell of cold with them. my father smokes cigars because it brings him back to some time he loved while making him look forward to what time has yet to offer.

and, oh how i adore my sister and her pearls, spinning so that the fabric of her dress creates a royal blue bell. we tell secrets, share stories in the safety of her room where the vents of the kitchen don't reach.

and, oh how i appreciate supper with the white votives and the pressed table cloth and the holiday salt and pepper shakers. laughter rarely fades as such interesting topics as cannibalism, crack dealers, men that wear spandex pants and rollerskating rinks are discussed.

and, oh how i love reading a book from my childhood while sitting beside my brother who does the same. our father asleep on the loveseat. our mother passed out in the recliner. i could nap from all the wine but instead decide to play katamari (while my brother patiently watches my terrible technique) until the train comes to sweep me up and away. again.

On the ride back from the desolate into the city, I found myself lost in the back seat of a car. My breaths were hollow and I could feel a weight I hadn't felt in awhile. I sat, left temple pressed against the window. My hands rested in my lap, folding into one another, holding on. And when it first happened, when my hands first gathered there, I almost gasped. But why? Why was I so astonished? Shouldn't one know the touch, the feel of one's own hand? It seems that such an embrace from my own self startled me. And it led me to wonder...

Do I rarely fold my hands together? Is it that I'm afraid of the act of praying, of accidentally catching myself in such a formation? As the cityscape loomed beautifully ahead, I couldn't help but ponder the thought that some of my body parts were foreign to me. The left palm and the right palm. Two opposite magnets always avoiding a casual collision. And what is it that I make my hands do on the day to day, I asked myself. Well, when I am walking outside I like to keep them in the pockets of a jacket. When I am indoors, they are usually busy doing things but never really conjoining.

How odd that in the back seat of an acquaintance, I thought my own hand belonged to someone else. And in that instant, my breathing filled my chest in a way that made me aware of the rung of each rib. I could almost picture my internal core. The height of my torso.

It reminded me of a time when I was small. I was in the back seat of my family's minivan, tucked away behind a seat belt. We were driving into the skyline of the city. The stars were few but pulsing and my mother and father's conversation hung softly in the vehicle's cabin, hovering near the front. I remember my eyes darting fast, trying to catch every street light, every car, every billboard. And as the city escaped us, as we rushed through it, the south side pushed buildings closer to us. Apartment buildings hugged the highway. Small businesses with beating neon signs kissed the shoulder. As the stream of scenery whirred by, I would catch a glimpse here and there into someone's window. I could see outlines of people, black blurs against soft orange living room lamps. Deep shadows around a kitchen table. Featureless bodies floating from one room into another. Chandeliers cascading eerie shapes on bobbing heads. Cracks leading to ceilings covered by gaudy wall hangings, the blue breath from a television set turning faces white.

A quick peek into an existence that wasn't my own. People I did not know. And it was then, behind the backs of my parents that I felt smaller than ever before. I wanted to climb into those homes. I wanted to see each family behind every wall. And as I felt this sudden urge, I knew it was impossible. Such discovery and excitement and understanding also came with a deep realization that we are all very much alone. Even then, surrounded by those that I loved, my chest became a cave and I felt an overwhelming sadness. I think it was at that minute that I first stepped outside of myself and watched my little body sitting quietly, hands forming a steeple.

And as it tried to move away, I held onto it. My fist tightly gripping the thin string of my soul, a balloon.

All I want right now is to drink chocolate milk
the thickest, most rich of the brownest of milks
and i want it to slide slow down my throat
like sludge down a tree after a rainstorm in a forest.




You know when you're in an above ground and your family wants to play that game where you all start swimming around in a circle, all in the same direction? And you swim and swim. Some wear water wings. Some wear barely anything. Some can barely stand it and some chug along without breaking a sweat. And just as the currents moving, just as everything is smooth sailing, someone yells a word - any word, really. Just a word that everyone seems to understand. And then, in that very instant the winds change, the family turns it's body and pushes against the current. Somehow this is classified as fun, as perhaps a bonding experience. A test of good will.

All I know is
I think I somehow got turned around, accidentally.
And so my body is facing the current,
currently
and sure, I could hold on to the edge, letting it ride through me
feeling funny
hoping in due time it'll calm enough
to let me get back on
willingly.
or I guess I could kick and push and bite and claw
and scream and thrash and slap and maul my way
to the ladder
that the sun hits
where the kids sit
-smiling chicklets-
on the opposite side
of the pool.

Since Thursday evening, I have been sick with something awful.
My weekend was spent in bed.
Surrounded by boxes of tissues, bags of lozenges, an antsy cat and many books.
I read so much I think my brain might fall out.
I drank so much water, I could float away.
I thought so many thoughts that I'm certain my ears popped.

I also had so many dreams!
Ones where I was a detective mostly! And I was trying to figure out the world around me!
And one where I was at a fur coat fashion show and Sophia Loren won a contest
And then I was in a limo with a bunch of gansters and also the cast of Entourage
And then some stupid dj boy climbed out the window and was crawling around on the roof
of the limo! Crizazy!

And now, back to work! Where I discovered an upside down printer and some really neat patterned kleenex.

last night i dreamt that some gnomes delivered to me a shiny, silver box. i knew that the box was some sort of strange television. no matter what i did, the thing wouldn't turn on. i could not find a damned button anywhere!

so began my journey to the Library of Electronics where a whole floor was devoted to Remote Controls of our past. the place was more of a museum than a library really. and you could purchase any antique but the prices were dangerously steep.

i described my box to a librarian woman who took my hand. she brought me down a steel spiral staircase that led us to the building's basement. all of the walls were bright orange and the carpet was tangerine-hued shag. there were glass shelves with various contraptions on them - all being remote controls!

she took me to one shelf and held up a clunky piece of gray matter. she described the remote to me in lingo and said it was first made in 1957 and was no longer being manufactured. i would have to buy it if i wanted that gift from the gnomes to work!

when i went to the counter upstairs, the woman told me the remote would cost 70 dollars. i didn't have that sort of money so i had to leave the place in pure melancholy. as i walked down the street, a video was being projected onto the side of a building. the video was a making of the Sweet Valley High book series that little girls used to read when i was young! this version was special because all of the cheerleaders were actually zombies.






so i need to stop drinking. at least as much as i have been. i have all intentions of making a conscious effort to do so. being sloppy is not attractive.
also, i am boycotting the internet. at least when i'm not at work (which is now). and at least for today.

probably just for today...

i think i saw someone on the train that i know
she was sleeping and when she woke, she caught me just staring.
i stood in the cove of a window to the building
where i work
quickly puffing
as the snow was sadly melting,
falling in dollops
off the height of the building,
making a teeny puddle
on the top of my hat.

what makes me very upset is when a peer chooses to begin a discussion on politics with me.
when they say how they stand behind obama, i smile and nod because i'm grateful their love isn't for mccain.
but when i mention my respect and excitement for clinton, i immediately get attacked.
almost always by men.
"oh, lemmmme guess. because she's a woman," they say, guffawing.
when i say that her gender isn't the main factor but it's definitely a perk, they sneer at me.
"well, i would never vote for hillary. she's a bitch."
and this is where it gets me.
this is where my blood starts to boil
and, let me tell you - i rarely get mad -
especially in terms of politics -
(until i realized how important this upcoming race is.)

but there have been times i have had to walk away from someone,
i have had to step out
because i would get so upset at the sheer ignorance of such an allegation.
we do not know these candidates personally
and even if we did, that's not the point.
clinton seems undoubtedly assertive
and since when does being assertive make you a 'bitch'?
well, apparently when you are a woman
in a race that is primarily run by men.

if your decision for not voting for a particular candidate,
for not considering them whatsoever
has to do with the disposition they convey on television,
then i guess today's youth isn't as open-minded as i thought...


my favor of clinton has nothing to do with feminism
it has to do with my opinion of her campaign and its possible effect on the US of A.
this post also has nothing to do with feminism
but it has everything to do with sexism
and the common man
and all the times i've been attacked for expressing my support for clinton
just because she is a woman
and yes, i'm using that card!
i should explain though that it isn't just men that are bashing clinton
and clinton supporters
there are plenty of women who do the same
and it's always for ridiculous reasons that have nothing to do with actual concerns.
her appearance, her 'coldness', her attire, her reputable name, her voice
are all topics i've witnessed people discussing
to no end.
if those are things this nation's youth is truly worried about
when deciding who to pull for
then i just don't know what to say...
this shouldn't be a race of who is the most charming candidate
or who gives the most inspiring speeches,
nor should it be about who is the most trendy
or who seems like they'd be fun to shoot pool with (you know you thought it!).
at the end of the day, 
it should be a race of who is the most eligible and of course, READY to run a freaking country, dognabbit!!

(i've actually been doing my research on the top contenders for BOTH parties. ya know, so that i'm aware of what's out there. so i, personally can give everyone a fair chance. i mean, dude. i've been reading about this stuff like crazy and i am now UNSTOPPABLEEEEEEEEE at knowledge!)



whew. back to work!

where was it i heard that quote? that idea? it was something... someplace...

oh, i was at a dinner party the other night. married friends, inseperable couples and me.
while the bread we all took turns kneading slowly rose in the oven, the lot of us camped around the television. a basketball game entertained. i ignored the game and stumbled upon a book i couldn't quite get my nose out of.

the book is what you'd think any doe-eyed girl would pick up upon noticing the title, though it fails to come to me now. something about ten little poems, all about love. a book written by a poet who decided to analyze and dissect ten 'little' poems on the subject of love.

there was one poem in particular that struck me. i cannot remember the title nor the creator nor a single quotable line but i can recall how it made me feel. it said something about how you will never truly know kindness until you know what it is to feel sorrow. and you will never truly be kind until you have experienced heartache. the type of ache that forces you to start all over again because that is the only option you have left. and you have to see everything as it is and how it could be and for what it was.

then there was one part about the poet witnessing a man sobbing uncontrollably into a payphone. and he said it made him realize the connection waiting to be made between all of us. and me reading this, without even having seen that man made me feel just the same. how those devoid of any sort of sorrow, any bit of sadness, remorse or hopelessness, have yet to understand what it is to truly grow. to resemble a phoenix. to build castles out of ashes. to actually know happiness.

A colorful crocodile had been chasing me up an unending ladder when I awoke, smiling. Christopher had been sitting up in bed, grading papers. His grey eyes were magnified marbles behind the rims of his glasses. I watched him for a minute, undetected before rolling over to read the time. The round face of the miniature clock read eleven eleven. Christopher let out a faint sigh beside me as I made a sweet wish for the day.

                  I kissed Christopher's exposed shoulder and slid out of bed. Walking slow around the room to the closet, I expected to feel my skin ablaze with the knowledge of being watched. But I was cold in my underwear and Christopher's focus was on the work spread out on his lap, not on the girl standing half-naked in the day. Why did I like this man so much and why was he so very far away?

                I met my older sister for lunch that afternoon. I was greeted with her panicking into the phone. Her son, Tucker had hidden the babysitter's medication and the poor girl was crying on the phone. I could hear shrieking and quick breaths on the other end. It reminded me why I will never have children.

                "So, Tucker's been a good boy, huh?" I smirked at my sister while taking a bite of a smoked turkey and swiss pita. She rolled her eyes at me and sipped her iced tea.
                "I realize this is what is supposed to happen, right? All kids go through this phase and soon it will end and he'll be totally normal. I just can't wait for the day when he's content reading Kafka and daydreaming quietly in his room."
                "I think that scenario is a long way off," I laughed. My sister is one of those mothers that just doesn't really care. If Tucker bumps his head and starts wailing, she'll give him an ice cube and go back to reading her book. Much like our mother, she is not incredibly passionate about raising a family.  Seeing her go through the process lead me to believe I'd be the same way.
                My lovely older sister asked about Christopher the way she always does, with an inquisitive tone. I, as usual told her about his work, about our recent visits to events and about the sex. I believe my sister lives vicariously through me. Lately, she hasn't had the greatest bedroom situation. Since having Tucker, her and her husband gained enough weight to become completely turned off by one another. She got fat from the baby. He says he got fat to make her feel better. All in all, fat froze their libidos.
                For Valentine's Day last year, I thought it clever to give them both a membership to the local gym. But instead of my effort rekindling their romance it only gave me a week-long silent treatment and the most humbling apology I had ever given.
                Now, my sister finds other ways to entertain herself; the food network, Joyce Carol Oates and me. I have to admit, it feels nice to have someone that is so interested in my otherwise boring life. Sometimes I embellish on daily events for shock value. She sits with her head in the cup of her hand, listening with awe at my exciting, childless existence.
                I wouldn't dare tell her that it's really not all that great. That my job is boring the hell out of me. That my friends oftentimes forget to invite me out, possibly on purpose. That my boobs are probably shrinking. And that I can feel Christopher slipping away from me. A ship in the night, every moment with him just a gentle push in the opposite direction; away.





                   It was supposed to be a double date. Christopher, myself, an old friend of mine from college and her new fiance were to see a comedy show and eat al fresco at some Italian bistro. As I ran around my apartment, in search of something i could wear without a bra (laundry day), the phone rang.
                   I finally found it still in the pocket of my slicker and answered to Christopher on the other end. He sounded nervous, upset. I knew what this was about or should I say I dreaded what this was about?
                  "Hey," he shook.
                  "Hey." I shook back.
                  "Tonight... I can't make it."
                  "Oh. Don't worry about it." Brief pause. "Is everything okay?" I waited for what seemed like an impossible length.
                  "I don't know." Still, he shook. I imagined a leaf on the other end, just barely hanging on to the branch of a tree. I was careful not to be the breeze that could make him fall.
                  "Do you want to talk about it?"
                  "Not really." The silence was thick and black, some sort of animal breathing heavily between each sound.
                  "Oh okay. Do you want me to come over?" I asked, hoping with all my strength that he would say yes.
                  "No, I'm alright. I just have a lot on my mind, a lot to do."
                  "I know. You've been pretty busy lately."
                  "Yea... but have fun tonight, okay?" I wasn't sure if this was actually Christopher or a ghost that had been left in his place. His voice was transparent and without feeling. I wondered if someone had put a gun to his back, forcing him to act this way. Threatening him into making me feel awful.
                   "Thanks. I'll talk to you later?"
                   "Sure."
                   "Okay. Bye."
                   "Bye." And then click and then me standing topless without a single idea of what just happened. And then my mind reeling, questioning. Did it end? Was this his way of vaguely putting a stop to it, to us? I don't know how many minutes I stood there but it must have been several because suddenly the door bell rang and I was again rushing to find a stitch of clothes.


                   The friend I hadn't seen in over two years was at my door with her new and devastatingly handsome fiance, slouching above her. Even though I was well overdressed for the evening, I didn't care. Anything that could make me feel like a million bucks was currently crucial.
                   When the old friend asked of Christopher's whereabouts, I simply shrugged and ordered another scotch. How could I tell her that just moments before she arrived with her perfect date, my own date had possibly ended things? I was more concerned about her perception of me than about receiving her sympathy.
                   The night ended sooner than I expected due to my quick intoxication and the lack of common interests between the three of us. The perfect couple were trying for a baby while I was just trying to keep my sanity. Though the fiance rarely spoke, I could tell he was just the thing she needed; a man that obviously cared for her. Enough to go on agonizing double dates. Enough to hold her coat for her. Enough to stay.

                   I walked home, defeated. I contemplated going to a bar alone but decided against it. A single woman in a bar is never a good idea. On the long walk back to my place, my phone jingled deep in my pocket. As I clumsily searched for it, I hoped with every bit of my being that it was Christopher. That he was calling to apologize, to talk, to... anything. I didn't care if he was calling to tell me how ugly I am just as long as it was him, his voice.
                 But all the hoping in the world couldn't make it happen. It was just my sister calling. I sighed a sigh so heavy my shoulders fell to earth. Never had I been so disappointed to see her number shining on the screen.
                 "Hey, sis."
                 "Hey."
                 "Can you talk or are you still on that double date thing?"
                 "No. It ended."
                 "Oh. Well, why do you sound so sad?"
                 "It's nothing." I didn't want to tell her. Not at first. I was afraid she would lose all hope in love, in relationships. In me.
                 "Tell me. Now. Or I'll march over there and pinch it out of you!" I politely laughed and then swallowed loud enough for her to hear.
                 "It's over between Christopher and I. I, uh ended it tonight." I wasn't sure why I lied but the words came out without warning and humiliation flooded my face.
                 "What? Are you serious?" My sister's voice was tinged with complete disbelief.
                 "Actually, that's not true. I didn't end it. He did. He ended it... with me." It was hard to keep the tears back but I didn't want strangers to see me in any sort of disarray. I sniffled, pretending it was just the cold.
                 "Gosh. Wow. I am so sorry. That is just awful. Are you going to be okay?"
                 "Yea. I think so."
                 "Honestly, I thought he was too dorky for you anyways. He always had his head in a book." I laughed at my sister's attempt at resolution.
                 "You're probably right."
                 "Of course I am. But I have some news that may cheer you up, if you can handle it."
                 "What is it?"
                 "Are you ready for it?" She made what was supposed to be a drum roll on the other end. I genuinely smiled on my end.
                 "YES!" I shouted, laughing.
                 "We finally did it! We had sex, baby! We did the freaking deed!"
                 And that was that. I knew my sister no longer needed the dressed up descriptions of my life that I so willingly gave her. Embellishing events was no longer necessary. In a way, I felt dejected.  As if in just an evening's time we had switched roles. But then again, her woe had been seriously dragging and my turn to be envious was long overdue.
               
                I congratulated her profusely and made her tell me every single graphic detail. Because more than any other time in my life, I honestly wanted and needed to know.


                  

i think my teeth are made of glass
they cut my lips, i cannot chew
crashing, clanking when together
reflections stare right back at you

i think my arms are tiny branches
look at just how fast they move!
yet they can't hold things tangible
or they would surely break in two!

today, tonight and yesterday
and every single other day
all feel like a thousand days
all feel like a year's gone by
 
in the course of seven days
it's hard to measure any range
it's hard to think
hard to create
when yesterday is still today
and tomorrow is a year away

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