a very early memory, a fragment of a memory, from kindergarten: it is play time—not recess proper, but a small break between formal lessons in the afternoon, during which we are allowed to amuse ourselves with the toys and plastic kitchen set and books and board games in the little area at the back of the classroom. i am back there, on a rug with a perfectly ordered town printed on it, amongst a group of girls whose names and faces are not a part of this memory. i’m pretending to be a mermaid, writhing around on the floor with my legs twined together at the knees, imagining they are fins. we are all doing this, the girls and myself, but it’s very clear that I’m showing them how to do it properly. this is 1990, 1991: at home we’ve already added disney’s the little mermaid to our VHS collection—a particular favorite of mine, at that age. the girls follow my lead and we all sing part of your world at the top of our lungs until some boys come by to assert themselves by instructing us to shut the hell up. i learned something that day. i don’t know what.
i am smoking my last bowl of weed and watching the women’s olympic trials on nbc.
i went to work but got cut after an hour because it was so dead.
i went to a art thing in an old factory downtown. i had one beer and said hello to precisely three people that i recognized and one person i didn’t know. there were some women in a dance troupe dancing and a band playing music that actually wasn’t so bad but i’d gone alone and there was no one to talk to.
do gymnasts want to live their whole lives in the moment they are catapaulting over the vault, or those few minutes during which they cavort about on a balance beam, or those moments when they are let loose on the floor, or that moment between uneven bars, when they are suspended in air? the way i want to live my whole life in the page as it comes together?
i have religious inclinations. as the christians say i live my life in the word. old habits die hard.
i never want to write another thing addressed to you because what a waste.
what a waste.
last night for dinner i ate an entire box of golden, double stuffed oreos and a fresh fruit smoothie i made with fresh strawberries, bananas, an orange, some ice, a little milk, and a few scoops of yogurt.
the smoothie was tasty but i didn’t add anything to sweeten it aside from the fruit. i think my strawberry to banana ratio was off. in any case because the smoothie did not satisfy my sweet tooth in the way i was expecting or wanting it to i ate the oreos.
i always tell myself i’ll only eat a few and end up eating all or nearly all of them. i take them out three at at time, which doesn’t do anything but increase the number of trips i take to the kitchen to get three more.
i was in bed watching INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE on vhs and i got out of bed half a dozen times for more oreos before i finally just brought the package into bed with me, making it one of the more satisfying bed partners i’ve had in a while.