I wish the spiders in my shower were fish
That I was attracted to you
Had a pocket made of skin
The plumbing to handle my shit
Imagine thinking eyelash extensions would help this situation
And everything lived until it didn’t want to and didn’t die loveless in a shopping plaza
I want to know if I want too much
How to keep goodness on my windowsill like a wasp
An inappropriate friendship with my therapist
Non sexual sleepovers
I want to live in the off season of obsession
Christmas three times a year
My milk teeth back
Maybe the only way to draw Mt. Beautiful is to start at the top with a pencil
I want a sushi grade body
A cheap but quality abortion
Permission not to need any
So what if I’m insatiable?
You think that wasp is gonna live forever?
this is what i did with mine
- started therapy.
- picked blueberries. when you smoosh two together they look like tiny blue alien titties.
- took myself to the movies.
- went skinny dipping in a lake that was not mine. the moon took selfies.
- drank tea.
- saw a snake. it was not a metaphor.
- heard seals call to each other when I was barefoot in seaweed with my mother.
- suffered many a hangover then suffered no hangovers.
- ate tapas.
- discovered my mortal body at CrossFit. I have never been so glad to quit something.
- bought rollerblades, experienced the 90’s.
- took a poetry workshop with Eileen Myles. now my heart is full of Poe.
- fell in love with nutritional yeast, which is not a nasty in-your-pants-problem, but a vegan alternative to cheese.
- had eczema.
- bought two packs of 27’s, smoked a total of three of them, added them to the dumpster.
- consumed an entire pint of Halo Top ice cream. became an angel two times over.
- watched a little too much Netflix while zipped up in the AC, trying to navigate my quarter life crisis.
- started a book that had to be abandoned. thank you in advance for you condolences.
- sweated out my soul in 95 degree asanas.
- saw the solar eclipse from the high way through the car windshield. it was so totally meta
- read a lot of Ann Patchett
- and Richard Siken.
- and liked myself, with and without a machine.
- but how do you end a list like this? standing on a ledge refusing to jump 20 feet into the blue copper water?
- with a sunset?
- with kombucha?
- with the stars I drew in a notebook falling from the page
Maybe I’ll brush my teeth.
Maybe I’ll drink coffee in my dirty kitchen with no underwear on.
(The latter, but it is not a metaphor. It’s just been never since I’ve last washed the floors).
Next, gloat privately about my Scrabble win last night.
Feel overcome with love/gratitude for myself for playing qi and fi on a triple letter score but also, for once, I’m not nursing a hangover.
Bright tales. Bushy eye (brows).
Take a good lentil poop and have enough toilet paper
to cover my ass then pass
the cereal, consume the Internet, write a few lines of bad poetry
in my Moleskine-turned-diary.
It’s such a teenage/stupid thing to do, to keep a private, tedious account of things like “FEEBLER – 24 points, thank you very much”
And my bed is not made. And laying in it keeps it that way.
The email I imagine my boss sent around the office after I quit my job last summer to “become a writer.”
I know you’re going to miss her bright hangovers on Thursdays, Fridays, and even Wednesday mornings, but Florence has decided to abandon her 401K to move back to suburbia with her parents. So brave. We will remember her fondly at least until the end of the week. Never have we had an employee use the bathroom so frequently in a sixty-minute time frame nor single handedly eat all the Twix bars from the vending machine. (Will someone please remember to tell the new assistant to tell Gary he can resume a restock schedule of every other week?)
As you all witnessed, Florence gave New York City an honest try, but felt too uncomfortable in the company of rats, cockroaches and museums to fully thrive. Totally get it. In addition to the inundation of vermin and culture, Florence realized she wasn’t quite comfortable with authority. She prefers to be called “Sweetie,” which has lead her to the conclusion that her personality is best suited for relationships with loving aunts and the elderly, rather than bosses and colleagues.
As sad as we are to see her go, we knew something had to change when we found her crying in the bathroom about not being able to pursue her passions. “I want to take a macramé class and brew kombucha,” she’d wailed. Having logged innumerable hours on Microsoft Outlook, the elliptical, and the subway, we hope Florence will now have time to do more Instagram worthy things. Though we were surprised when she handed in her letter of resignation the week after we hired her, after a quick vote, we all agreed to love the card stock she chose from that Brooklyn start up that only uses invisible materials. Such taste.
We’re really excited for Florence and feel this giant step backward is one of many on her true path. Indeed from the moment she interviewed with us, we knew Florence would make a great unemployed millennial and we wish her nothing but the best in this new role.
x’s and z’s
(so many z’s)