Standing below the Big Dipper and Orion’s Belt (because those are the only two constellations bright enough to see— or, let’s face it, two of the five I know), waiting for Gigi to pee with nothing but the dim light of the porch, and sometimes the glow of my phone screen if I’m stupid enough to keep it attached to me.
Sentences like these pop in my head. The metallic clanging of the recycling truck, the swish of cars passing, the routine I sometimes love, sometimes hate. The signal of aliveness when a mosquito slyly lands on my knuckle and I feel the faintest sting. The irrepressible urge to body-check my stomach from years of disordered eating and obsessive training only to think, “Feels good,” before remembering why that isn’t healthy, and continuing to do it anyway.
Knowing that my writing is riddled with fragments and parentheticals and looping clauses and rarely caring. I don’t want to put my words through Grammarly (some of the time), I like my messy-fragmented brain.
Recalling a text from an early-rising friend: “Thanks for checking in” with a shiny pink heart at the end. Her beloved, sassy-as-fuck cat (Hannah, aka Boopers, aka Boopies) died, and I want to be there in whatever way she’ll let me. I want her to feel I noticed the connection they had. That they were parallel creatures (strikingly beautiful, sometimes hard to reach) and that their bond was obvious. Sure, pets love you when you diligently feed and care for them, but some ties run deeper and you can’t help but feel it. This one was that.
Sometimes when I write, my legs dangling out from my laptop, Gigi pushes a toy against my feet and around my ankles, and I push lovingly back, and I don’t know why I want to include that here at the end. The truth is, I never really know where I’m going when I write anything.
(Daily Writing 096)
Thoughts?