Wednesday, August 25, 2010


Good news, she said when she woke up that morning. I've finally written something down instead of the push pull back and forth up and down roller coaster of a train wreck car crash spinning in circles sinking and sinking all while holding every inch of myself completely still. Good news, she said without opening her mouth. Good, she said. How many people are there inside of my head? They all raise their hands, they've all got the answers. Good. She's not saying anymore.

I want to move forward I want to go backwards I want to stay here

I want to go back to the days when rainy days were cardboard spaceships and blanket fort libraries and none of the gray blanket sadness sprung from experiencing bad days, I want to go back to worrying about which color crayon would make the best sunflower and none of the worrying about whether or not it's okay to cross the street while a man in a drunk red car smashes a bottle out his window and whether or not your best friend's boyfriend likes you and whether or not you like yourself, I want to go back to reading about Harriet the Spy being the same thing as becoming Harriet the Spy and none of the wondering about structure and hints of post modernism and maybe she was a lesbian.