ursula & toilet paper & eggs

this morning i woke up as i usually do, with my cat leaping up on the bed at around 6:30am, meowing and pawing at me to feed her. and i did what i usually do on weekends–shooed her away to give me another half-hour of respite. sometimes i get up, feed her, then promptly go back to bed. but even on those days, i can never sleep past 10am. the morning is imprinted on me now, i am used to its summer light and chirping birds.

i am reading a collection of short stories by ursula le guin, and they are very good. women authors are fantastic at sharing the experience of being a woman with their audience; their stories are as much emotional encapsulations as they are plot-driven. i laid in bed and read for an hour, a story about a man from a planet where women dominate due to genetic shenanigans centuries ago; most male babies die in childbirth. so it’s all women and a few men, who are raised in “castles” where the play games of sport and then women pay for the men to fuck them so they can have more kids. but the women are all in love with each other, and men are little more than breeding stallions.

anyway this man lived in a time where the men were trying to become free, after researchers from another planet arrive and decide to “interfere” with the people. once the men (the populace in general) see that men from that planet are free and educated and do whatever they want, the men from this planet want that too. and this man in this story gets it, but it’s hard, because now what does he do? the women aren’t used to men not being in castles or “fuckeries” as they put it. (i love that le guin calls them “fuckeries”; the view of sex in this story and in a couple others that i’ve read so far is so free and polyamorous and definitely a stance re: american prudishness.) he eventually goes to hain (a planet colonized or co-inhabited by terrans, apparently) to become educated. it was a good story and a good collection of stories so far (the book’s 800 pages).

it’s nice outside and i opened the blinds and jowers laid in the sun splayed out over my bed as i read, and then she insisted that she lick my hand for a long time, which she does sometimes. she doesn’t like it when i pet her when she wants to clean me; she’ll look back at my hand like, “bring it back here, it is still unclean.”

it’s clear outside and i walked to the corner store to buy some toilet paper, eggs, and a dumb hazelnut starbucks drink. sometimes when i buy weird things together i like to conjure weird stories in my head about why i’m buying these things together. like, what would be the weirdest thing the cashier could think. the starbucks was just coffee (obviously) but the eggs and TP were for some sexually deviant thing i was going to do: hardboil the eggs and stick them up my butt, of course. TP was for cleanup. at 9am, of course. but then i thought about it more. even hardboiled eggs are no match for the cinching power of the sphincter. i would just end up with broken egg bits in my rectum, which was the least sexiest thing i could think of at 9 in the morning.

i drank the starbucks drink and thought about making breakfast, but my pan still had leftover bacon grease and fat in it so i have started the dishwasher and eaten a fiber granola bar thing instead, one of several unusual things i buy at grocery outlet. i am bad at doing dishes, especially when i’m depressed. i have some used tupperware in and around my sink that i’m afraid to open. my sink is full of grossness. it’s embarrassing and i should do my dishes more often but it’s hard to do when the only prevailing thought in your head is “nothing matters, who cares,” etc etc.

i am attempting to write more again, morning pages or 750 words or whatever you wish to call it. to write freely and to not censor myself or delete the words because i don’t think they’re good enough. i feel a sense of serenity this morning that i haven’t felt for a while. i’m okay at home right now. my depression is no more than a feeling of content loneliness, which is something i can capture and care for. nothing in my world right now feels content, usually, so i enjoy the brief respite. i am alone in a full room, i don’t really care about myself currently. about or for myself. i can’t remember things, my productivity at work took a dip because i was in a depressive fog and fell behind on my tasks. i tell my therapist this but leave some of it out, because i view myself (and my depression and anxiety) as a burden on others. even to my therapist, whose job is entirely to be a emotional beast of burden (no offense). there are some secrets i don’t even tell myself.

but i’m listening to classical music (thank you thank you allclassical.org for existing) and the sun is shining through the blinds and my cat is asleep on her cat tree and i’m writing and feeling only very minimally ashamed of it. that’s better.

033p: howling alone (ingrid)

i don’t give a fuck
everybody dies
some hit by a truck
some shot twixt the eyes
others hang themselves
some while jerking off
some infect the world
with just a simple cough

so you see
worrying about me
is just a waste of time
who can blame a guy
pissed off at the world
for shooting up a school
and taking out these fools
if only i’d been hit
i should’ve been a shield
cause living ain’t for shit
and nothing ever heals


032p: 21st century girl (dana)

whist’ling down the hall
a spring in every step
i blossom in the fall
awaken with some pep

my mirror loaded up
with inward-facing praise
the summer swollen shut
forgotten in a haze

i’m your
21st century girl
i’m the
future of the free world

students passing by
slow and steadily
fresh-faced alibis
potential guarantees

all the kids in school
were putty in my hands
i never lost her cool
i always had it planned


031p: prettiest (penelope)

what does it matter
i wipe off my mascara
it keeps running down my face
in front of a camera
the satellite antenna
the public feels my grace

suddenly smiling
with fake reassurance
there’s nothing wrong inside
get me home now (get me home now)
i’ll never be brave
i want to run and hide

all that i know
all that they told me
is that i’m the prettiest girl
they gave me a sash and a tiara
and all that i know
all that they told me
is that i’m the prettiest girl

i saw a boy dying
a boy from my math class
he always sat up front
and there he was lying
in freshly cut grass
a victim of the hunt

they asked me his name
i didn’t know his name
i didn’t know their names


029p: creatives aren’t meant to push buttons and pull levers

creatives aren’t meant to push buttons and pull levers
they are meant to construct new meanings for buttons and draw levers doing silly things
some people push buttons all day
and are happy; others push buttons
and stare out of the window and pine for the outdoors and think about the other projects they’re working on
we’re all creative in our own ways
we all sprout from stardust
we all love the beating of our own hearts and the inhalation of breath
we all sing songs in the shower
to unseen lovers and grandstands of adoring fans
and some of us stare at computer screens in offices
and we sing in our head

027p: sausage stir fry

a tablespoon of coconut oil
slipped off my finger into
the frying pan; the remnants
rubbed into the dry creases
of my toiling fingers.
catapulted frozen vegetables
to distance myself from
splattering oil, a wooden spoon
bought from safeway
to stir the warming victuals.
normally, chicken presides
over this court of cauliflower,
but, bereft of poultry,
instead a substitute of
polish sausage, sliced
like hot dogs in mac & cheese.

it was fucking delicious.

025p: note to mike m. on the way back to work

do you remember me,
winding through
labyrinthine hallways
to attend your audition?
it’s okay if you don’t;
a brief speck in a life
met with many faces.
such investment goes
into passing people you
kind of know on the street.
in a mote of time
a thousand calculations
beyond the wisdom of robots
cycles through your head,
and by the time you
come to a conclusion–
it’s too late. they’re gone.
and you keep walking.