in


we do not grow absolutely, chronologically.

we grow sometimes in one dimension,
and not in another; unevenly.
we grow partially. we are relative.
we are mature in one realm, childish in another.
the past, the present, and future mingle
and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present.
we are made up of layers, cells, constellations.

anais nin

eight.

in


sometimes i wonder if i'll ever wake up feeling any older than eight years of age.

and by sometimes i mean more often than not.

because it has yet to happen.

the kiss.

in , , ,

it had been so long since she kissed someone, she wondered if she had forgotten how.


because surely this was not how it was meant to go.

wasn't one person meant to go for the top lip, the other the bottom?

she couldn't figure out what was happening.

well, okay, she knew what was happening. sort of. she just couldn't figure out what she was supposed to do.

standing right there on 78th and Amsterdam, kissing.

she almost started laughing and gave up. she thought if she just disengaged, turned around, and walked away, she might be spared the embarrassment.

but eventually they figured it out. reached a tentative meeting of minds. and mouths.

she loved that he turned around right there on the corner--as if driven by his own wonder and curiosity. loved that he had to take his glasses off. loved that he was suddenly a boy, transformed by his own excitement.

because never had she felt more beautiful.

and so when it all ended, she would laugh about just how uncomfortable that first kiss was, but choose to remember that moment when he could just no longer wait--that moment when a grown man became a boy. and she began to fall.



whirlpool.

in

yesterday something hideous moved through me.


a mood.

a bad mood.

a bad mood to end all other bad moods.

i walked past the bathroom in the new apartment and stopped.

my love for this new bathroom knows no bounds. our tuscan bathroom, i call it. (something about the tan stones has led me to dub it as such).

our tuscan bathroom has a whirlpool bath. and because i've long longed for a bath in which to fall apart, i thought, hmmm... this tub will do. this tub will definitely do.

and so i ran the warm water. climbed in. prepared for some kind of release and pressed the whirlpool button.

rumble. bubble. rummmmmble.



and dirt.

an explosion of dirt.

yes, dirt.

i quickly turned the whirlpool button off.

and remained in the warm water as the brown chunks outfitted in various sizes and shapes swirled and pooled around me.

and i thought, yup, this is about right.

after all, it was release i had been in search of. and beggars can't be choosers.