there comes a point every night when i crawl or hoist myself into bed and in the space between bended knees and face flat into the pillow that i give thanks for the comfort of a bed that is all my own.
for anyone who has ever shared a bed--be it a single night or several years--with someone who's not quite right, you know the joy that sleeping alone can bring. the not-quite-right provides a perspective like no other. a glorious thing that perspective is.
someone recently asked me if i mind being single? what a silly question. well, i haven't yet met someone who makes me wanna to give up my current Facebook status, so no. i don't mind it. not at all. i'm pretty sure that i wasn't so snide when responding to him, but he was angling, and i was side-stepping. (and just in case you didn't know, i'm not the girl that feels the need to list any sort of Facebook relationship status at all. so there). and why does blogger keep capitalizing Facebook for me? maybe i want a lowercase f...
damn, this was meant to be a poetic and lovely post about sundays and the space between and the yearning for a companion.
let me try again:
i don't mind this single life.
not usually.
but sundays are different. sundays i feel the absence upon waking. it is on sundays that i long for a brunch companion. or someone to help me with the new york time's puzzle. someone for whom to make an extra bit of coffee. someone to fall back into bed around noon with.
a sunday someone.
one of my girlfriends recently said she was in search of a part-time lover.
i'll take one just for sundays, please.
I was always aware of being a little different.
In a land where lineage stretches far and wide and wild, rooting itself in the terrain of the place, i came from stock that came from...somewhere else.
I remember a fourth grade classmate who claimed descendence from the first man who crossed William Travis' famous line in the sand. Remember the Alamo, indeed.
In Texas, the state's history borders on folklore. Or religion. It is ingrained, mystical, and all-powerful. A reflection of the greatness of the state.
Did you know that technically the state flag of Texas is the only state flag that can fly as high as the American flag? In Texas this is a point of pride--and to see another flag at the same level as our great nation's? Well, we quietly swallow the injustice of that that--the flagrant act of disrespect. No, not disrespect against the United States, no we don't worry about that. Disrespect against Texas.
Thing is, I wasn't raised by Texans. My lineage isn't there rolling across the plains. It is on two ships crossing over from Poland and Ireland, respectively. It is in a small apartment in the Bronx, not far from where I live now. In a small home in Salamanca, close to Buffalo, in a town that is ever-so-slowly-dyring, but who lives in my mind
saturday morning.
snow. freshly brewed coffee with almond milk. a lit candle. knee socks (polka-dotted). windows ever-so-slightly-open. just enough time to give the apartment a really good clean. and some damn fine music.
perfection in the small pocket of respite that this morning affords.
some words of wisdom.
in quotes
you want to know what i hate? big-sloppy-mouthed-cheek kisses that leave the recipient wiping the side of their face. falling asleep with one boot still on because the zipper got stuck and at one in the morning there isn't the energy or will to get it undone. dreaming about said boot all night. not having enough time. feeling snowed in (metaphorically, not literally--literally, i could do with a little more snow).
i might come back into my skin sometime around the beginning of march (might).
so for today, because i myself need some words of inspiration, do please indulge me as i share just that:
forgive me for not linking these better than to say that all can be found here.
and you can follow me on pinterest here.
in inches.
i ran down the hill toward home.
home for now.
the air was cool, bordering on blistery, but certainly not becoming of february.
my feet throbbed and i wondered why i had chosen to wear my blue-suede-pumps to work--where was the sense in that?
it was close to two, middle of the night, exhaustion creeping in that uncomfortable way around the back of the head.
this is your becoming, this is your becoming, i repeated, calling forth the wisdom of my elders and betters.
i could make a list of everything that's upsetting me. and in three months time most of the issues will have passed or receded or proved blessings. i know this. there is comfort in this.
and yet, three years ago i might have said the same, but there are still those few, same uncomfortable, unanswered questions. the same unanswered love, the same unfulfilled home in this city.
this is your becoming.
it can change in a new york minute. that's what they say. but it's been eight years now and any good changes have been a fight. slow and painstaking and absolutely measured in inches--won in inches and years. nothing resembling a minute.
this is your becoming.
you see, most days i feel like i'm banging my head against the same damn walls and lord i need a good cry, but hell if it'll come.
this is your becoming.
just one good thing, i think. one good, unexpected little miracle. let it surprise me.
that's all i want.
i sit with that wish. for a good long while i let it take up just enough space, careful it doesn't consume.
and then, just the other day, while listening to the avett brothers and paging through a script on the long, unforgiving train to the outer-fringes of brooklyn, there is a thought:
you are the miracle.
this is my becoming.
i am the miracle. my very existence. the breath that rises and falls. the little rebel heart that continues to pump blood, continues to fall in love even when i can't see the sense, or summon the strength. the will to be better, to be more, to see wider and love more freely, i. am. the miracle.
the rest will come. because i exist and i want and i'm willing to fight--even in inches. each day is more, even when it feels little and ugly--the day is more. the inches will add up, the inches will accumulate.
this is my becoming.
i am the miracle.