i hate contracts / i think i fucked up

about that letter from Feb 9


I’m sorry if anything I gave you was tainted with resentment.

Even the slightest hit of that can knock me off this wire. I imagine it’s the same for you.

I sit on a grassy knoll. There are little ants all over the place. They all see me as another stretch of green earth.

I want to lean back and watch the clouds in the blue sky. I want to have a view framed with leaves.

But when I think about getting comfortable I feel uncomfortable. And the ants don’t even bother me anymore.

I’m sorry I couldn’t decode your letters. Irony is when you can’t recognize yourself.

I mean, if you see it from her point of view, she had only looked into mirrors that were warped.

And she covered them one by one with black cloth but only after she believed that she deserved her own light.

I’m writing to the sky now. Dear Sun. Dear Stars. Dear Moon. Have you heard the latest Adele track?

If I hold my arms straight out as I type it’s almost like I’m in the sky because that’s where I want to be.

The grass on this knoll is dry. The individual blades scratch the back of my neck.

Don’t look now – this is a scene in a song.

I’m pretty sure I insulted a rock star once. And I still feel bad about that. I’m sorry. I believe in you now.

If time was linear none of this would be possible, you know. Like how could I even, right?

And sometimes I’m certain that certain tourists sit near me because I look nerdy cool with my plain black journal and my ball point pen. Sitting in a series of cafes alone with myself and my own mud which is the mud of the world.

If there was a way for me to give all of your time back I would. I would give it back like a refund. Not like you enjoyed the organic local brewery product refund. Like that whole consumer satisfaction guarantee refund.

My arms are tired now. I’m sorry that I was so young when we met. I’m sorry i allowed you to watch me cry. I’m sorry if I asked you to hold my hand.

I know you know what it’s like and I blame capitalism. I blame myself. I blame Maslow’s idealistic ideas.

I wish she was here.I wish I could do something more than wish.

I’m sorry. I wish that some miracles looked different. I wish it didn’t have to be so fucking hard.

There are some mornings I wake up catapulting noodle salad into the mouths of baby hawks. One step at a time right?

You need to know that you did everything right. Nothing you did was a wrong decision. And it’s true.

Though I kicked and screamed, if you had been the one to light my path, I would have directed it all toward you.

I’m sorry I pushed you. And how confusing it must have been for me to draw circles of salt around you with my right hand while I was slamming my left into your chest.

If I could do it over again, the only thing I would do differently is this: I would go back to the beginning and tell you everything I know now so you could have my sweater through it all.

Hey, did you check your dresser?

The other day, God put a six month old in front of me. This child was happy as fuck. Staring off into space watching the gentle orbs of magnificent blue and purple and pink.

As I stepped back into those moments of peace in my own childhood, I slagged through the marsh of guilt for not having had the ability to give my own child the pure, perfect, unconditional love of God and the angels from the day she was born.

But you did your best, sweetie. And I know this in my heart. I do.

To understand that fall broke my heart more. And I’m sorry for all the ways I haven’t been there to give you that pure love throughout your life. You know?

All of the elbow macaroni is gone now. I’m not making any for tomorrow.

Even on a warm summer day I want to wear your sweater.

to be fitted with a heart

you know?

I saw a seagull once when I was a kid. Walking through the parking lot after a long day at the office.

It was winter. Snow and ice where I lived. The parking lot was cleared but that meant piles of snow in random corners.

This little guy was hopping on one leg. At first I couldn’t see why. I spotted his odd gait from afar.

He only had one foot. One foot, you know? My heart hurt. Through the walls of my chest I could feel my heart singing in tune with the hobble of this bird. In the middle of winter.

I think his foot got frozen to something metal and was torn off when he broke free.

Nobody likes seagulls. Kids throw rocks at seagulls. Kids soak white bread in bleach and hope to watch seagulls explode.

Seagulls don’t like seagulls.

I had no food in my purse. I wanted to scoop him into my arms and like soothe him so I could get him into my two door shitbox. Take him home to my apartment. Make a nest with cardboard and linen. Give him seed or whatever seagulls are supposed to eat. Grain maybe.

But all I did was allow my heart to break a little bit. And I looked for him every day as I walked through the parking lot.

Years later, when I was a bit older, I was walking through a suburban neighbourhood on a windy day.

I looked up in time to see a robin looking for a safe place to land.

The wind tossed her like an empty paper bag. I thought for a minute she would fall right out of the sky.

She landed and then tucked herself under some leaved branches.

My heart found her way back into my chest.

walking with God

there is true power in love

Jesus fucking Christ! No gas again? Three. Fucking. Days.

The steering wheel felt good against the tension in his hand as he slammed down in concert with his voice.

Walking toward the station several yards away, a woman who might be mistaken for a teenager looked up to the sign. Still .0.

Fuck, God, three days? Seriously?

Raye had been asking for signs all morning. She had woken in a thick fog an hour after her alarm had gone off.

She was angry but she did not want to be angry. In this fog, which wasn’t new, she prayed.

God, please help me get Margret to school on time. God, please help me to be clear and focused. God, please help me to not feel angry.

As she looked at her daughter, she couldn’t really see her. Their eyes might have met but Raye wouldn’t have been of the mind to check for dark purple smudges or other signs.

Raye was focused on praying. The frustration of having to deal with this again boiled in the pit of her stomach, threatening to crystallize into louder anger.

She did not have time to take things apart in her mind. Just enough time to pray constantly for help every step of the way.

God, please help me transmute this anger into peace and clarity.

Only one year earlier, Raye would have been caught on the injustice of this fog fucking with her life. And the need to constantly ask for help.

But now, like a ballet dancer, she prayed as each obstacle became apparent, and with her own steady hands, she chopped veggies for lunch. With her own solid legs, she moved from one task to the other with joy and ease.

And when joy or ease evaded her, she acknowledged her frustration and then prayed.

The two got out the door on time. Margaret did not fuss, though they didn’t have time for breakfast. She was out the door before Raye.

As they walked hand in hand, Raye was distracted with the task of praying.

Please, God, help us get to school on time. God, please help me feel clear. God, please send me signs to know I’m on the right path.

There had been a general feeling of dis-ease about praying for clarity at first. A sense of fear that being clear would somehow hurt a person that she loves.

It came from a dream that she was heart connected to a man and somehow this man was affected by her decisions.

It left her questioning if the decision to pray away the fog was best for him. Did he need her to pretend that she couldn’t lift the fog for some reason? Would this hurt him somehow?

But she prayed for help to make the best decisions. God, please help me make the best decisions for myself and Margaret.

As they walked hand in hand, Raye prayed for heavenly help every step of the way.

They got to school on time. Raye kissed her daughter on the forehead and then watched as Margaret went inside.

Even though she had coffee at home, Raye decided to go to the gas station. Praying the whole way for signs.

As she finished one prayer, she saw a sandwich board on the front lawn of someone’s house.

It had small print that she could not read. She thought, that is the worst sign ever. How are people driving by supposed to know what it says?

God, that’s an awful sign. But she tried to read it anyway as she walked closer. Even from across the street she could barely read it. She could only pick out the words home and security.

She kept walking and praying. As she approached the gas station, praying for a sign, she saw that there was still no gas. Her thoughts turned to how this related to her.

How could she fill herself up? Why was she so low on energy?

God, please send me a clear sign that I’m on the right path.

And then she saw the van pulling into the station. It was white. There was only one word on the van. Wurth.

God, please help me feel worthy. God, please help me believe in my worth. Thank you, God, for helping me feel deserving of love and energy.

In the store, the dissipating fog caused her to fumble as she tried to use her hands to hold a paper cup and press the lever to pour the coffee.

Raye felt frustrated. Raye felt a little shaky. She was not comfortable. She did not know why.

As she tried to navigate her body around another person, she felt clumsy. She dropped the sleeve on the floor and groaned as she bent over to pick it up.

“One of those days?”

“Seems to be.”

And then, because she worried her tone was too sharp, Raye mumbled an explanation, attempting to be jovial and friendly.

“Haven’t had my coffee yet.”

As she walked outside, she continued to pray.

God, please help me have the best possible day. God, please help me release my frustration and anxiety. God, please help me make choices that bring me joy. God, please help me feel worthy of joy.