time

It's time, again, to remember, as I've let too much time pass by without it. I don't know how long, or why. But I know it's time again for quiet. For reading and keeping house. For buckling down and working toward tomorrow. And then soon enough for planting and tending, and I'll have my little garden, and I'll sit there in my little chair and read until it's far to dark to keep on. I'll walk to the market in the mornings, then I'll cook and I'll eat and I'll prune the roses and train the vines and I'll ride my bike to a shady spot and read some more. When by soon it'll start to get hot and I'll languish and whine, and I'll sweat and cuss. Then I'll ride out to West Philly and Tymiah and I will swim, and I'll spend weeknights in the movies, soaking in the air conditioning and watching someone's stories pass by. And I'll cry, just a little, for the stories and for the heat. But I won't forget again, not for a long time to come.

lost words

My phone broke. And sadly, I had some saved texts that are gone forever now. They were sweet texts, sent by men I've dated, and I would read them when I was having a bad day or feeling low. Luckily, I realized that I've read them so many times, I have them more or less memorized.

From elevator man: I really like talking to you. You're nothing like a starbucks coffee cup.
(This one requires brief explanation. First, he's not an elevator man. I met him on an elevator, which is why he bears that name. On our third date, we were sitting in Love Park, talking and watching some kids breakdance. At some point I started ruminating on something, I can't remember what, and he responded by telling me that the Starbucks coffeecups come with a line of dimestore philosophy printed on them. I paused and then said, "Oh no! You think I'm as trite as a Starbucks coffee cup!" We laughed and it passed, and this is the text he sent when I got home that night.)

From Brian: Good peoples, Bern.

From the kid: I miss yah, kid.

From the scientist: I've been thinking of you and smiling to myself all morning.

From the lawyer: You're amazing.

From the surly hipster: You're pretty rad. In case I haven't told you that yet.

on quitting and forgetting

The first time I quit smoking, I was in my early twenties. It was a few months after I visited my brother in New Mexico, bought a carton out there, brought it home, and decided to quit when it was gone. The day after I finished the last cigarette, I got stranded at Jim's house in Woodbridge by Hurrican Floyd. So there were no cigarettes that day, and I guessed it was a sign I should make good on my promise. I went on the patch. A few weeks later, Jim and I broke up, and I remember telling people I was okay, because I had the nicotine patch, but I remember joking, "if only they made a patch for unconditional love, I'd be all set." The funny part of that is, Jim's love, if it was love at all, was anything but unconditional. It was weighed down with conditions, everywhere I turned. I was never quite good enough for him, and he would have kept it that way forever had I let him. It's just funny the things we do and say to convince ourselves we're handling something, when we're not actually able to handle it at all.

Last night, I dreamed that I woke from a long spell of amnesia, and I had to go through and reconnect with everyone in my life. But none of the people in my dream were people from my waking life, and if I had to go through and try to figure out who in my life each person in the dream represented, none of the pieces would fit. If I even could remember enough detail to begin. But I walked through this dream life, through rooms and hallways, greeting people and telling them I was sorry I hadn't remembered them, it was because I'd lost my memory, but it was back now, and I wouldn't forget them again. And no one seemed to be glad to have me back. I was more confused than hurt by this. I couldn't understand why no one was happy for me. I couldn't understand, either, why I didn't recognize any of these people I suddenly remembered for the first time in so many years. I knew something was wrong, but I wasn't sure what. I even went to see a priest, in this dream, for guidance. Then on waking this morning, I realized what was wrong. It occurred to me that even in the dream, I didn't know any of those people at all. They weren't happy to have me back, because they knew I didn't know them. I think what I dreamed was that I was informed suddenly of having amnesia, and that I was trying to make it right by greeting the people I was supposed to know, but even my dream self had no idea who they were. And maybe they were used to this. Maybe this is something I did often, reintroduce myself to them, apologize for having forgotten them. But I didn't know them. They were as much strangers to me as they had ever been.

smoke

I've discovered one reason smoking is so comforting. When I'm sad and lonely, my chest opens up. It's like my heart has dropped into my stomach and the place where it was before is empty, hollowed out. It's almost heavy. And the thought of lighting a cigarette, pulling all that warm chalky smoke down my throat: I can almost see the way the smoke will curl around itself into rings and flowers and the swirls of a river and fill up the hollow in my chest, make it move again, bring it back to life, warm everything from the inside out, maybe even burn away the numb parts so they don't pulse and swell so anymore.

spring fever

I've been fighting it for the past few weeks, even through all the tastes of false spring we've had. I love spring, don't get me wrong, but I love winter maybe more. Most of all, though, I hate that spring leads to summer and summer makes me feel tired and damp. So I've been latching onto winter and I was the only person I know, above the age of nine, who was excited for last week's snow. Because I've felt gypped out of winter this year. I had a hard month or so of working late and taking care of my mom and then I caught the worst stomach virus I've ever known, and all of it made me feel exhausted and spent, sad and cranky. There was no way to hibernate, and I was too tired to read. Then last Sunday everything felt right again. I went out food shopping in a sharp icy wind, cooked all day and drove to Jersey in the snow. I felt good and full I drank tea and read my book.

Then this weekend threatened spring and while everyone else was coming alive, I was sulking. I want my quiet! I didn't get my winter's sleep. Until yesterday morning, that is, when I went outside, and I smiled in spite of myself. I took my little sister out, and then I raged into spring cleaning with all the windows open, and then I took several walks this morning and had coffee outside with cigarettes and a giant creme doughnut in the park down by Cooper River. And though it's nice enough to sit outside, there's still a chill in the air, and I think I can deal with this until summer comes to ruin it. I can more than deal, I can be happy and alive and I can still feel quiet and I can still dream.