POET | PLAYWRIGHT | TEACHING ARTIST
This morning I am moving so slowly I can see the minutes lining up behind me. And I think suddenly of standing in line for milk at some elementary school. I remember the texture of my dress. The smell of the dry air, and the sour, sick smell of leaked milk that sticks to the…
Another night of ruminating. It is the oddest thing. My mind fixated on a single incidence as an illustration of my inadequacy. Some humiliation. A sentence I shouldn’t have said. An omission of etiquette. Hygiene. And it is cold comfort to consider that no one actually saw/heard/interpreted things the way I did. Things – facts…
I am never sure what whittles away the first 30 minutes of the morning. The absent-minded shuffling from room to room looking for my glasses. The search for wool socks tossed off in my sleep. But the morning always feels thinner than promised. This morning begins with a pinch in my stomach. There’s uncomfortable synchronicity…
Managed to negotiate the trail yesterday, with all the fallen trees and scattered branches in the half-dark, only to come home and slip in the living room. Limping a little still this morning, so no run. Last night’s big flakes are now big drops of rain, so there is a large part of me satisfied…
B. is learning techniques to cope with her loss of peripheral vision. Reading is one of the first things the glioblastoma has taken from her. She said she has trouble listening to audiobooks. Her mind wanders. My mind used to wander, too. I could sit and listen to anything. I still can’t. But I began…