wednesday and not everything is a poem

it’s wednesday. this is what i know

the trail mix is in a mason jar so i can see clearly there is not enough chocolate and too many seeds, the small kind that get caught in your teeth, the kind that come back throughout the day reminding you you’ve been eating bird food and you prefer something sweet. expensive honey in your tea. real butter.

it’s wednesday, and i know nothing but that seems to be ok for once because people who claim to know everything are making mistakes. my old naturopath is closing down her business because she refuses to get vaccinated. i had sat in her office 4 years ago in a gown too small it wouldn’t close, crying because i admitted to having an eating disorder. she told me her mother handmade the gowns from deadstock fabric. she told me she handpicked all the paint colors herself and did all the decor. She took my blood pressure twice without saying, “ I’m sorry. Let me help you. It’s ok.”

It’s wendesday and I haven’t had coffee in three days. I haven’t noticed. the one time I’m not purposefully trying to quit I just forget. It makes sense that my guts have been feeling better. That doesn’t mean I’ve bought into the healing power of tea, though the honey helps.

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I forgot to tell you…I haven’t written in forever and it’s like…awful? This feeling of trying to pry the door open but what I really want to do is kick it down, karate chop my way through but I’m not a karate chop kind of person, too polite, like manners were beaten into me, like repeating scales at the piano, again, not fast enough, again, not in sync, again. an hour is three days and i’ve decided to stay in my pandemic cocoon. I turned my closet into a magic cave out of a wes anderson flick, all fairy lights and alibrijes, magical creatures from an artists fever dream. I’ve filled all the rooms with pillows and comfortable places to lie down. lying down is the new shiz. lying down is the new plank. i bought a hammock. i started anxiety meds. i spent three months rocking myself in the hammock after the shootings this spring, after nightmares of my parents being pushed in subway stations or sidewalks in broad daylight. i want to kick down the door but it’s cozy in here and i have more blankets than anyone should own and i keep knitting, knitting myself in, because this is the way I know.