The moon is close enough to touch
but we’re mostly concerning ourselves with the wine table.
Your sister’s boyfriend is telling stories
about his missions trip to a country with a z in the name.
He nods and tucks his hair a lot,
and I’m struggling to think of a question that makes me sound interested.
I’m listening to an argument taking place near the tv
when someone offers me a small plastic cup.
“Here, drink this. It will make you feel like a security guard
who is constantly searching for a better parking spot.”
I have a kid now.
I’m not a parent that minds calling my kid a kid. Know what I mean? Like the mom’s who have decided to wage a constant war, educating people that a kid is a baby goat or whatever.
She’s 5 months old and laughs at her feet.
I have a different job now.
A direct contribution to my writing decline was going back to school for 2 years and taking a job in an industrial setting. (ie: a pulp mill). Now that that’s leveling out, I hope to make my return. I feel inexperienced and terrible about writing, but it’s fitting like an old sweater and I hope to wear it for a long time.
I eat quinoa & hummus now.
Not like, a lot, but more than zero.
I’m 30, as in not in my 20’s.
Submitted without comment.
Way too many of my words have red lines under them, and the hooks and phrases come far too slowly or not at all.
I’m exploring the world of writing again after being away so long.
It’s equal parts terrifying and exciting.
Everyone that used to follow my creativity here has long since moved on, me included.
But what better place than this empty basement to sharpen my knives, and try again?
If by a some colossal accident you’re reading this:
She used to turn the blinker on five minutes out,
and coast to the intersection
“I like to slowly become more relevant,
like corduroy, or a stopped clock.”
“Do you want to know something else about me?” She asked
and I almost laughed because,
despite the fact that she was a terrible driver,
I wanted to know everything about her.