Petal

I have to be more patient with myself. For so long all I wanted was to be a WRITER. It's been so long since I felt that stumble over announcing what I do. When I first moved here I switched off between introductions of, "I want to be a" vs. "I am a." I knew I was selling myself short with the first and worried I sounded like a liar with the second. Now it's just the truth. There's nothing else I do.

I recounted a story to Puhg yesterday. It floats around. 2014, I think. Back when I taught an English 101 that ended at night. By the time we let out, the rest of the school would be empty. I'd lurch to the adjunct office and grade papers. The windowless room made the dark hit thicker when I finally caught the train.

My friend GChatted me. She said she was doing fine, but lost. "What's the point? What should I do with my life? I have nothing to care about." I couldn't relate at all. I had no pearls for her. Not one. Because I don't remember a single day before my dreams gripped me by the throat and never let go. Puhg says that makes me lucky. He referenced that episode of The Bear, which is one way to cope.

Is what I make inside or outside of me? I truly do not know. Am I a tree with branches or do I just drop acorns? My favorite tree is the one I'd climb with pink flowers. It worked all year for those couple days of bloom. If I didn't notice fast enough, the lawn was covered in brown petals.