Flannel Coat

Putting away clothes piles last night--
Bisque has dubbed me "Piles" because little stacks
of my stuff accumulate all over our apartment.
Piles of sweaters on the ground by my half of the bed,
piles of papers next to the couch, piles
of candy wrappers on the kitchen table, it goes on.
So putting away a pile last night your flannel coat
fell on me from the back of the closet.
It is blue checkered. You lent it to me
when I was 20 and never took it back. I quite liked
it and paired it with my daisy slip-ons.
The next year we disagreed about a girl's short story
in Advanced Fiction Writing. In the story some girl
was talking to an ex-boyfriend and told him she still
wore his old band tee to bed. You said, "That's weird,
you would never wear an ex's clothes after you
broke up." I said, "I would if I liked the clothes!"
It's my flannel coat, and I don't remember you
in it. I wear it, me. This was the first time in years
I thought about
where it came from.

InDIPendence Day

Everything is adorably RW&B lately. Streamers and pie and the thick heat of summer. Yet, the "Independence Day" I've been enjoying (a fave Ani tune) is the antithesis. Keeps getting stuck in my head. A downer, but a beautiful one:

We drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of July.
We sat out on the hood with a couple of warm beers
and watched the fireworks explode in the sky.
And there was an exodus of birds from the trees,
but they didnt know we were only pretending,
and the people all looked up, and were pleased,
and the birds flew around like the whole world was ending.
And I don't think war is noble,
and I don't like to think that love is like war,
and I gotta big hot cherry bomb,
and I want to slip it through the mail slot of your front door.

Don't leave me here.
I've got your back, now 
you'd better have mine 
'cause you say the coast is clear,
but you say that all the time.

So many sheep I quit counting,
sleepless and embarrassed about the way that I feel.
Trying to make mole hills out of mountains,
building base camp at the bottom of a really big deal.
And did I tell you how I stopped eating
when you stopped calling me?
And I was cramped up shitting rivers for weeks
and pretending that I was finally free.

Don't leave me here.
I've got your back, now 
you'd better have mine 
'cause you say the coast is clear,
but you say that all the time.

We drove the car to the top of the parking ramp
on the 4th of July,
and I planted my dusty boots on the bumper and sat out on the hood, 
and looked up at the sky.

Driveway's Clear, You Pray for Silence

I love this bedroom. The one I'm in and the one pictured--which was my bedroom in the fall of 2009--the first time Kay and I broke up. In these rooms I learn to be lonely and like it.

On Saturday I came home at midnight with a headache. No roommates were home. I had accidentally not really eaten all day. I took my box of Ritz crackers up to my room. I was my nurse. Get into a tank top, wet a washcloth, lay still, say a prayer of thanks.

I remember those first nights in Fall 2009--those nights of "No one even knows what I'm doing." I expressed this concern to Muff, who told me to call her and let her know when I was going to bed. I took her up on it. A few times. But I didn't really need to be accountable. I needed to know I could.

I texted her this week. Even though it was 3 AM her time. I let her know--I'm going to sleep, and someone should care. Because I am a living person, and for a while, I won't be conscious. PLEASE SOMEBODY CARE--there's an urgency in realizing you could die in your bed, and no one might realize until three days later.

I think that's right. Sometimes I don't see the roomies for a week straight. My sister would say, "Hey. It's been a while..." but what could she do? Who would she be able to call to check up on me? Chelle would probably call. If I missed rehearsal, she might come over. If someone was home, they'd come to my room and...

I have this wonderful, just wonderful, memory of that 2009 room. It was a Friday night and I was just writing a letter at my desk holding my hamster in my lap.

Today I woke up lonely, and now its midnight, and all sorts of things have happened to let me know I'm loved. Impromptu hellos from no fewer than seven--not an exaggeration--seven faraway friends. I sure liked those lil hi's, but I didn't gulp them down. This is good stuff here on my own.

Letters to Noelle--
marked up cardboard boxes fell.
I fell with them.
Crushed like them.