Altitude

Girls trip a success. Blasting BSB all glammed up on our way to the sky high patio, where we were seated in the corner under the TV. But is anyone as happy as four millennials singing 1999 anthems in a big car with windows rolled down?

Fire pit both nights, crafts on the second morning. I wrote at the Airbnb desk looking out at the woods, eavesdropping on my friends discussing next steps from their swinging seats.

I enjoyed touching everything in the gift shops but left with nothing but a one dollar thrifted turtleneck with candy canes on it. Oh, and a one dollar pink shirt with stains. Maybe I'll wear it with overalls. Also a chunk of frozen cheesecake with chocolate chips. Forgot that.

Sometimes it's just too late and you wonder if what you said was a welcome gate or a muddy path. Ah well, it is what it is in the cabin in the mountains. Everyone feeling just a little ill from the heights.

You hope the advice you give is good and you wonder why you didn't ask for any. Then again, did they? There's a tarot reading someone keeps apologizing for and a birthday almanac that deals it out for real. Took a photo for another May 19 in my life, and she confirms, yes, it's brutal.

Too bossy as we packed, too quiet as we drove. Or a couple comments no one needed to hear. Ate a bag of Pirate's Booty from a CVS everyone went to the bathroom in. All four people so alike from far away but nothing the same in molecules. No competition in this forest. I believe for them and only wish I could help more.

And the tiny dog whines every time someone leaves a room. She's a hearder, so we're told.

28 Songs of Last Year

 On my birthday I like to think about the songs that blasted me through the past 365. I wrote, cried, danced, ran, walked, drove, showered, dreamt to these songs. Thanks to them all.

All Too Well - Dan Campbell

Savage Love - Jason DeRulo

I Write Sins Not Tractors - Alex Melton

Mickey - B*Witched

Curtain Call - Ken Yates

3 Musketeers - ppcocaine

Mood - 24kGoldn

If That's Not Love - The Naked Brothers Band

Potential Breakup Song - Aly & AJ

I See the Sun - Tommy Henriksen

Leaving Town - Dexter Frisbee

Carmen - Suzie True

Stand Out - A Goofy Movie

Betty - Taylor Swift

Heaven - Brandi Carlile

Hold On - Wilson Philips

When You Wish Upon a Star - Pinocchio

I Love College - Asher Roth

Boss DJ - Sublime

Literally My Life - Hiko

From Now On - The Greatest Showman

Twinkle Song - Miley Cyrus

Always Remember Us This Way - Lady Gaga

Dreams - The Cranberries

Hope to Die - Orville Peck

Without You - The Kid Laroi

I'm in a Hurry - Alabama

Good 4 U - Olivia Rodrigo

Rainy Girl

 Fires last night, puddles this morning.

20 snails on the sidewalk, so

I airlifted them to the dirt

near the pool.

But the biggest one turned right around

to sludge into the path.

Some people are just like that.

Empty Cage

Balcony morning. I felt Puhg's shadow before he opened the door. I assumed he was trying to spook me, but he met my smile through the glass with a frown. "It's the ham," he said. My heart thudded. "Is she gone?" I asked. He nodded. I rushed to her cage. He had to be wrong. I reached in to her little nest. It was warm.

But she was cold.

I took her out gently. So small and so peaceful, curled into a crescent moon. Her paws under her head, eyes closed. She went in peace, and for that I couldn't be more grateful. I held her little body to mine, like I'd done hundreds and hundreds of times, but she didn't squirm and she didn't whir.

The tears come every day all the time. Our little precious potato gone too soon. I thank my lucky stars we rescued her from the store right before she'd be in a dark lockdown. I thank my lucky stars it was her, chunky and curious and ready to stuff a raspberry at any given moment.

We piled shavings in a shoebox, lined it with her favorite wooden apple slice, a blueberry treat, a chew stick. No yard cemetery, so we looked up critter cremation and found a place she would get individual treatment. But it was Sunday, so we'd have to wait a day. We took a walk, we sat, we failed at TV. I realized I hadn't eaten, went to pick up a sandwich at 2. A bee stung me. Died in my hair and poisoned my hand. Puffy still as I type.

On Monday she looked so the same. Soft fur and all, hard to believe. I researched hibernating. Never mind it hasn't been cold. Never mind she was stiff and her little nose less pink. We held her to our ears, like we often did to hear her sniffing. Nothing. I wore my black dress and brushed my hair straight. We wrote her letters and slipped them inside. Goodbye, little angel.

She'd been in our car twice--the day she came home and now the day she left. The sky was full of huge fluffy clouds. She'd be burrowing in them. Puhg filled out a form while I held her in my lap. A flower petal fell near us and we gave that to her too. We agreed to close the box together, a final look at our beloved girl. Just as we did, a gust of spring air blew. Is that you? I wondered just as Puhg said, "Ham on the wind."

She was so much more than a hamster. She was a puzzler and a snoozer and a muncher. Sometimes I'd watch her think through a problem or decide to relax. If I gave her a piece of corn she'd look at me for more. She kicked green seeds out of her cage. She had a coconut that she didn't enjoy napping in, so she filled it with grains. She made so many different tunnels and hoards. She showed me being is a wonderful thing. And small things are wonderful things. She gave us the opportunity to be quiet and still all together on the couch. She reminded us to be spontaneous. I'd take a break just because she zoomed out for a drink of water. She gave us happy, goofy times. I'll always remember dancing with her and Puhg, in my platform sandals, her eyes big from the jostles but ready for adventure.

Mornings are the hardest because I'd wake up first and always give a little look in, see what she'd gotten up to in the night. Sometimes I'd catch her stealing a snack. Occasionally I'd get a pre-dawn hold. But also nights are the hardest because we always wished her sweet dreams. Called it out from the bedroom. And mid-days when I'd come back from walks and immediately spy in on her are the hardest too. Every time I rounded the corner last week, I instinctually looked in the cage. Chest tight with false starts, but we cleaned and dismantled it. Put a plant and car keys where she used to be.

When my insomnia has been bad this year I've stumbled out to the couch where I can watch videos loudly or be nearer to the air conditioner or drink tea. And I didn't feel alone in my sorrow or confusion or headache because she'd be a few feet away chattering and running. I'd even take her out some holy nights, sit with her in the darkness. She might squeeze or squeak. The Thursday before we were together at two in the morning. I haven't been able to sleep all week, my hand itching fiercely, my love bruised. But I can't bring myself to go to the living room. I toss and turn instead. At last I dreamt. A huge monarch butterfly landed on my face. It was so real. I woke up, sure it was in the room with me.

I wish we had more time. Love you forever, my sweet sweet ham.

What does it mean? What does it all mean? I had a dream, but what did it mean, what did it mean?

Feedback Loop

On TikTok I came across a high school girl's video about her makeup routine. She was doing what all the major beauty influencers do--contour, highlighter, eyeshadow brushing, a bold lip. But sheesh. It looked terrible. I went to the comments to find thousands of people agreed with me. Not like I'd say it! This wasn't even a famous teen, just a regular gal trying her best. I felt so bad for her. I went to her profile to look at the next video she made after that debacle. I wondered how she would react. Clap back to the meanies? Shame them? Would she cry, be pitiful? Would she ignore it all and post a video with friends or playing soccer or getting Starbucks?

Her next video was none of that. She did another makeup video. Everything she did in the first, she did in the second--just more precise. She smiled and made comments like, "I'm not using as much blush like you guys suggested." What an option. As if she were a blonde robot, programed to absorb the useful nuggets from the trolls and unemotionally discard the rest. Her lewk did improve.

The oldest man in one of my writing groups does this thing I learned not to do when I was 19. In my first poetry class I learned when someone interprets your work incorrectly, you don't correct them because you can't tell someone they didn't see what they saw. It doesn't mean you have to agree, but now you know what you need to change to clarify your true meaning. This man in my group argues with us. I don't understand how he's come this far and doesn't know how not to do this. He's kind and intelligent and loves writing. He gives helpful feedback himself, but when we say, "I didn't understand why this person would do this" he quickly cuts us off, "Oh she does it because of this." And it's like, well, sure, okay, yes you have a reason, but I didn't see it. Last session his closest contemporary, with just a hint of frustration in his tone, told him, "When you get a note, you have to accept you got it."

Lanes

 My last year of grad school the campus became smoke-free. It was culture shock when I first arrived, on the heels of my little straightedge midwestern cloister, to see so many students casually walking around with cigarettes hanging from their mouths. Lowsta would zip up to sketch rehearsal on a skateboard, a Marlboro falling from his lips.

Once the signs went up, I didn't think about it again. Occasionally I'd see someone, extremely stressed, power-walking to the parking lot to cram in a light between classes. Once it shifted I couldn't believe my professor and classmates used to stand in the garden puffing away.

A few months into the change I was biking down the street and had to maneuver around some construction. I had to pop onto the sidewalk for a moment to avoid a pothole and cautiously watched a girl in pajama pants walking nearby. I didn't want to knick her with my handlebar. As I passed she started screaming at me, "YEAH I SMOKE. GET OVER IT. IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS." I was so beyond flustered I simply pedaled faster. I heard her screeching as I zoomed away, "THIS ISN'T TECHNICALLY CAMPUS. I'M ALLOWED TO SMOKE."

I was probably halfway home, whiffing that pizza place, before I fully grasped what had happened. I was staring at her, in an attempt to not hurt her, and she decided to digest it as judgement for her habit. I hadn't even noticed she was smoking, and I certainly didn't care. If anything I was feeling self-conscious for biking out of my lane.

Negotiating

Ordered cute copper mugs from Bed, Bath, & Beyond. The movie I wrote on was coming out. I said, to heck with it and paid the extra 9.99 for same day delivery. I ordered them at 6 AM with a guaranteed arrival by 9. It's gotta be sooner than though. I listened for hall scuffling all day, checked the mail three times. Finally it was 9:15 and I had to accept, the mugs weren't coming. The customer service line was closed. I made a quick plate of wheat crackers and swiss cheese, pulled my hood up, and watched. In the future, things always promise to be more glamorous than they are.

The next day, bright and early, I cancelled the mug order only to have them arrive in the afternoon. I got back on with customer service, who told me I needed to drive them to a store half an hour away. I said no. They haggled me--did I want the mugs for a ten dollar discount? I agreed, with shipping also knocked off. All in all $7.50 for cute cups. A very good deal. But as soon as I got off the phone I felt bad. Concerned. Should I have paid anything at all? Would they have just cancelled the order and let it be? They're a huge corporation, what's my $7 to them? I'd already spent an hour with customer service, and I still gave them money? How is that fair? My time is too valuable for these thoughts, but they have to pass through.

I've negotiated for pay so rarely. Sometimes it was moot. Teaching and comedy jobs, mostly. Other times I thought it was moot. Like, I don't know, should I have been trying to get a raise at summer camp? When the line producer for my first TV show called me the pay was a little under what I expected it would be, but what was I gonna do, not say yes? A week into work I asked my officemates if they had negotiated. They had, and the shame followed me like a raincloud for months. It turned into a success story when I did eventually fight for a title bump and raise, but I'd already lost out on hundreds of dollars at a time when it would have been very helpful to have hundreds of dollars.

This summer came up with a good number for one day of work, hesitantly I then asked for double, ready to meet in the middle. When the producer quickly accepted the offer, despite getting more than expected, I didn't feel good. I felt like a dolt who can't tell her own worth. I do not want to negotiate please. I would like life to be a menu with reasonable prices.