you say meditate I say have you seen the red clay, have you seen the moon

How about a list of the shit I keep forgetting?

I wake up every hour, I forget meals. 

I’m not sad, this is not about that. 

I should write this on paper and burn the paper and pour water on the ashes, 

Make ink to draw a cross on my forehead. 

Maybe editing my friend’s torture camp memoir is making me crazy. 

Torture camp is what she calls her fundamentalist evangelical child abuse teen treatment reform boarding school, all these words are scrubbing my brain.  

The book is great, I can’t

Wait for you to read it. 

Another friend hired me today to write the content for her website. 

When the path you were following throws itself off a cliff and you find yourself on a new one and suddenly headed in the right direction, there’s this fear that bears down that you might have just wasted a lot of your who knows how much time. 

You might have moved to the wrong city you might be working in the wrong field you might be married to the wrong person you might miss him the whole time he’s gone. 

You might lapse into the second person after you’ve spent four hours highlighting passages in your friend’s torture camp memoir wherever she lapses into second person (the narrative gets painful). You wrote “first person” in the margins.

I am in pain and I am happy and I am alone. I want to spend two weeks in silence, sleep all the time, stretch my bones. 

I don’t want to see four kittens conjoined at the leg, one already dead. I don’t want to spend all day on the phone with people who think their tax dollars pay for animal control to remove dead possums from their swimming pool filters. 

Animals have to be controlled. 

We know this enough to pay taxes to live in an imaginary bubble. But when a dog bites you all you can do is report it to the health department. Maybe kill the dog. When an armed officer of the law panics, pulls his gun and kills you, you die despite perceived notions of security. No matter your income tax rate or how many mother possums die with their babies on their backs trying to keep their heads above the water line while your pool filter smacks. 

I am not getting enough sleep. 

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