my hair is curly now. i bet you didn’t expect that when you wrapped dirt and shame around my half grown body. long hair brushed straight— one hundred times— to pull the memory out afterwards, but my milk tooth brain could never quite push you away. the day i chopped my long hair off i … Continue reading my hair is curly now (reflections on 21).
I still remember learning to ride a bike. My first bike was tiny, bright fluorescent pink with white tires and training wheels that were permanently attached. I outgrew it fast and it was passed down to my younger brother who told me that it was not pink, rather faded red and also a motorcycle. It … Continue reading training wheels.
Right now I should be writing about Galenic theory and the Hippocratic school. I realise that this is procrastination in a charade of productivity. I just cleaned my kitchen and my bathroom, too. My hands are still dry from dish soap. I miss writing. Even my journal is more collected pieces of paper, scraps of … Continue reading mad crazy tired. (when recovering is not glamourus).
“Do you have any tips for shopping for a year 12 ball dress in recovery after gaining weight?” This question was sent to me the other day. Simple enough really, once sentence, one question, a string of words that pulled me back to 17, only to whip-lash back to the present. I started year 12 … Continue reading Trying to Live in a Recovering Body
By the time this post goes up we will already be ten days into the New Year. Fortunately, there’s no one grading me on my submission of goals or I would have failed this year by default. At the end of 2013, I decided I didn’t like the idea of resolutions. I then came up … Continue reading New Year, Vaguely Same Me. (Also, some goals)
If I could find a way to put the last few months into paragraphs, I would, but right now I am faced with a washing machine full of words. If I open it now everything will spill out, tangled in soap and dirty water, and I will be swamped. I’ve searched everywhere I can think … Continue reading Washing Machine Prayers
It’s 1:34 pm on a Wednesday afternoon. I am still wearing the clothes I slept in under the oversized shirt I wear when I paint. Six weeks ago I would have been preparing for my psychology class, annotating notes on Erickson and Maslow and psycho-social development. Probably anxiously picking at my nails, simultaneously overwhelmed and … Continue reading Paint and Completed Essays.
