Just life, again

I have stopped cataloguing touch. In May, driving away from a house showing, I mentally revisited a real estate agent rubbing my shoulder; I tallied it like I was adding to a collection. I had been telling him about my late cat, and corrected myself with “You’re a real estate agent, not a therapist.” And

No One Knows

I have two cats buried in the yard. And another’s ashes on my shelf. For him, I planted catnip and catmint everywhere. The garden makes me miss him. Now it draws cats from far and wide. They appear like magic, from under the raspberries, from a patch of lettuce….All I want is to pat them,

Humans Are Beautiful

Humans are beautiful. I was basically raised by cats; this is an odd thing to think. I was bullied. At school. At home. Yes, there were moments of friendship, and love, and guidance…from people. But cats were consistent. Two consecutive cats, who each died too soon, taught me about trust and understanding that can be

Sinead, Again

At the sink just now. Humming ‘Nothing Compares to You’. It’s everyone’s favorite Sinead O’Connor song except mine. Prince wrote a pretty song for a pretty girl. And she made it her own because that voice, and that spirit. But her other songs–the ones she wrote–they are a whole world. I remember listening to Sinead

Summer

There was an interview with Sinead O’Connor in the New York Times today. She’s living on a mountaintop. She has friends: other single women. Neighbors. Sinead is the patron saint of abused girls everywhere. She just is. To me. A Joan of Arc-like figure, splendid and unbroken. It’s summer and in the summer I like

I am here and so are you

I got my vaccination the other day–the first one. It was a warm day and I walked. I showed the doctor my black and blue wrist from when I fell off a ladder the day before. Sheet rocking: we confirmed it’s dangerous. My wrist is OK, I think. The vaccination didn’t hurt a bit. I

Spring

The other night, sipping wine, a cheap red, I wished someone would take me out to dinner. New flavors, new conversation. I felt like mango: maybe some kind of mango relish…And I thought but what does that entail? Afterwards I express my approval with my body. Or not. Is that what dating is? I can’t

I can do better

Looking at real estate online. Thinking about moving, thinking about selling. Wondering if I can afford it. Wondering where to go. And then I’m at the kitchen counter chopping an apple over the slab of granite I sourced and haggled over and helped wrestle into the back of my ex’s pick-up. It sat in the

This Silence

Some days I want to come back here to write–I think I should–but the silence is so complete it’s like a bubble I don’t want to pop. Even if it’s just words typed on a page. And I wonder how many people are feeling this silence right now, or their own silence: this silence, that

The Devil’s Tears

Memorizing a monologue from a play: the nostalgic musings of a discouraged prostitute. I’m thinking about how almost everything in life is a negotiation. And these words from a song are stuck in my head on a loop: He said “I am the devil, boy, come with meAnd we’ll make many storms”He offered me the