This morning the first thing I thought of was Lysol. That was upsetting. The second thing I thought about was my fiancé, who is downstairs trying to translate the chorus of mews from our beloved daughter (Cat), Belly. That was enlightening.
I have an employer who allots me a certain amount of independence that makes working for her lovely. Along our journey together she’s taught me how to be more assertive and to ask for what I want. I know she’s in pain sometimes, but like a true Scorpio, her intensity is near artful to watch. I sit in the warehouse and pretend it’s mine even though it’s hers. I forgot my speaker at home and I’ve manipulated all the electronics to simultaneously, loudly, chime together to Fiona Apple’s new album. My top five favorite songs from this album are, in no particular order:
- I Want you to Love me
- Relay
- Newspaper
- Heavy Balloon
- Drumset
Earlier this week I started reading the book Little Weirds by Jenny Slate. She has the vocabulary and tone of the way a mother reacts when she opens all the windows and doors during a thunderstorm. My mother used to do this. I would cry and cry and cry and beg her to close out the world and protect me.
The thing about having an active imagination when you’re young is that you haven’t quite learned how to control it and when you’re scared you feel like you’re about to burst or maybe that the tornado is going to extend its heavenly arms into the house and pull you up into the sky like Apollo settling a debt all because Mom refused to close the doors.
And as I’ve grown older I’ve come to yearn for the doors and windows to be open while the wind whips and I welcome the way nature has a way overpowering my senses and reminds me of how small I am but that doesn’t mean I’m any less important to the fabric of nature. I am nature. I am a fiber of a fiber of billions of fibers woven together and someday my body will unravel and it might be sad and violent but somewhere else more fibers are being made and maybe they’ll be stronger than me.
