Sunday, August 12, 2012

It's getting close to the end. I intern this fall. I'll be responsible for the brains of adolescents. Stark fear has been melting into tight determinism (adjectives necessary? Likely not). Recently I discovered that I've been going through an identity shift. Neglect of old friends, neglect of new friends. Change is harder when those who know you enjoy keeping you stationary. I've purchased new clothes: professional, yet as much Zooey Deschanel as possible. And no, there isn't anything shallow in linking identity to appearance. There isn't anything shallow in linking identity to appearance. Psycho-aesthetics. Shedding skin. You are what you eat. Folded jeans in a garbage bag ready to recycle. If you repeat it enough times fiction becomes fact.

I'm trying to find my roots. Deep breathing, stretching over the toes. Your hips are too inflexible. You should do something about that. I can't get my inhale to be as long as my exhale, but I'm working on it.

I ate five fuzzy peaches today. Each one caused my saliva glands to burn. One time my face puffed up, right after finals. I thought I might choke to death in my sleep so I made Daniel take me to emergency. Ever since then I've been aware of my saliva glands. I massage them sometimes. I think if I don't that they'll flare up again due to neglect. They're just waiting.

I feel guilty about not writing. I think about death too much. If I die. If he dies. If my parents die. I wonder if that tattoo artist forgot about the drawing of the green ash tree and its roots cradling a skeleton. Together we wait. My mom and I were talking about cremation. Funeral expenses, etc. She said her parents want to be cremated. They don't like the thought of bugs crawling through their body. I think it's marvelous. I'd love to be buried without a casket, if it were legal (is it?). Dirt in the mouth, bugs in the bones, green grass above. One with nature. Just waiting for the day I believe will come when life after life after death begins (I always hate saying it. It always sounds so silly when said/written aloud).

I'll miss this apartment, in a way, when we move. In a home, two people wouldn't think of spending an entire summer sleeping on a mattress in the living room. I took my mom's advice. I've been homing it right up in here. There isn't anything shallow in linking identity to appearance. I'm probably making too big of a deal out of this -- finishing school and moving oooooon. Swollen bellies and being able to decide.

I should have made this a poem. It would have made more sense.

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