What I have: Sweet cold brew being sipped way too late into the day; dry and somewhat dusty heat being blown into what has become my favorite room of this home.
I'm focused and excited. I've spent most of the day looking up grammar rules to either follow or blatantly ignore. There is a thick, yet not sticky, gloss on my lips and my hair feels healthy in that it has been recently cut. (Oh, the little things...)
Recently I came across an audio book version of Neruda's Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair and decided to borrow it from the library. I fell asleep listening to it yesterday and, I must say, I highly recommend it as a way to be folded into sleep.
(pause)
There are some habits I will never be able to break.
How they fuse with my current life and love can be both comical and grounding.
Last Wednesday, I had bought two squares of dark chocolate-covered coconut. I ate and savored one right then. I tried to close up the crinkly little sleeve that the two had come in to save the other one for later.
Thursday, I found the wrapper, empty, in my bag. Had I eaten the second chocolate and not remembered? I knew I had not.
Friday morning before work, I found the square of dark chocolate-covered coconut in the bottom of my bag- crumbs and unthinkables stuck firmly into it. I put my bag down and walked the square directly into my bathroom.
I let the water run for while in order to heat up. Then I placed the square under the warm water and uncertainly started trying to melt the chocolate enough to clean off the square, but not so much as to be left with a lump of coconut. A few minutes later, I shut the water off and grabbed a brown fast food napkin from my kitchen. I continued to brush the chocolate off just to be sure, then closed my eyes in hopes of savoring the chocolate as I had done the day before.
Chewing slowly, I went back into the bathroom to finish getting ready for my day. I reached for a bottle of $500 cologne that I was recently gifted. I took its heavy cap off and tilted my head in order to spray it across my across my throat just as I swallowed the last bits of salvaged coconut.
Such are the tales
of a lavishly-loved feral child.
be well; be loved,
k.
[image: Hands and dice 1928, René Jacques via Inner Optics Tumblr]
