You Don’t Get To Keep This
I think it’s the new Tumblr format that’s got me stuck for words. But that’s just an excuse. I think it was me that said I’d write on my own face if I had to, which is ironic as I don’t brandish my words and half of you have no idea what I look like. No, I quit smoking, that’s it. I changed the layout of my room. I stopped sleeping with people, mostly. I stopped sleeping with awful people, mostly. I started caring about my skin too much and spent too much money on eye creams and anti-aging ridiculousness that looked stupid in my cart but not nearly as stupid as last week when I thought reverting back to nineteen-twenty years old and absorbing health was the way forward. And I spent fifteen dollars on organic gluten-free cereal and ten dollars on agave and then rice protein powder, spirulina, evening primrose oil and stole 10+ manuka honey from my Dad’s place and ate so many blueberries my mouth looked wintry and weird. I always come back to the present, though. I always come back to a forty-dollar vibrator bought with the credit card I said I’d never, not ever, get. And then waiting for it to arrive. And drinking coffee and wishing I still smoked and half-daring myself to strut to the dairy on Majoribanks and just buy some because you’re young. Except twenty-two isn’t really that baby-faced anymore. How many times do I say this.
You know how I broke vegan? I stole a twenty-centimetre long cooked fillet steak from my work party, went out with this steak to a different bar, sat with this steak all night and then at four-thirty am, there I am: Clipping down Courtenay Place, black fringe, pale powdered face, painted lips, eating this steak out of a clear plastic bag.
I don’t know. As much as I resent the fact I did this, I still think it’s pretty awesome the scenario in which it happened.
Oh wait, oh wait.. There I am again.
I used to win other people. It was in fact a game, one I did not necessarily have the best cards for but my poker-face was impeccable, I could play at nonchalance better than anyone. Now I have no intention of playing, not only for fear that I couldn’t possibly win anymore.
I get Christians’ wonderment at God’s creations. Last year when I moved here I kept seeing figs lying on the driveway and wondered where they had come from, it took me two months to figure out they had been blown twenty-meters from a looming fig tree that towered over the washing line I’d been using for weeks and by then there were no figs. I was adamant that I stay here till there were more figs. Every day now I go outside and eat figs off of this huge, fantastic tree and I get it. Sometimes I stop in disbelief that I am standing here, picking swollen fruit from a tree and eating it. This does not seem like me. Waking up underneath said fig tree, that might be me.
I must go check my mailbox and see if anything has arrived.
I love you. TNxxx