Summer 2017

Lately I’ve been falling asleep thinking about hands and feet, their bones and curves. I’ve been envisioning them and drawing over them with a mental crayon – navy blue with the smoothest lines ever.

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It happened again. I fell asleep thinking about the lines of a left foot and then dreamed about blood and losing teeth. Stress, apparently.

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I sometimes fall asleep with the image of a hand or a foot against the insides of my eyelids. Sometimes I can trace it with my fingers or draw it out with an imaginary pen. It makes me feel tired.

Now and then I wake up thinking that there was a mistake. Like the alarm clock was set wrong or like I’m late for something I didn’t remember last night. What a horrible way to start the day: with your jaw sewn shut and a sinking feeling about the campfire going out.

When I walk down the street I imagine running into someone I know. We’ll say hello and I’ll wonder what I looked like just before I noticed them there. I unfurrow my brow and roll my shoulders back.

Sometimes I do things to recover a feeling I had a long time ago. I call it a “sensory time machine” and it could be a song or a picture or a smell.

I am trying to resolve things, resolve back into a perfect circle. I am trying not to explode. I wonder why I don’t feel good at home. I wonder what on earth will make me feel like I’m sending all the things I carry back to where they came from.