Saturday, December 31, 2005

jet lag

I realized what I was doing was trying to reprogram myself, anticipating the curves ahead with the precision of a car commercial. Anything not to feel what I am supposed to feel, when I am supposed to feel it. Cheating gravity when I am barely off the ground. What's the point?

No matter, for there are still wrinkles in my fabric. The sharp ones left by an iron are especially stubborn. Today I put on oven mitts to wash dishes, typed in my password instead of my mother’s email address. One thing my mistakes have in common is that they were built to protect. Through the fog, the bare scaffolding of my brain is exposed.

Instead tonight, like on the other side of the world, I let myself feel it. It is past three in the morning and I can't sleep. I could have intercepted this with a little pharmacology, but all I would have to show for it is that I could tell my friends how I evaded it, like so many other things.

Not tonight. Let it unfold. Like the way I didn't question the morality of my eager lips. I was somewhere else and he was just right. I didn't even have to think about it.

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