Bothness

Posted on

In a series of grueling experiences, I’ve had to learn how to sit with cognitive dissonance.

And just the other day, I was sitting in the car realizing just how good at it I’ve become. I’m the opposite of myself–or opposites exist within me, just… no longer oppositionally. 

Collection

Posted on

It’s 5:24 am and it is unclear whether or not i have actually gotten you to sleep. You have a noises I don’t yet understand, but it’s a good bet that every grunt belongs to the effort of somehow wrestling your hands to your face.

Baby, you love your hands. You use them as shields, as clasps, as antennas, as feelers. You need them near your face, preferably above your face. I thought I was going to love your feet most, but Hudson, it’s your hands that define you. 

Over Achiever

Posted on

Don’t panic: I don’t want this to become an infertility blog anymore than you do. It has been, is, and shall remain a blog about what ever random thinking I happen to be doing at the time. But at this current time, I just so happen to be thinking about infertility– specifically mine–so here we are.

Person

Posted on

 

Today, I felt the sunshine for the first time this year–really felt it. I let myself get sticky in the sun rather than running for shelter, seeking respite from the heat in a shaded, air-conditioned room. I let myself believe I had time for a run along the Hudson, and I let myself feel the weight of the pavement against my shoes. I let myself believe I could be a person. It felt foreign, but it also felt good.

To The Man That Caught Me

Posted on

I tried to approach this post from a literary perspective–I tried to weave in all the literary Toms–Sawyer, Riddle, and Robinson–that made an impact on me. It was a little trite. I’ve bonded with these characters (yes, even Voldemort), but our relationship exists on a page. They don’t really compare to my first and preeminent Tom. Such comparisons were hollow and ineffective because Tom Sawyer didn’t dig a grave for my lizards, Hercermer and Cheerioh. Tom Robinson (from To Kill A Mockingbird, trust me, it was confusing for me to disassociate when I first read that book in sixth grade), didn’t hold me for hours while I sobbed when our childhood dog passed away. And Tom Riddle certainly didn’t help me through bleary eyes, rinse Hufflepuff’s habitat out when it was her turn to go.

The Absence of Joy

Posted on

The Absence of Joy

“Joy….Joy…?”
The teacher called from the front of the room
With no response, she finally looks up.
The students blink blankly back
Like cursors on a computer screen.
She filled in a bubble.


Joy was absent.

Don’t Bulldoze the Sloths

Posted on

The two-toed sloth is slightly bigger than the three-toed sloth. It moves so slowly that algae has time to grow in its fur, which helps it camouflage with its leafy surroundings. It must crawl (slowly!) on land because it’s long, gangly legs don’t support its weight. They’re not lazy, they have objectives, but they’re gentle creatures.

Caring a Little Less

Posted on

As with most high schoolers, music was a big part of my identity. I remember sublimely emo moments where I’d blast Death Cab for Cutie’s “Passenger Seat” and I’d stare (through the opulent purple canopy above my bed) out the rainy window. I’d make sure to clasp onto every feeling. That was the point of the music. Feel it all! Feel it allllllll.