Welcome To My Bed


Extracting myself has never been so easy. Inserting myself has never been so easy. The ease of all of it terrifies me.
Drunk driving in the snow. I let people in too easily then they want out then I want in then they want out in out in out in. The days are flying by and I don't know how I want any of this to effect me. I cry less than I used to but more than I want to, because when I am this content, any tears at all are too many. I hate having the water wiped from the corners of my eyes by the same hand that I reach for in the dark when I crawl under the covers after getting back from work.

I'm thinking about getting a second job after I get back from break, at the bookstore in Amherst. Being around books all day makes me smile, more than I can even say, and there can never be too many things in my life making me smile. And I need more money than God for my summer of love. Sacramento in the sun, and I will be waiting tables somewhere beautiful, taking day trips to LA. We will drive there, all the way from the Northeast. I will see the whole of the place I have always lived stretched out flat in front of me, with the four walls misnamed "home" fading into the Atlantic. There is hope for this. This will happen. He will work construction and we will read to each other into the earliest hours of the morning. We will write and pretend that it's our job already. And national slam will happen if it happens.

I'm moving into old. I am picking up where my sister left off this summer, stealing the label she got branded with when she moved in with her boyfriend. Let my grandma email me about the devil's work all she wants, nothing can keep me from wanting this to be real. And now it is. We have a place of our own, a room that's ours, and not just his plus me. There will be room there for more than my deodorant and toothbrush and warmest comforter. More than enough space for us to fall in love on our own time. More than enough space for us to smoke cigarettes in bed and listen to records until we fall asleep. It hurts to be this optimistic, because I know it will hurt even more when I fall off this cloud. But for now, I'm not going to let that be a factor. I am going to let myself get to somewhere beyond the past month, somewhere where trusting intermediate perfection is safe. Or at least safer than it feels at the moment. I am packing, for Christmas vacation, but also for new things. I worry that something will suddenly fall apart. The honeymoon has to end eventually, and yet, I don't know when that will be.

Detached from everything that seemed like it should be mine at the beginning of this year. I don't see the people who used to tell me I make them happy, I don't kiss the boys I used to think would make me happy, I don't pretend that living alone in a glorified closet is what is going to make me happy. I like being alone, but I like feeling important more than space. I like feeling like I matter to someone who isn't obligated more than I like feigning independence while still clinging to what I thought I was last December.

New Year's is fading into the distance, with the next new year close enough to the end of my nose that I'm fogging up its windows. And on the one that's passed I wrote, "Let's deal with tomorrow tomorrow, and let's think about now right now. I am alive and that is all that matters right this moment. That's reason enough to smile." I wonder what I'll write this time.