Chaotic Receipt Backs 2
The intimacy of more handwritten poetic scribbles
“This Week in Tiny Living Love Letters”
To the barista who always tells me to enjoy my regular order: a vegan chocolate chip banana muffin and a black coffee. I can tell she truly means it.
To the “this is so last minute…” text that leads to a vegan fish fry, then a basement-punk-show-birthday-house-party. We throw lighters in the bonfire while standing on cardboard boxes in the mud. Dance and thrash and laugh, stick googly eyes on random inanimate objects, make a game of life. Jaywalk multiple late night GetGo runs, grab more snacks and more water and use a clean bathroom and just wander the night.
To unplanned run-ins on the 31st Street Bridge:
“Do you need a hug?”
“Yeah, actually.”
To “I also feel empty.” “I also feel alone.” “I’m proud of you. I’m rooting for you.”
To the fumbling beauty of friends who don’t exactly understand what you’re going through, but reach out anyways.
To the excitement and headache of building an outdoor home gym. Wait for daily FedEx deliveries plate by plate by plate. Research how to correct a 3% slope, buy ground contact plywood and horse mats and crash pads and hope for the best. Notice the sun and the breeze and the bird song and how the cherry blossoms twirl across the platform as you lift. Grin.
To the student who exclaims “You’re back!” after I’ve missed a week of class. He shows off his class notebook, bound in an old encyclopedia cover, wishes woodshop was still offered in middle school nowadays, shows me tiny scars on his fingers from building things in his garage on his own.
To the friends who like the changing me. That I not only express more grief, but I have the capacity for so much more joy.