Premonition

Months ago
they cupped their hands around one lighter
and the tip of his cigarette
burned her right middle knuckle:

The small white scar
an emblem of
desire

that scalds her now,
scalds her now.

God

hates me a little less today. And kindness comes from unexpected corners of the planet. And I am grateful. Don't get me wrong, I am also, at the same moment of negative capability, an angry, bitter, vengeful bitch today, but also grateful for the good.

January

is proof that there is a God and she hates us.

Last night, someone said, "Jen loves harder than anyone I know."

Well. Just imagine, then, how hard I can hate.

What in hell is happening in the cosmos this week? It seems ridiculous to complain, given the utter decimation in Haiti. But globally, among so many people I know in varying geographical locations, this week has been atrocious, if not downright scarring. I hope I'm not scarred-- but I feel like my world has been rocked to its core (again), and I really don't like this feeling. For one thing, it makes me sweat constantly. Sweaty palms make it hard to type, and then there's having to change clothes and bathe a lot.

It also fucks with my sleep.

I mean, there was a ten-minute period of stress on Wednesday night that still makes me want to burst into tears with its intensity. Not to mention the two hours of stress Monday night, added to the 13 hours of pure hell between Tuesday afternoon and Wednesday morning.

I'm not sorry to be vague though. I can't talk about my own stuff, and I can't talk about my friends' stuff. Oh, well, I mean I could. I have choices. I could totally sign up for a trainwreck blog, and believe me. BELIEVE ME, I could have a huge following. That is how nutty and interesting and just plain bat shit crazy things are. And sometimes it's incredibly tempting, in a really self-destructive way. Fortunately, I smoke, so that angle is covered. But one of the things I hate about this week, about periods of my life like this, is that they make me feel tainted and stained and like this misfortune is contagious or my fault or deserved. And none of these things is true.

But I had a ping from a friend on Facebook the other morning when I woke up that said, "What the hell? Everything is imploding this week at once."

The sky, Chicken Little, is falling.

You know what really pisses me off? When my rational mind tries to have conversations with me (like it did during my post On Relationships). My rational mind says, "What's the trouble? You have adrenalin spikes, you sweat a lot, you cry a lot, but ultimately, the sun comes up, you get up, you drink coffee, you work, you eat and drink, you take care of your family, and then you go to bed. What exactly has changed? What are you going on about?"

And so, I have something I would like to say to my rational self today.

FUCK OFF

This week has been chock full of both drama and melodrama. Enough to choke a herd of elephants. And I am quite ready for it to be over.

On the Way to Des Moines

The first time, we park
across the square
from Jaarsma
Bakery
so

we can walk, stretch our legs
breathe the air outside
the car. Three men
near a truck
filled with
soil

lean on shovels, planting
bulbs in mid-Autumn,
late October
morning sun.
We go
back:

Pella in the spring, brick
sidewalks, red awnings,
purple tulips
everywhere.
Drizzle
falls

and people on the square
turn heads to speak, walk
through the rain in
silent, floured
motion.