Thinking About You

I wish I could lightly press my lips unevenly into yours, where your top lip is between my two, where they hold yours for moments upon moments- something symbolic to how I also want to hold you between my arms, your head resting on my chest. The desire to care for you with my body is only one way that I feel pulled to you. The other is through our dialogue- oh, how this unravels me. No one has ever listened to me the way you do. I’ve always felt a bit of a broken record, never quite being able to find peace or solution to years of combative mental and emotional processing. You don’t make me feel that way. I feel safe with you.

This fantasy plays over and over again these days- the same days where I sit at my desk looking through partially opened blinds to hillsides that maintain my distance from you.



I had just finished a 3-mile run up in the hills behind my place. Although, I felt a bit winded, I continued with my routine to walk my dog along a back road where, ordinarily, I would connect the end of such trek to another trail-loop. However, with the number of people I saw on it (from afar) I decided to do an out-and-back on the back road instead.

At first, I wasn’t sure if I was seeing a stump in the distance, but as I came closer to the object, it was in fact a human- an elder. My anxiety became slightly heightened because I was preparing to be scolded and told to turn around, as this was a no outlet back road. Times are pretty unpredictable right now. People who live here with out-of-state license plates are being shamed and blasted on social media with pictures of their vehicle attached. So I felt like I might hear an ear-full from this older man. However, as I walked nearer, I saw him more clearly. He was sitting in his walker with oxygen tubes attached to his nose. He greeted me with a sunny grin and tall wave, “HI! I hope you are having such a nice day!” I was shocked, to say the least. I responded with a large smile and told him I was fantastic. I asked him if he was doing alright and he said was absolutely doing alright. He was my out-and-back marker at this point and as I turned around, I began to bop my head to a folky tune and the smile has yet to fade.

this one is called “panty-liner”

throughout my life i have heard about women who have their panties in a bunch… typically this is in reference to a sour mood such as PMS; however, i’m making reference to the dirty pile of sour panties bunched up in a dirty clothes pile.  when this happens women become clever; women use the last resort: bathing suit bottoms.  after that, i’ve heard of buying new underwear or, you know, using the washer and dryer like typical human beings. well, ladies and gentlemen i recently heard the funniest new last resort/solution ever :  use a panty-liner…in dirty underwear.

i’m not sure i have much else to say…