confession: walking, running, and dancing in the rain make me giddy. i did these first thing after waking yesterday.
confession: i sleep better near the water. this week my king-size down-comforter egyptian-thread sheet ensconced hotel bed sits less than 200 meters from the bank of lake superior.
confession: while walking along the lake’s rocky edge after sunset last night, dry cottony fog reached above me into the high street lamps two blocks away, diffusing and refracting their light into rainbow fairy rings. i’ve seen street lights transform into prismatic fairy-ringed rainbows many times before, but only with the assistance of hallucinogens. this time i was sober. duluth’s fog is that trippy on its own.
confession: hot roast beef and cheddar on kaiser rolls from the deli every lunch and dinner melty-sloppy-tempt me in a way that guarantees i’m sinning.
confession: i’m perfectly content here. i want to stay, rent a room, get a library card–at least until the first frost. last night and again this morning i priced flights to return later, and then too quickly i disregarded this revised plan as fantasy. i could stay here alone and be happy for a while, but staying would mean not returning to the people waiting for me, the ones i promised i would come home, assuring them that i’d stay home for a while once this trip ended.
confession: i pluck roses from public rose gardens when no one is looking. i take only a single bloom, knowing it is wrong and selfish of me to do, because if more people did it, there would be no roses left on the bushes for people to sniff and admire. i do it anyway. i love garden roses but i’m unimpressed by the long-stemmed florist variety. my grandmother grew roses and tasked me with cutting a few blooms twice a week for her dinner table. i pluck them from that habit, in memory of her, even though she would be appalled by my behavior. i don’t know why i don’t feel guilty for it, when i feel guilty for other things that are neither wrong or selfish (like not being the daughter my mother wanted me to be, not being a lawyer or straight or conventionally married with biological children). i won’t stop plucking rose blooms, even though i know it is wrong and selfish.
confession: i keep quitting and returning to diet coke like smokers i know who continually quit and pick it back up. this week i’m drinking it. next week i’ll quit again.