it is 4 a.m. on my birthday and i’m feeling sorry for myself which takes the form of writing love letters to people who are gone, even if they live on the other side of town. i’m eating mushy overcooked broccoli even though i’m not hungry, but i can’t remember the last time i ate anything other than fudge pops or crackers, and broccoli is a superfood containing more vitamin c than oranges plus it is high in fiber. (secretly, the truest truth is that broccoli requires more calories to digest than it contains, and therefore broccoli is an eating disordered gal’s dream food.) other people liquor up when they feel sorry for themselves. i write love letters i won’t send and eat mushy broccoli, which proves that anything can become a vice.

i’m wearing a blue-green-purple swirled tie-dyed t-shirt i bought a few months ago at salvation army because the shirt reminds me of t-shirts i tie-dyed in high school, except the one i bought turned out better than most of the ones i dyed. when i bought the shirt, i wondered why the person who formerly owned it decided to donate it, but then i concluded that some people are tie-dyed t-shirt wearing people and some are not. when i tie-dyed shirts, i gave lots of t-shirts to people who probably eventually donated them to thrift stores. maybe a younger clone of me made this shirt, although i hope not, only because i hope there are no clones of me, for their sakes. science fiction possibilities are more easily accessible as answers to silently asked questions at 4 a.m.

earlier tonight i tried watching a PBS documentary about child sex slavery but i had to turn it off because i started crying the tears that take me down the fast dark tunnel of not wanting to live in a world where three-year-old girls are sold and six-year-old girls are raped for a couple bucks a session. at least the documentary about irrational violent atrocities put my birthday melancholic melodrama in perspective.

regarding the love letters i won’t send, they tend to begin and end in approximately the same way:
dear ____,
i love you.
i’m sorry for ____.
i didn’t meant to ____.
please forgive me.
i wish you a peaceful heart, joyful days, and gentle lessons.
my heart will always be open to you.

one of the reasons i won’t send these letters is that the last line is a lie. i wish it was true, but it isn’t. some people call those kinds of lies “best intentions” or “stretch goals,” but i know that a lie is a lie, even if i want the lie to be true. i aspire for my heart to be always open, but it isn’t. if i were able to keep my heart open to the people addressed in these letters, then some of them wouldn’t have left. ironic, but not. i wish this situation was ironic rather than the simple truth that if you love someone, then love them. respect them. seek to understand them. accept them as they are without judging or wanting them to be any other way. i didn’t love them well enough and they left. sometimes life is fair.


About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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2 Responses to fair

  1. renee says:

    From my perspective, eating broccoli and writing love letters is an extremely healthy way to deal with yourself and who you’ve become.
    I wrote a paper in college for a class called Psychology of Women. The paper was titled Women and Food because I was originally going to write about eating disorders, but while I was doing my research I found that the entire subject of food for almost all Westernized women comes with some form of eating disorder or unhealthy attitude about food. In short, if you grow up in America as a female, there’s a certain inevitablity that you will have an unhealthy attitude about your body image and food. It’s nearly inescapable. So don’t fret. Eating broccoli because you know it’s good for you and you know it won’t make you fat is, on the spectrum, not that much of a vice at all.

  2. pixie sister says:

    we did watch that documentary. don’t have words for it besides, yup that’s fucked up in the most fucked-up-ness way.
    i’m gonna say it cuz i don’t know how not to- happy birthday pixie sister! i love you!
    ps i wear clothes at home because i am cold and don’t turn on the heat til i’m blue in the skin. 35 this a.m. though it did sneak into the 50s.

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