do you ever have one of those days when you know before you get dressed that you’re going to spill something on yourself? it might be food or coffee or wine. it might be glue or detergent or hair goo, but before the day is over, you’re going to spill something on yourself and therefore you know you ought to wear the dark patterned shirt because it is the shirt in your closet that is most effective at camouflaging a spill. today i can tell i’m going to spill something on myself, but i don’t want to wear the patterned shirt. i compromised on wearing navy because i never wear navy because navy is a boring color and sounds like we’re rallying troops for war. i put on cut-offs and flip-flops and then decided that a skirt would look less trashy, although the skirt i chose is short enough to flash people my hoochie when i sit, which makes it trashy. since i’m wearing a skirt, i feel obligated to wear cute shoes rather than flip-flops and because of the pressure of finding cute shoes is overtaxing the brain cells i’ve devoted to overthinking today’s clothing, i change out of the skirt and back into cut-offs so that i can wear flip-flops and keep my hoochie covered. it’s going to be one of those days.
because it is going to be one of those days, i decided to answer the email i’ve put off replying for a month from a dude that wants something from me but won’t say what and repeatedly tells me that he loves me in an almost threatening way that he probably intends as a challenge rather than a threat. i replied sweetly (do not poke a poisonous snake) and briefly and definitively that the love i want to give and receive doesn’t make demands and i should have said something more or something less but i didn’t know what to say.
because it is going to be one of those days, i haven’t sent the love letter i wrote yesterday because i’m waiting for something to appear to include in the envelope, something that will inspire the recipient to love herself more inclusively and stop disowning the parts she doesn’t like. but there isn’t a thing that would fit in an envelope that will accomplish that objective, so i might as well mail the letter, but i won’t. i want words that heal hurting hearts and they won’t come to me while i’m wearing navy, so i’ve got to change my shirt, surrender to spilling on myself, and listen closely between the silences to hear my beating heart.