it's all weather!

ORIGINALLY POSTED February 28, 2023

this morning i woke up from a dream where i felt my ears were clogged, and when i pushed at them they gushed blood and puss.

it snowed last night so i woke up early to look at it before it got trampled and slushy. before i went to bed i put on my snowsuit so i could go outside and smoke while the snowflakes fell on me. looking at myself in the mirror, wrapped thickly under overalls and flannel, i danced around and laughed. coming back inside my roommate told me that she called her mom earlier. she told her mom that she could hear me crying in my room all morning. she read me a quote from "good will hunting". i felt bad that i wasn't listening to her. it was something about feeling.

i'm writing this and looking out the window of a coffee shop. there's a last few shakes of snow falling on the ground. there's a couple snowmen. last year i was doing the same thing i'm doing right now. i was going to turn nineteen in a matter of weeks and promised everyone that i was going to publish a book of poetry while i was eighteen. i'm about to turn twenty and i haven't done it yet. last year it snowed the weeks leading up to my birthday and i wrote about it often. i was excited to turn nineteen. it became a cosmic event. i think twenty will fall past me slowly. i am too tired to make the same noise i did last year. it makes me kind of sad. i know that sometimes things just pass by slowly though. i just looked over my shoulder to the window, and expectedly a couple fat snowflakes ambled down from the sky.

i was trying to explain to someone in my class why i like dogs so much. not as a pet, but as a metaphoric device. i said they were just like us, and it makes me ask who are we master to. he looked at me blankly. i got embarrassed and dropped the topic. i still have drawings of dogs in the margins of my notebooks. 

and i've had this reoccurring thought about falling asleep in the middle of times square. of lying down and letting eyes wash over me like waves of sand. i can't really fit it anywhere so i'm putting it here.

yesterday i crawled into my roommate's bed and cried heavily. she asked me if i wanted to go back to therapy. i snapped back at her that i was sick of psychology. in my body though, it felt like someone gripped me through my intestines. was this all my fault? i told her i analyzed myself enough. i read myself like a book though, and how many times could i ask myself why the curtains were blue until it didn't mean anything anymore.

the snow outside is crisping brown on the edges. enough people have walked by that it's getting a slurry quality. 

it reminds me of when i went to the moma over the weekend and had to splash my face with water because there was a huge crowd passing by a rothko and i met eyes with an exceptionally pathetic looking man. the hand in my gut gripped me then. i could tell you all day why this upset me but i think you know already. later i saw a matisse and as i walked away from it i kept looking over my shoulder to get a good last look. i felt strange taking pictures of everything but i did it anyway. i look at my pictures of "dance" and can only think about looking over my shoulder.

soon it will be spring and there will be no trace of this snowfall but only the next one. i will be twenty and then twenty one and then maybe forty or fifty seven while it snows and slurries and melts and snows again. maybe i will go back to the moma and look at the matisses again. i wonder who i will be crying about. i wonder who's beds i'll be crying in. 

i would feel better if i dreamed that my ears were clear.