sweet disposition music video

 

tinned fish

tinned fish in the evening, tinned fish in the morning. no brushing my teeth in between. starving all day, dreaming about my nightly smoked trout. i'll put it on two crackers, make a little sandwich. make my whole house smell of fish. there's nothing else for me but my tinned fish. people run, people drive, people cry all night but i smile, knowing i got my tins.

morning comes, but i see no sun. time to wake up and have my salmon on ritz.

i sit on my basement floor, downing my concoction, looking at the 4,374 tins i have left. will it last me?

i haven't seen a soul since the final trip to the grocery store back in '81. i wonder if sheila's still there bagging groceries. she was 77 in '81. what's the year now? she may be gone.

starving all day, dreaming about my nightly smoked trout. wondering if the world's okay, i know i am.

the day i died

i was waiting in line for ice cream. it was quite a long line, maybe the longest i'd ever seen it. it was one of the muggiest days of summer, so we all wanted to reward our tongues for making it through.

i had probably waited for a good fifty minutes, and i was just about to be at the front of the line, but then i died.

i died about to retrieve my maple walnut ice cream cone.

the people in line screamed and huddled around my body. they yelled, "but she was so close to the front!" and "maybe it's just low blood sugar!" and tried to force feed me their gross cotton candy flavored ice cream, but i was already dead. it was no use.

it was a big shock to me when i died right there. that night, when i got dressed in my favorite summer outfit, my floral dress with tevas, and put on a light dusting of makeup, i did not think i'd die. i was about to cap off another beautiful night with a huge cone. i was promoted to a new position at work that morning, so why would i die?

did i go to the ice cream store too much and eat too many maple walnut ice cream cones? nobody told me i shouldn't, not even the ice cream man.

i wish i had at least gotten to eat my ice cream before i died. 

i died not knowing or believing in an after life. i died not believing i'd die. dying happens to people, not me, not us.

i died on cold hard ground with traces of sprinkles, dog hair, melted ice cream, and dirt around my body.

i died with strangers around me trying to help me up.

i refused their help and allowed myself to sink more into the tiled floor. i did not want to be lifted up. i wanted to shout, "this is it. it's really happening. i'm dying. look at me and prepare." but i had only one ounce of energy left. i licked my finger, dabbed it onto a sprinkle on the ground, and put it right onto my tongue. the tiny sweet purple sugar coated my teeth. 

this made my dying a little easier. 

never been to disney

 one of the distinct character traits i liked to hold close to myself when i was little was the fact that i'd "never been to disney world" i put it in quotes because i used to say it so often that it now solely exists as a line of dialogue to me. i said it so much that i even recall being at a 6th grade sleepover playing never have i ever, and yes you guessed it, the phrase "never have i ever been to disney world" came out of my mouth while holding up my five fingers. this fact was so important to me. i needed others to know they were special. i needed others to know i was not like them. they were people who had families who went to disney, and my family would never be like that.

i didnt learn about the other version of disney world: disney land until middle school, which then made my line of dialogue a little bit trickier. i would try to get out ahead of someone asking about the land, by shifting my phrase to "i've never been to disney world. or land." this was a little clunkier, and it didn't hit as cleanly. but it still got the job done. "wow! interesting." i would often get as the response. and i'd provoke them even further.

"have you?" i asked.

"yeah, when i was like five, i think. i don't really remember it."

"cool." 

to them, disney world/land at five years old meant nothing, probably because they couldn't even recall what rides they'd been on, what food they'd eaten, or even what month they'd gone. but to me, that said everything. you've been. you've checked it off your list. you can say you've been. boom. 

i don't know how my obsession with attendance to disney world/land began. i wasn't even a disney fan. i wasn't dreaming about meeting mickey mouse, or riding space mountain, or watching fireworks go off behind the stunning castle. 

i think after all those first days of school after summer break where I would hear my classmates talk about their trip to disney world, i started to think, ok what the hell is going on? 75% of my classmates have been to disney world, am i not allowed there? has my family been banned? do my parents even know about disney world?! visiting disney became the mark of a realized concrete person. 

once, an amorphous blob roaming about town, but now, after dancing with Goofy under the stars, takes the shape of human person, with legs, ears, eyes, and can move onto 4th grade, and continue on to the rest of their life. 

i was an amorphous blob. in grade 4 i tried to remedy this. the online game i played every night for years and years was called VMK (virtual magic kingdom) which was an online version exact replica of Disney World, made by Disney. i learned all the ins and outs of disney world. i rode all the rides, developed my character and collected tons of rare items, made hundreds of friends at the virtual theme park. i am still close with one of those friends today. i am her bridesmaid. how weird. 

i finally had the knowledge of disney world, which i even whipped out at school when my friends spoke about their previous vacations. oh yeah rebecca you loved space mountain? i've actually ridden it probably 340 times. my virtual kingdom meant the world to me. i slowly took shape as i played this game. i didn't need to visit disney world anymore. i already had, every night. 

i have accomplished a few versions of "visiting disney world" today. i have a job. i can cook. i have tried skateboarding. i have a boyfriend. i play tennis. i have an apartment. these are all equally important in my eyes to having a normal healthy lifestyle, as having visited disney world/land is. 

i'm heading to paris with my boyfriend this month. they have disney land paris, maybe i can finally go. 

sick

 today i woke up coughing up mucus. did i start coughing in my sleep or did i wake up and immediately cough? i haven't yet figured that out, although i've woken up the same way every day this week.

this week, i was home sick. it was very quiet, besides my nose blowing. crumples of tissue paper are hidden like easter eggs around the house. in the corner of my bed, near the kitchen counter, and somehow one sitting on my record player, begging to be spun. 

to allow your body to completely give into lethargy is a wonderful feeling. i often push that desire away, but with sickness as an excuse you're free to be as slow as you want. my cat larry and i were on the same wave length. wake up, stretch, eat, sit on the couch for six hours, eat, poop, cuddle, sit on couch for six hours. but larry wasn't working from home like i was. larry wasn't creating zoom meetings and chiming in on what wordage we should use in our tweet. but i know larry would be good at that, maybe even better than me!

i got home late from work last night and immediately made a roux that turned into a deliciously creamy mac and cheese. with shells. 

a question i think about once a week: if i was on the bachelor, would i tell the producers i truthfully cannot be put on a date where they make me sky dive? life is uncertain. you do not know what your future holds. but luckily i know one hard truth about my life: i will never skydive. and that's fine. i actually don't think people who have skydived are so grateful they did it, and their life has totally changed because of it. so, when would i ever have to skydive? well, if i was a contestant on the bachelor. because let's be honest, if you are a contestant, and your date says "i've planned a special day. we are going up in that plane and jumping out." you cannot back out. if you back out, america hates you. they think its symbolic of you backing out of this relationship. they think you aren't willing to take risks, like moving to texas for the bachelor. they think you're weak. too weak to express your love for the bachelor. so you HAVE to get in the plane. you HAVE to jump out. and then tell the bachelor how you wouldn't have done that with anybody but him. he is the reason you jumped you. he gave you the confidence to know you'll be safe. i mean, it's ultimately the perfect date. anyway, i often think about, if i was on the bachelor, the likelihood of me getting the skydive date is pretty low. BUT, if i tell the producers, are they actually even more likely to put me on the skydive date to challenge me? for a perfect tv moment, the girl who cries and freaks out but then eventually gets on the plane because of the guy's motivating words? or better yet, the girl cries and freaks out and the bachelor really hates that she's not brave and sends her home. i think if i was on the bachelor i would ultimately not tell the producers and just try not to be super awesome and not get a one on one, and then once the skydive date happens i kick into high gear and be a great contestant.

good things are happening in my career. that is satisfying. my college roommate is now my literary manager. god isn't life crazy? listen up, it pays to be a good roomie. and by good roomie, i mean, i would nap from 8pm-12am, and then do homework from 12am-3am. because "that system actually worked better for me" lol. 

i have a flight in 3 weeks and im thinking about it a lot because i have an intense fear of flying. no offense to all aviation engineers but seriously i think we should be able to expel turbulence, i mean come on. its 2023... and a sweet girl is on a plane crying because it's shaking? that is not right. in my opinion.

jam and bread

i woke up late, so four slices of thin white bread went into my mouth, while i scooped out 20 spoonfuls of fig jam with my right hand fingers. i sprinkled sugar on the top with my clean left hand finger. the jam already had a ton of sugar, but i like the crunch of the flakes and the way it makes my snack dazzle in the sunlight

my fourth slice of white bread, i held in my hand, this soft pillow, i noticed all the air pockets inside. i took the bread to my mouth and took a breath through it,  a few crumbs going into my lungs. i flattened the bread with my hand until it became dense and thin. i spread the jam over it, sprinkled my sugar, and rolled it up like a cigar, put it right between my peace sign fingers. my mouth opened and closed in slow motion, so i decided to wash it down with some ice cold coffee. i grabbed my green jadeite glass that I sipped from everyday in elementary school and filled it to the top with ice cubes.

i took one ice cube out that was about to fall over the edge and took it between my teeth. i struggled to crunch on it, so i sucked on it for a few seconds, letting a layer melt. i crunched it. teachers always said not to crunch on ice, but i’m sure they would make an exception for this moment. 

apple pie

after supper, we baked an apple pie with what we had. one red apple, one green apple, and a three week old tiny lemon, almost sucked completely dry of its juice. one sliced the red, the other sliced the green. the red slicer got jealous at the sound of how the green apple sliced. it was way crispier and juicier than the red. the green juice sprayed up, as if excited to be sliced open. the red apple sliced like softened butter. 

we laughed at the merging of the red and green apples for the pie, something we assumed nobody had ever done before. we felt like geniuses together, maybe we were. we rolled the tiny lemon for five whole minutes, hoping to ease the juice out of it easily when we cut. when the palms of our hand were raw and numb, we sliced the lemon. we each took a half, holding it like a baby bird in our hand, but then no longer like a baby bird when we squeezed it right onto the apples. the lemons squeaked together in harmony, the sounds overpowering our laughter. the apples glistened with their new acidic sweat. 

the one who sliced the green apple opened the cabinet to grab the sugar. both the salt and the sugar are in the same type of ball jar. the green slicer took a minute to figure out which is which, debated sticking his finger in to test, but then noticed the white flour stain on the bottom of the sugar jar from a previous banana bread and grabbed it. 

he poured sugar from the jar into the bowl of red and green apples. he put the jar down, looked at me, and poured a bit more in. we stuck our hands in the bowl and mixed them all around, our fingers scraping against each others, the sugar with lemon turning our hands into sandpaper. i realized i had a cut on my middle finger, as i felt the sudden sting. 

it was 10:15pm. we had to wake up early for work the next day. but we would not sleep until the pie was done and we were finished eating. 

i, who sliced the red, took out my blue ceramic pie dish. it had been purchased from an antique store four years ago, in hopes that some day i would use it and be a baker. i would be the girl who bakes, even if for nobody. turns out baking for nobody requires a lot of strength, which i did not have. the blue ceramic pie dish has since been used many times, starting first with a peach pie, made with the green slicer. something about the green slicer makes me eager to bake, maybe for those few moments where we can laugh at a lemon and touch our rough hands drowning in apples together.

i opened the oven door, and the green slicer slid the pie onto the rack, sans oven mitts. we set a timer on the oven for 59 minutes, because setting it for one hour makes the time go by much slower. we sat and played chess, knowing we will eat our delicious creation at 11:30pm, and sleep with warm bellies.