April 29

April 29, 2014 Comments Off on April 29

I’m probably not the best person to ask about what cheese to pair with what wine, but I sure do know a lot about the art of existing.  Like certain types of bacteria, I can grow almost anywhere.  Yesterday my friend told me that I need to work on my alcohol tolerance.  I wanted to tell her that no, I’m fine with my tolerance level the way it is.  I don’t need more wine or more vodka mixed with my orange juice.  The medicine takes care of that already.  If I drank more than enough I’d probably end up passed out in some stranger’s bed, my eyeliner all over their newly washed pillow shams, and that’s one place I don’t want to be.  On a subcellular level the balance is precarious.  My biochemistry is slightly different from everyone else’s, and that is what makes me myself, despite all evidence to the contrary.

 I am not much different from any other person you could stop on the street.  I have a minor caffeine problem.  I like people but not too much.  I probably sleep too little.  One weird thing about me is that my little fingers have four creases on them instead of three.  I did not notice that until my friend tried to read my palm and gasped in surprise.  Look at her fingers, she told everyone.  And it is true.  My fingers are long and too thin.  In a different life I was a pianist.  In another life I was a surgeon, quickly sewing up long, straight incisions.  I cannot sew in straight lines these days; my fingers are not steady enough.  I like sewing though even though I never sew straight lines.  I like pushing the needle in and out of layers of fabric, and I especially like the silence that the needle seems to bring with it.  When I am sewing nothing else matters.  It’s the same with writing or with walking.  Anything where I can successfully escape my regular orbit around whatever planet this is now.

Locations change, the ocean changes, the texture of the sand changes, but one thing that never changes is the way I see things.  The color of your eyes in the morning is the color of firewood in a northern forest.  The sunrise is paint dissolving in water.  This morning, the ocean is the color of fine imported tea.  

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