I do wonder about you, you know. Not really worry, no. But wonder for sure. What you ate (or didn’t eat) for breakfast. How long you napped, what you missed while you emptied your days with meaningless rest. If you ever consider yourself the catalyst for some of your Bad Times. Not all of them. You are no villain despite my meager attempts to force that desire into fact. And I’m not evil either, that’s not what this ever was. It should have never been anything at all but what’s really the point in saying that when it’s already happened and is done. I’m grateful for the lesson I guess but am also wondering when the lessons fucking stop, when I get to retire my position of president of the wounded deer foundation, soft and precious collector of violently broken things, consistently praised for my consideration, my patience, my grace. Maybe I don’t want to be patient. Maybe I want it to be my turn. When is it my turn to be allowed to curl up safely in the warm palm of an uncomplicated lover. When will My Wants be honored- I am not asking for much, but even if I were. When is it my turn for adoration and praise, my prize, my cupcakes at lunch.
I am no stranger to this kitchen and am confident in trying new recipes. And yet still sometimes the knife slips and I bleed, the grease pops and I burn. I don’t know what to do about that. I am usually so careful.