wisdom

I have two extra teeth on one side of my mouth, so maybe that's why today my car kept pulling to the left.

vacation

I have to admit I like hearing the bass undercurrent through the wall that separates my room from my brother's. And I like being in town at the right time so I can gasp along with all citizens when Sorge's restaurant burns to the ground. Can you believe it's gone? Better than that, even-- the new jumper cables, a reed knife to help pull out that promise, the cupcakes arranged in the shape of a Christmas tree. I do adjust.

apostasy

Try as I might, I can't sit still on a Sunday morning. I can keep my mouth shut and not sing along, but I cannot stop from tapping my foot in rhythm.

in the moon of wintertime

I have done my research, and it appears that I have thirty years left of singing on key.

We all should be getting sick of the inappropriate gravity I place on insignificant things, but what the hell, my sister knitted me glow-in-the-dark gloves.

I am astounded by the sincerity of the love I do feel when I am at home, when I am surrounded by all this gentleness and poetry and snow drifts. This is the rich part of life. And I made it through a tricky day without letting slip that I don't belong.

It was snowing when I woke up this morning. Merry Christmas.

home

My lips have been looking good lately. It's not vanity, it's good advertising.

question

Would you like me better if I was friendly and dumb?

oh well

I let the early rain under my skin and I should not have, because the sun came out before I'd finished mourning.

I resolve to take in more poetry these next weeks

And clean the nail polish from my hands

So I can concentrate on the reason I took off the three silver rings.

I have been moving like a snow plow, and you have been in my way.

outlaw

Am in a week of pronounced and unpremeditated self-destruction. I am ashamed to admit that it is not only your rules I choose to ignore, I no longer follow mine, either.

claws

I have an arsenal of things I could say that would slice through you, deflate you, give you plenty of material for emo poems and another chapter in your future memoirs. I could reduce you to tears and dust with just six words: 'I am not proud of you.'

coworker

I thought of you as careful, and you said you're crazy. After a second I believed you, and was relieved.

surrogacy

I'd imagined the rooms switched around. They were the right colors, the browns and yellows and dark rose, but I hadn't foreseen the air of formality, and I'd pictured them stretched the other way, like my mind had held up a mirror to reality. The piano was out of tune, yellowed but hallowed, the way I thought it would be, and I'd imagined, a year ago, that I'd sit down absently, mid-thought, and play from memory a Beethoven sonata. I was right, and I was wrong, because when I was actually in the room, in the moment, it was an invitation, and the music was already laid out above the keys. The same sonata--the one I'd thought of memorizing, just for this instance and didn't because I forgot how--was waiting for my fingers. And I played the piece, stumbling a little, but right into the lap of the listener, and forget what I'd imagined, this was better.
We exchanged Christmas gifts--a delicate dove ornament for a blue egg of Silly Putty--and we both thought we'd gotten the better end of the deal.

keeping score

Yesterday I played for a local Baptist church's Christmas service. My second in two weeks. And I did, then, get a taste of being the weakest link, as the other dozen or so orchestra members were what you might call 'real' musicians, with names and reputations I recognized. I held up my end of the notes, I did. But there was none of the wow in me either at the rehearsal (which left me pale and exhausted) and the actual performance yesterday (which left me breathless and empty). I liked rubbing shoulders with so many very very great local musicians, and the French horns especially just wrecked me—I was sitting right in front of them. And yes, the music, the arrangement, the quality of the conductor and the choir were all beyond reproach. And yes, I was handed a check for $175 for my services on my way out. But for whatever reason, even though I was playing pretty well (still worse than last weekend, I think), and even though we ended with the Hallelujah Chorus and it was heavenly, I got over the whole deal very quickly and am not and will not be haunted by the music we made and the me I was. I keep thinking, what is wrong with this picture, when a church can afford to pay an orchestra of 15 or so $175 a pop for a few hours of music? I mean, it was good music. But it was so fleeting. Couldn't you have donated that money to a food bank? I ask, as I pocket the check and sidle away. Well.

I'm pretty good

This is weird: I feel really good, and it doesn't fit, because twice today I ran out of toilet paper and the hospital helicopter has just landed again and our lunch at Taste of Thai was called off by tragedy and I have accomplished very little at work today and I have nothing planned for this weekend and my whims have leveled off. Maybe it's a caffeine rush from the day-old chalky coffee and the new home for the paper cutter and the little chocolate heart in the Advent calendar that's waiting for me at home.

inapropos

I like that my library owns several volumes of the Journal of Mundane Behavior.

filling

You know I'm fickle and I know I'm fickle, but it is always still a surprise when I go to bed in misery and wake up in hope.

laying traps

I won't say I'd make a good spy, because let's face it, my grasp of physics is not strong. And I couldn't pull off stalker, because my impression of stalker is that it requires attention span. I am more along the lines someone possessing strong research skills.

bits

"he played me the theme to the symphony in his head" would make quite a good start to a poem.

understood

"You know, Hobbes, some days even my lucky rocketship underpants don't help." -Calvin

expiration date

I've gone sour and so has the milk at the bottom of my bowl. I was so good, so giddy-good for the whole of fall, but now I can't, now it's over, and the christmas is so little and I am not sure what I will do.

burning

My heart rate lately is more depending on the faces in my head, the imaginary edge of the concert hall, the music I can't quite hear.