Today I

wore plaid pants all day, and a silver warrior necklace. I vacuumed under the rug and I put away the last of my Christmas gifts. I cleared off the top shelf and dusted the mirror and sat on the kitchen counter sipping laced coffee. I slung a bright orange safety vest around my shoulders as I listened my most intuitive of friends tell me exactly what is right about the best part of who I am. I went snow blind and stopped my snow rage before the impotence crippled me. I can't change the way it's muffled my neighborhood and canceled my plans. So I sat on the piano bench for a while but instead of turning on the light, leaned forward and squinted at the letters and the notes. In the living room I pulled the long symbol afghan up to my chest and paged through the crumpled balls of paper that collect in my pockets and under my pillow. I ate chocolate chips straight out of the bag and stomped on a square of bubblewrap. I loved. I loved. I braced a mattress against the wall and I slipped a diamond ring over my middle finger because it's smooth and too big. I sat around a brown table with cheese and bread and good company and ate all the apples. I came in last and would have again if we'd played twice--I don't mind. I sat and listened and was rocked back and forth in a wooden rocker until my inner timer buzzed and home beckoned to me from the other side of the night. In my warm winter coat I slid with the wind across deserted roads for a few blocks--in not-boots. I was the only thing moving through those glittery sheets of snow. I wasn't too cold and I did not bite my nails, but I bit my lip, right at the corner where the lower joins the upper.

All day I could have been wearing a badge: This Is Who I Am and that would have fit precisely.