little sarah Big World

Month: September, 2012

I used to write all sorts of things–poetry, prose, vignettes, fiction. Nowadays I mostly do this, plus a letter here and there, and then my journal. When I’m feeling good to myself, or when I’m feeling alone.

I used to write things that rhymed, that followed a form.

I used to read these things out loud, in front of people, to dare to expose myself. I used to say openly that I wanted to be a writer.

Was it naivete? Or just one of the many pieces of myself that I let fall by the wayside?

Lately, I’ve been picking up the pieces. Saturday night, in my delirium, I wrote something that rhymes.

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Too Much

~OR~

The Longest Day of My Life

After my champion death race, I went out to breakfast. Had buttered toast, because sometimes that happens. Because I hate being a picky-pants diner and asking too much of my server. Dad ordered me coffee, and though I never drink more than a quarter cup, I sipped the whole thing down, steadily, as it was hot on my red, raw tonsils.

I’ve long wondered what would happen if I drank so much caffeine. I’d thought it would make me jittery, nervous, sweaty.

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I ran a race today

I’ve been sick for over a week now–sore throat, swollen glands, achy body, general exhaustion.

I don’t sleep anymore, hardly, averaging 5 hours/night. Even when I try to nap, I can get maybe 10 minutes of actual rest in.

I have a huge raised bruise on my right thigh from slamming into the corner of the bed post at Dad’s house.

I stored my contacts in tap water last night.

But still (still), I ran my favorite 10k this morning.

And kicked so, so much ass.

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Life is Good

~OR~

Lately

I haven’t been sleeping enough. Not even close. I am running on the fumes of excitement, newness, closeness, and friendship.

Which means that I spend a lot, a lot, of time smiling. Blushing, giggling, doubled over with laughter. Riding my bike with the wind rushing past and my head in the clouds.

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Nanny Sarah

~OR~

My Nephew is Now My Latch-Key Child

“Being exempted from motherhood has allowed me to become exactly the person I believe I was meant to be: not merely a writer, a traveler, but also–in a quite marvelous fashion–an aunt.”

-Elizabeth Gilbert, “Committed: A Love Story”

(more quotes to follow)

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History

I remember:

-Giant fake sequoias and a rising sense of panic, an urgent text–“I feel supremely un-okay”–and then reassurance, caring

-A long drive that turned out to be so much more perfect than a short one

-Your hand on my leg

-Almost crashing, over and over, but not really feeling scared

-Drinking bourbon straight from the bottle

-Holding each other, frantically, because this was finally real. It was touchable.

-Crying in the bathroom; missing my friends

-3 hours of sleep

-Watching you drink a mug of coffee, black

-A drive that I never wanted to end

-Waiting for you outside the bathroom

-Your hand on my back

-A long lazy lunch

-“Where does he think I’m from?”

-Stealing kisses in the car

-2 hours behind a budget truck (high centered), and absolutely not caring. Being content, just to be there. Just to be near you.

-Skipping a nap and dinner in favor of tall glasses of whiskey

-Being unable to get up off the couch

-A ridiculous party, never-ending laughs, running home, pretending to be asleep

-Piecing together the night before

-Popcorn for breakfast

-Coming home sweaty after a run to your smiling face

-Changing with the door wide open

-Screaming Turkish music, and meeting new people

-Feeling like I ought to live up to expectations; feeling unable to do so

-Being so, so cold all of the time

-Long walks

-A secret spot

-Saving the end of the story for later

-The Giggles

-A night in with mota, wine, and The Tip of the Iceberg

-Waking up earlier

-Talking for hours in bed, and an internal sigh of relief

-Teaching each other

-A complete meal (bet you anything those pancakes weren’t vegan)

-A walk on the beach

-Watching you watch me watch you smoke

-Hanging out, looking at pictures, smoking, talking

-Meeting my twin!

-SLAYING IT at karaoke

-After being so nervous and anxious that I was about to ask to leave

-Because karaoke is infinitely scarier to me than any other performance

-Because you were drunk and instantly so comfortable with me, while I felt uneasy. And guilty.

-Out of my element

-A failed dance party of two

-Your eyes

-A quick drive to the airport, and goodbye for now

*       *       *

I don’t remember perfection, but I remember everything. The amazing parts, the scary parts, the anxious parts, the hunger, the hangovers. It wasn’t perfect, and I am not perfect. I am real, and so are you, and so is this.

As real as the pain of its absence.

As real as the relief of its return.

I’m in a Beehive State of Mind

My library makes its own honey, then we eat it with crackers.

Getting By/A Little Help/My Friends

Sitting on Eric’s bed, even though he’d offered me a chair, because I wanted to curl up, legs crossed, hug my knees.

“I just don’t want to eat anything,” I tell him. “I get shaky, so I know it’s time to eat something, but the taste means nothing to me. It just seems like the worst idea.”

I break, start to cry, and he comes over, kneels down to hug me, my wet face resting against the warm length of his upper arm. Just then Iz comes in, all sweetness and light, saying, “I brought you a smoothie, Sarah,” which makes me cry harder and laugh at the same time.

We all three of us hug. I drink the smoothie. Talk about running with Eric.

Feel a little better.

(Thank you)

The Two True Histories of My Little Boat Tattoo

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