A Model Year (Part 4 of 5)Gina Myers
There are no rules for this. Things are easier when there's a code of behavior. Waiting for Saturday to pass into Sunday & Sunday into the work week so one knows what to do with their time. Language neither the problem nor the cure, just something to occupy myself with. No one taught me the softness of the quilt against my cheek. It was something I could only learn myself. No one taught me how to deal with emotion. How to handle restless nights. & so I lied when I said I didn't know how I got here: a series of bad mistakes & misjudgments. A touch of idealism. Hope then disappointment. Really I've traveled nowhere. Standing in the same place for three years. Still wearing the same blue jeans, only now a hole in the knee. * * * After three years, the skin is a little thicker. Bruises have come & gone. The body moves between sickness & health, slips between sheets each night. There may be new scars, a story for each. It's easy to pretend nothing exists outside your four corners, your own little concerns. Easy to turn off the tv & not read the papers. It's easier not to make decisions but to just allow things to happen, hereby escaping any culpability. Blame it on bad luck & not bad decisions. A blank page can mean a fresh start or nothing to say. This line of thought will continue & I can map its progress, using tacks & colored string. It's easy to pretend that I'm the only one who feels this way, or feels anything so acutely. Confusing one's self for the center of the world, & then news of a death in the family, a roadside bomb, & protesters killed by their government shatters everything.
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