neglect

i'm trying to be a little off-the-cuff here, and i'm not sure if i'll be able to succeed. i haven't been able to write anything for a while now, and i wonder if it's simply because i'll have to face truths the second i hear the keys start to click. i've been growing out my fingernails for a month. they make my maneuvers clunky and awkward and slow. my fingernails look so beautiful in their envy, but they stop me from pushing forward. i now live in fear that something will make them snap or snag or chip. i'll have to cut them off and wait for them to grow again. but i like them now, because they're long. and maybe they mean something more. they might be the only part of me that's grown besides my cheeks. i think i'm getting a little fat. perhaps i'm becoming more of a woman.

i'm packing up a life i've lived and come home to for 22 years now, still unearthing things from decades prior. picking them up stings my throat as the dust collects, drying out the moisture that allows me to breathe. everything holds a memory. i conjure moments of remembering previous moments and curse myself for hiding away a hankie i knew i would find one day. but i can't throw it away. it was someone's favorite. 

the room next to the epicenter of my childhood has a picture of God. not my God, but God nonetheless. i pray to Him sometimes and feel selfish when his face morphs into a look of disappointment. it's like He knows something i don't about what it is i'm asking for. i wish He'd tell me, or at least let me figure it out for myself. i think He's wrong about it.

i drank a lot of tequila last weekend. there was something acrid and a little concerning about its flavor, and i admitted some truths i would like to have kept to myself as the bitterness continued down my throat. i had to counteract it by dissolving some zofran on my tongue. if i hadn't, another evil truth would have spewn out my mouth. and nothing could have tasted worse. i'm not ready for that to happen yet.

i'm wondering when this will all end. i feel like i can accept a future without me in it if it means life operates at its happiest. but the dull ache doesn't seem to be leaving me. it's the one thing that stays, and i hate it. i think i deserve better than something dull. i have to buy brand new kitchen utensils and pots and pans. i'll make sure the listing online says sharp before i place my order for knives online. i'm terrified of my packages being stolen.

sometimes i debate letting employers see this blog. i'm not sure i feel comfortable with anyone i have to exchange pleasantries with in an office in midtown being able to basically visualize me word-naked. i guess i leave that honor to you, dear reader. every syllable i put to paper is like an extension of my ugly anatomy and fills me with embarrassment that i was once inspected under a microscope. i wonder what an alien abduction feels like. not for me, but for the alien.

i can feel myself growing tired by the things that felt like home. i appear resentful and distrustful, but at the same time, i'm more full of hope than ever before. just not for the things people expect me to want.

things that i thought i'd never get over now feel like the expectation that my mouth will taste funny in the mornings. i always wait to hydrate myself until after i've brushed my teeth because i hate the idea of swallowing something so gross. when it takes me more than 3 hours to get out of bed, i feel like a dried out sponge. unfortunately, i may be the only one who understood the greater meaning of that. after all, i wrote it. but i guess that's part of the bigger picture here. i'm the only one that needs to understand.

in my kitchen, there's a kettle bubbling on the stove that won't seem to whistle. at what point do i finally replace that kettle? i'd like some tea, eventually. maybe when the weather cools down. i've been trusting a broken appliance for far too long. i wish it'd whistle again.

i think that's everything, for now.