I probably should be doing something else right now

I've been home for hours but still wearing boots. I'm still full of adrenaline. The windows are wide open and the air is cold.


I'm feeling the weight of writing even though I do it every day. I want to write and yet I tuck it into secret crevices, open crevices, like curled notes or prayers or I don't know what. I need a place to put these words. Because I feel like I can't remember them after I write them.

So many hairs I find everywhere. Long golden hairs that cling to my clothes and my bed and my body. I leave them everywhere I go.

I had such a thick ponytail that I couldn't even wrap an elastic around it twice. I couldn't get a haircut easily because my hair was so thick it looked awkward. My older sister and younger brother both have thick hair still, but they have buzz cuts because they're both dudes. I used to have the longest eyelashes in the family but I stopped paying attention

Dictionary of Obscure Joys

The comments on this post will emulate the definitions in the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, one of my favorite writing works on the internet. Feel free to read or comment, as always.

100 words, memory of a dream

In my dream I bit my tongue. A fragment of a thread left dangling in my mouth, and I nagged at it with my teeth and my cheek. Eventually my tongue began to unravel like a ball of yarn. I felt the fragment with my fingertips. I tried to break off the thread. I kept pulling on it, like magic scarves until the yarn was in a pile in my lap. Then I wrapped the yarn around jars so I could make skeins, like my nana taught me. When I woke up the jars had floated halfway to the ceiling.

compost

I started writing again in November. I want to keep it up. I'm convinced at this point we all could use a little more compost.

I want to write some short composts. And would love to have company, but it's ok if you don't feel like it.

First up, 100 words. May never go past 100.