This morning on the bus my chest tightened because the windshield wipers did not match. Ktccchhhh went one, paused, and then the other exhaled across. There exists determinism in chaos, I thought, or more likely I itched my scalp because it’s dry and sighed since it was only 7am, but still, somewhere I knew that nothing is random and I tried, really I did, to find a rhythm in the windshield wipers. Okay, so this one skidders across like that…one, two, three…--the fuck? Why isn’t the other one going? I couldn’t find it, a system, and the bus driver was mean, telling one guy he did not have time for his transfer that kept folding into the machine like that. (Of course he kept the windshield wipers on well past the time it stopped raining so I had to watch them smear across all cockamamie useless & dry.)
Needless to say I feel like newsprint today, colorless blah blah waiting for something to happen. It rained all weekend but at night the air outside our house was thick with jasmine. It smells so good! I said, taking big gulps of air as if I could taste it. That’s cause I farted, said Bryan before I could tell him not to say the same thing he always says when I say that something smells good.This picture. Is sexy. Is what sustains me right now on this Monday of mismatch. Maraschino cherries, sticky lips, and always something more, the butterfly effect of windshield wipers so close to the sun.
Oh. And I also bought this dress.Happy Monday.