Tuesday, June 28, 2011

bleach and heat

My hands smell like bleach and pine-sol. I have finished folding my boy's clothes and am sneaking into his room, late at night, after he has fallen asleep. My mother did this too, I remember the inconvenience of having my sleep interrupted, the harsh smell of the chemicals and the warm comfort in knowing that her care for me was tireless. Did she talk to herself like I do? Constant, an engine asking the same mundane questions "does this shirt still fit my child? what will I do after daycare tomorrow? Does he get enough vegetables?". I violently mop the floors, I see the stains and scrub with a determined anger, I don't know why I am upset, I am probably not; just unused energy.

Thursday, June 2, 2011


I'm sure that in every person's life there comes a time that they have to decide whether or not if they are going to snort up their snot or blow their nose.

How far are those boogers?

High? Low?

Who will hear? Then what? Swallow? Spit?

I know this is all gross.

I'll tell you one fu*king thing, I am not going to tag this post #firstworldproblems - that is so annoying.

Not as annoying as snorting snot though, though I will if need be.