on saturday i woke up with an unexpected but not unsurprising wine headache, ate ibuprofen for breakfast, and drove to the farmer’s market. i found a parking spot across the street from the park that i assumed wasn’t actually a spot because i found it so quickly. sometimes my skepticism negates the goodness i’m offered. luckily i remembered that before it was too late.
for the first time this year i saw fruit i’d pay $10 for. nothing like those perfect, tasteless berries from the grocery store. buckets of apricots – the best thing until peaches, which always beat plums because they’re less unpredictable. i bought a small box of cherries, the last batch of the summer. at the bakery, by some miracle, the last blueberry muffin. more mustard greens, sorrel. a bag of fresh udon noodles. this is reading like a sylvia plath grocery haul.
feeling useless and weak in a hundred degrees, i sat in the shade and ate my muffin. i watched couples order smoothies and no one talked to me – preferable – except an old man bending down to see my boots. it’s always old men who compliment my cowboy boots, but uniquely it usually feels more genuine than creepy.
i thought about the day. what else i’d need to make noodles. the bag of old bok choy likely rotting in the fridge.
i intended on planning puerto rico at the coffee shop, had a matcha and still a headache and eventually went home. instead i sat on the couch and watched the kardashians for hours, felt something like drool in the folds of my brain. i don’t want to be rich but i want to be wealthy; the polarity akin to lonely / alone.
around nine i walked to the community garden. i strolled around, sort of dragged my feet, ate sweet peas by the handful. by the hands of primal desire i pulled a beet out of the ground, for little reason other than it seemed like fun. i don’t particularly like beets but i figured i could roast it. when i was vegan i did it often and stained everything i loved.
walking home through blue dusk i was still in my boots, waving my beet like a toddler might a toy. i tried to see myself from above, from behind, from the driver’s side window of every passing car. root-wielding freak, creature of my own creation. where on earth did she get that bedazzled ed hardy shirt?
on sunday we drove up millcreek canyon to cool off. we had not much to say but the energy was comfortable, a lucky gathering of folks who didn’t need to fill the space. i let my feet go numb in the past-tense snow, and swatted flies out of my face until we all agreed we were hungry. we stopped at the pub and ate burgers on the patio, which is an elite patio because it has enough misters to go around. i felt everyone looked more beautiful than usual, perhaps luck or a mist-ical optical illusion. sharing a pitcher of blue moon i thought of J’s mom, who always loved me for who i was and gave me a beautiful vintage coat i was too stupid to keep.
i’ve never been good at pool but i’ve always been tipsy enough to try. on the third game i put a dollar in the jukebox and made three shots in a row.
when we got home i was still buzzed and took A’s e-bike for a ride, which i’m not sure i should say because it might actually be a crime. i like to go fast and look at all the houses and gardens; i feel jealous when someone’s basil is prettier than mine. this year the peppers just didn’t grow up. i hate thinking things like there should have been more.
most often i feel desperate to know what i’m missing, even if i don’t want it, even if i can’t get it. i’m window shopping my life, perusing an infinite menu, and i might not order anything, but no one can tell me to leave.
as the sun sank i listened to old folksy americana, so connected to this life i never fully lived. maybe its themes are just comforting in theory: a lonesome gallop through the country and a family around the table. i rode past the drum circle in liberty park – the whole world smelled like lavender and sandalwood and weed. my hippie phase seems alien like a memory planted in my head, and i can’t tell if i lived it or just acted it out.
obsession of the week
i’m not particularly interested in robert pattinson’s life or career or whatever but these photos by jack bridgland from gq’s march 2022 cover are insanely good. the COLORS! the ATMOSPHERE! my heart stopped and i added every single one to my pinterest. i’m still team jacob, though.
“ I don’t want to be rich but I want to be wealthy”💕