written august 2017
thin: emerging hip bones
fat: leftover tofu pad thai, not cold nor re-heated, found in purse at 4 in the morning and eaten in bed without clothes.
times were fat and so was i, the miserable erroneous life form that was like the others yet different, living on a so-called island (which did cling to the rest of the world with speedy little metal missiles carrying passengers and pirates to and from distant lands)
it was said the island either wanted you, or didn’t: if it did, it kept you. if it didn’t, it kicked you out.
it didn’t want me, and i knew it. but i was stubborn.
my binge-eating habits erupted there, the stress of constant, daily rejection, the sense of not-belonging so great and powerful that it bled me dry at times of the very will to live
each night i sat
taking nervous sips and sweating bites and chewing as if chewing on my problems,
which, i suppose, i was.
sometimes i made myself laugh about it, “twenty-four: the age of hot chocolate at 6 am still awake for no good reason” (other than chronic sleeplessness.) halfway living off garbanzo beans and sticks of imitation crab, spinach and cream cheese and “pan payés” and generic corner-store gazpacho from the carton, never, ever, ever in a cup. every dirty cup and plate was a ridiculous burden on my anxious mind, for this house of mine had very strict rules and there was no room for untidiness
but keeping tidy inside a hurricane mind is not at all an easy task.
read the back of the
label: it will tell you
your sins for the day
but there will be no
advice for repenting provided. do
it yourself with slimy digits
coughing over the toilet. be
discreet: the sound of a
splintering facade is harsh on
young ears and of course
apart from slim you must
also be strong.