the original wound

i'm high functioning for someone who moralizes every day action, categorizes it into good human, bad human. brushing my teeth in the morning, good human, flossing, even better human.

tea, yogurt, fruit, good human.

leftover halloween candy, bad human.

not working, bad human, lazy human.

moving through more than one item on a task list, good human.

i took a shower on mushrooms once and as i shampooed my hair, slopping suds around my crown and i thought "this is what humans do, right? this is what normal people do." jake on the couch watching VH1, wrapped in a blanket. i wanted to go outside but i couldn't leave him alone, convinced he'd start shriveling into nothing, to dust, if i left.

so i showered, good human. cleaned the apartment, good human. who does mushrooms to swiffer and do the dishes? plates crusted with old indian food that resisted being wiped down. i scrubbed harder, better human. better humans try.

green tea, good human, lettuce wrap, good human. daily walks, good human. knee pain, bad human. fat, tired and stoned, bad human. why aren't you more fluent in spanish? it's been two years, slow human.

i made a vat of mashed potatoes, enough for a family of 10, like thanksgiving, like a party, but it's just 2 of us and 2 little perritos, bad human. butter and cream and salt, worse human.

dusty stationary bike, bad human. pile of unfinished crafts, bad human, $4 protein bar for breakfast, does not compute. are protein bars neutral?

***

i didn't mean to write about drugs or my ex or how i thought he'd turn to dust if i left him. we're both very much not dust, something that lived despite all the terrible things we said to one another. i didn't walk away, like a song, an anthem of resilience. it was more like a farting, deflating balloon, a little bit, a lot a bit broken and there was no going back to who i was before.

3 days after we broke up, i transferred the willie nelson tickets to his name, a farewell gift that he railed against, as angry as one can be over text.

when something dies we remember what we love.

i had forgotten myself.

i sat in the video game seat, the on that looks like a car, my friends in the bathroom in the movie theater. i hid, not playing the game, not a quarter to be found, so i couldn't race along a fake malibu beach, a bikini babe in my corvette, the only place for someone like me to be in the moment, a lot a bit broken, a lot relieved.