paper airplanes

There was a pigeon on my ferry this morning, walking around. I tried to take a picture of him, but the light coming in the windows was too bright and then he wandered off and I couldn’t find him again.

Someone in the library was tossing paper airplanes down at the circulation desk from the second floor. When I unfolded the papers, I saw that one was a printout of a search for books on baseball, which reminded me of watching the Cubs lose last year, huddled up in bed, in front of on my laptop.

My friend Patrick brought me homemade chocolate chip cookies that I had to wait an hour to eat because I had just taken a bright turquoise pill. He always transports the cookies in 32-ounce yogurt containers. I found out today that’s because he eats a lot of yogurt. I’m not eating that much yogurt, but still I am eating yogurt: boysenberry, strawberry, peach, lemon, in that order. The order is my taste preference, which corresponds with how much fruit on the bottom there is to mix up in the yogurt. I buy four at a time so I can eat them in this perfect order. If I can’t, I have to remember which one I left off with, which can be frustrating if there isn’t any peach for days. Which there hasn’t been.

But I have lost seven pounds, so that my tight jeans — that I am wearing with sneakers, which I have never done before — are just jeans. I bought these sneakers in a bargain basement sort of place with my ex looking on, bored to tears with my waffling over spending $19.99.

It’s time to go home and do a load of laundry. My body temperature is 101.4 degrees Fahrenheit, 349.6 degrees less than the temperature at which paper combusts. I am craving salt in the form of the ocean, and solitude.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.