when you’re standing

No matter where it is, my cat will sit on paper. Right now she is sitting on two pieces of mail that slipped off the coffee table. There is an entire flat at her disposal, and two laps, and there she is. As Inkbot put it, Zen looks like she is hovering on a little paper cloud.

I would be happy to have a habit like hers. On the subway, I wouldn’t focus on the sight lines out the station-facing windows, or on the fastest way to the door. I would just unfold a small sheet of paper from my purse, arrange it on the orange plastic seat, and sit.


In my dream, I was in a play but I hadn’t ever been to rehearsal. Instead of being upset about this, I took the stage and owned it. Unlike my actual days in the theatre, I was truly impressed with my performance, and was excited to hear my friends’ reactions.

“You need to learn how to pose,” one said. “When you’re standing, I don’t believe you.”

Another nodded, adding, “You weren’t very loud.”


Ice cubes don’t melt fast enough, even when it’s hot outside. I don’t like to judge, but they just take their own sweet time melting. If I ask for water without ice, and I get ice, I don’t send it back, but I do secretly resent the ice. Ice is the anti-Nutella.


On Mondays at work, people ask, “How was your weekend?” On Fridays at work, people ask, “Got any big plans for the weekend?” On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays at work, people mention how long the week seems to be already, or is, or has been. Once on a Sunday I went to work to pick something up and no one was there to ask me anything, so I asked myself how the weekend was going.

“Great!” I replied.

“Short weekend, huh?”

I grinned and shrugged. “Always is.”

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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.