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Archive for March, 2011

Ultraviolet


When I got here, I had a cold. I was sluggish. My mind felt thick and confused. On the drive, I thought, bleak, bleak, bleak. It was overcast. The sagebrush and marsh humps looked like thousands of small animals massacred in the fields. The next day, I woke up feeling worse. I did not get to be okay until late afternoon. Then, this morning, I felt a little better. I moved my arms. They moved okay. I sat up. I was not too dizzy. My ferrets slept in their cage with their heads on top of one another. I leaned back and looked out the window. It was sunny. The sagebrush looked like sagebrush. The starlings were carrying dog kibble away while the dogs slept in the sun. I heard my parents driving home from chores.

For breakfast, I made a can of soup. I made two pieces of toast. I made coffee. I made a fizzy vitamin drink. I got a glass of water. I got a bowl of grapes, which my mom had set out on the counter. I started eating the soup. It wasn’t too good. I poured out the broth and ate the rice and chicken and little vegetables. I ate half a piece of toast. I ate a lot of grapes. There were strawberries in the fridge,  but I wanted to save them for later. I drank the coffee. I drank the vitamin drink. It took me a long time to drink the water, because it tasted bad. I thought: “I need to brush my teeth.” I thought about why I felt bad for the last few days. Is it because I’m sick? Is it the weather? Is it because I miss my boyfriend? Is it because my mind feels thick? Is it because I’m 26? Is it because I’m not always good with people? Is it because I’m afraid I might never leave this region of the world? Is it because yesterday, I tried twice to write something funny, and neither thing was funny? Because my mind was thick, I couldn’t tell. It’s because I’m sick. I will wait, then.

Earlier, I saw a large bird in a tree down by the corral. When I was little, I would have run to the tree to see what it was. Now, I think: “It’s an eagle. I’ve seen eagles before.” Or: “It’s an owl. I like owls, but I’ll see some later, when I’m ready to walk in the woods. They don’t make a sound when they fly, because of the shape of their feathers.” My mom saw a bobcat on the road to our house. I have never seen one. My dad has seen one. Maybe tomorrow, my feet will feel bigger. Maybe life will move through me more quickly, and I won’t want to watch TV.

The white spots on starlings glow in ultraviolet light, which other birds can see, but we can’t.

When I think of all the people in the world, and what they must feel, and then I think of me, I think, everything feels how it’s supposed to feel. Now everything is moving. Now March is almost over. Now I need more vitamins. Soon I will want less. Now I am who I want. Soon I will go outside. I will brush my teeth first. Now the kitchen is quiet. Earlier, there was an aphid in the cactus on the windowsill. “How did you get here?” I asked. Then my mom squished it. A year ago, my hair was red. Then I changed it.

 

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