they pay to kiss your feet

since there's no one else around, we let our hair grow long and forget all we used to know. then our skin gets thicker from living out in the snow.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

A story.

We sat on the green couch and ate cookies. Chocolate chip. I’d called my mom for the recipe the day before. And when I made them, I imagined you eating them. Savoring. Licking the salt from your fingers with the last, buttery bite. We were there to study. It was the last week of the semester and I needed your help before finals. So I baked you cookies as my way of saying thank you with a side of, “You are the only boy who makes me laugh. My heart feels different when I’m with you. Please love me.”

We went through my notes. They weren’t as complete as yours and so I filled in the blanks. I borrowed your pen. It was the best pen I’d ever used. It formed each letter like it had a purpose greater than just being a part of a whole. We went downstairs to look up some fact in the old volumes that they put in the back room. The room where I’d imagined kissing you. We got closer to the old bookshelves and to the room and I grew suddenly dizzy. I hoped you could read my mind. That you knew what I wanted. That you felt the same. I made you sit in that old blue chair. I said I had a question to ask you. That it was very important and I needed you to tell me the truth. I looked at the ring on my finger and then back at you. I knew this moment could change everything. I shoved the bag of cookies back at you. “Do you want another?” You didn’t. And so I went into it. I’d heard that you said I shouldn’t get married. That I was making a mistake. I pointed my umbrella at you. I asked you not to lie. I nervously ate a cookie. I waited. You squirmed. Smiled. Looked at me with eyes that sparkled even in that dimly lit library basement and said that I should do what makes me happy. “Who am I to know what’s best for you, silly?”

“Oh,” I ached back.

Later that week, I drove you home from a goodbye party we had for a friend. It was the last time I’d see you before graduation. I handed you a card filled with words I'd toiled over. You reached over to give me a hug. Your hair smelled like laundry detergent. We’d been listening to ‘Don’t Stand So Close to Me.’ I felt the irony choking my ring finger like a noose. You told me to be good and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I never did see you at graduation.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

the one about the B word. (no, not brad.)

we want a baby. trouble is, i'm not a good candidate for carrying one.

so we're exploring options and things like that. this means, i'm never going to make the 'i'm pregnant' announcement. but, one day i hope to make the 'we have secured a baby' announcement. which, yes, sounds flippant. but, that's how it works.

so far we've looked into adoption but still have a few other avenues to check out before finalizing our "how."

here's the scary part about adoption: the home study.

it comes in this binder and is hugely daunting. especially the part where you have to write an autobiography of your entire life - including any dysfunction, past relationships, behavioral therapy, etc. i get it, but having to sit down to write all of that and place it in a binder that will be a determining factor on whether or not i am a good candidate to be a mother is scary.

here's the other things that sucks. if you've been divorced, a lot of adoption agencies require that you've been in your current marriage for 5 years before they will allow you to adopt.
we can't wait five years.

so our options are fewer. but maybe that's the way it is supposed to be. you never know why doors are closed to you. just like i don't know why my body decided to deny me the opportunity to do part of what it is designed to do.

but we're excited. the joy outweighs the scary. the possibility outweighs the pain.

and so, we move forward. we've given ourselves almost a year to figure it all out. and then, we'll be all-in. in the meantime, we're rearranging our house - making room for a baby. for a child that could very well be conceived tomorrow or maybe it was yesterday or last week or in a couple of months. a child that has a future of love and support as a hamilton.

i. can't. wait.

Monday, July 18, 2011

a few things.

i went to trader joe's this weekend. i'd been counting down the days. it was amazing. i am in love. and i will always, always have their garlic hummus and goat gouda in my fridge.

i had to use a cart from petsmart because the red ones were all taken. it was huge and awkward. and i didn't care.

this is a huge step for me. the whole not caring that i'm sticking out like a sore thumb thing.

i joined the gym for the year. i got a good deal through work and, um, it's like 118 degrees outside now and for the rest of the summer.

it reminds me how much i hate the elliptical. it's not running. but it was the only option tonight when everything else was taken.

but i do like air conditioning. and the gym has that.

so does my car. that just got detailed inside and out. it's like nicer than when i bought it. i. love. it.

Tuesday, July 12, 2011


i seem to remember things in chunks now. a smell. a look. a fabric. how hot it was outside. and so my mind spins to make order from the chaos of memories that i don't want to own. not in my history. not woven into the tapestry that cloaks my forever walls. but they remain. the building blocks of who i became. this soul. this embrace. this courage that i wish would spill forth even more. instead of seeping like watermelon juice onto the corners of a paisley platter.