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Accounting for Everything: Movement
A new neighbourhood. One that feels like mine but doesn't look like mine.
Familiar?
I think back to bright colours on walls and used furniture. When batik sheets and bamboo blinds were sufficient window treatments.
When men were creatures that followed me and did what I said. Skinny and short and sensitive.
When I didnt' eat meat.
When I played guitar in the bathroom cuz it sounded echo-y.
When I knew who I wanted to be when I grew up.
When I didnt' shave my legs.
When I saved up to order pizza.
When I always sat on the floor and there were candles on the tv set that dripped wax on the screen.
When I had a cat.
Now?
I have faux wood home depot blinds and muted cardamon grey in the living room.
I own a microfibre couch that was brand new when I bought it and I treat every stain that falls on it.
Men are tall and handsome and independant and can fix things. Much less obedient.
I eat meat.
My guitar sits dusty in it's case.
I am not want I wanted to be when I grew up.
I shave my legs, armpits and wax the living christ out of my bikini line.
I am saving up for a table and chairs.
I sit on my microfibre couch and I dont' light my candles (they are too expensive to replace).
My cat is dead.
Maybe life is reminding me. And it's not too late?
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