Day 3 of Borscht.
Elizabeth is still amazed by it. I’m amazed at her capacity for awe, and her
ability to make soup as good as she knits, as good as she throws and paints
pottery, as good as she backpacks and gardens and bums cigarettes. Meanwhile, I don’t have the energy to sleep. I’ve got acne to match my
angst. All I can muster is worry and a second too-long shower, a half-hearted game
of Mahjong Soul, fragments of confessions, crossing out more than I keep.
How’s she the one telling me I’ve got my life so put together when I’m not even
brave enough to lie to the Costco gatekeepers so we can score some cheap dinner?
I talk myself out of texting my friends, get so nervous for coffee dates that I
almost yak. Juliette says my tics are cute, which tells you plenty about the luster
she has and sees, but I still feel looney, unable to control my body and brain
and this damn OCD. Lately, life’s momentum is the bouncing of a restless leg,
but I’m moving, I’m moving.
i don't have the energy to sleep. i've got acne to match my angst. Yes!
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