Marsha Hunt - (Oh No! Not) The Beast Day
[ petulant ]
It is ridiculous to think about how many years it took me to finally find a pair of underwear that fits like the proverbial glove. It also took too many years to figure out that even after getting the temperature right in the shower there exists a small batch of “this ought to wake you up” cold water waiting in the pipe leading up to the shower head. Just the right amount to spray my head and get a little on my back. Enough to get me to jump backward, or a little to the either side of the all white vessel that has been peppered with the black mold over the years, not enough to gross anyone out that cares about me, but enough to get me to say that one day I’ll pull all of the caulk out and rid the white space of it, and as I jump I exhale uncontrollably in surprise and also because in some weird way that shit hurts. Not a hurt like heart break, not a hurt like bone break(though I’ve never broken a bone, but i did sprain and fuck up my ankle pretty good a few years back. I had missed the last two steps en route to a birthday party. I had been carrying in one hand a large bucket of flowers that I was going to hand out and in the other a twelve pack of becks(what I consider to be a good summer beer(it was summer)) and when I landed I heard the snap and twist of tendons as it traveled through my entire body and directly to my eardrum. My ankle still pops a great deal when I rotate it, especially when the weather shifts in a way similar to how old folks talk about how they can feel it in their bones. I also find myself popping it at night) No not that kind of hurt either, not like paper cut hurt, and not like bacon grease splatter kind of hurt, not like stub your toe or hit your funny bone kind of hurt either, nor it is like running your shin into something kind of hurt, or even like you should have stretched and pulled a muscle kind of hurt. It also isn’t like anything close to bite your cheek while chewing kind of hurt, or like inflamed taste bud kind of hurt, not like be sting kind of hurt(this summer I got stung twice. I haven’t been stung since I was a child. It was invigorating and an awesome reminder that little things can really fuck you up.) It also isn’t the kind of hurt you feel when you slide across any kind of flooring and melt your skin kind of burn, regardless of what your wearing to protect your skin. No it’s like a fake kind of hurt, the kind of hurt that once you understand what is going on in between acknowledging that you just fucked up and receiving that pain kind of pain. The universe provides you just enough time to briefly think about the mistake you just made, almost as a way of reminding you that you should have been more prepared for this, but since you were thinking here’s a little bit of time to think in a different way and it isn’t going to feel good, but it won’t hurt either, though you can’t help but think, “goddamn it.” It took me too many years to figure out, “okay temp is good, now when you pull that lever motherfucka, get the fuck out the way.” I’ve got it down now, and get hit with that cold burst of wake me up right away rarely, but sometimes I still forget. I’m still trying to find the right socks. And lately I’ve been thinking about what people mean when they say they love someone unconditionally. To love without condition. How long does that take to learn.