Seventeen years ago, I thought 9 pm was late, and I turned down a drive to a 7-11 with my father and went to bed.
That is non-remarkable. I was a few days shy of ten years old. School was the next day. He was meant to drive us.
This is my angriest time of year. I want to break mugs and bones. It is when I feel most like a crowded, heavy shell of a human. It’s not conscious. I was sure, this year, it wouldn’t have the same affect on me. I felt it was time to move on with my life. It’s been years. The things I remember make me smile, though they are becoming fewer and fewer. I’m grown. Now, like many others, he is someone I knew as a child.
The child who was lays flat against my bones, bleeding from the head, unmoving. She rouses herself each September 5. She still believes in magic. She was an inventor. She still thinks up ways to bring him back.
For the past three weeks, I have been trying to steer clear of all things internet on Sundays. As the owner of a smartphone, this can prove a little difficult. I will still text or call, but I try to avoid the temptation of the “gmail,” “twitter,” and “browser” apps.
It gets exceedingly boring at times. I try to document this boredom instead of caving to the ‘net. It doesn’t always work. Here is an entry from last week, the 27th of May, 2012.
I wasn’t overly successful in my second internet-free quest today. I checked Twitter 3 times from my phone and deleted four emails, though read zero. I didn’t turn on my computer, whose name is Lucia. I went to work and came back, and I slept a ton, and even though it is light out, I feel as if I could go on sleeping until the morning. It’s partially because in the morning, I can go on the internet again. I feel guilty about this. I read a magazine. I drew my breasts. I drew a cat. I drew my face saying “ow.” I wrote until my hand ached and my head ran out of clever things to say. I danced. I lip-synced. I made dinner. I read the first few pages of 3 books. I showered. I folded my laundry. I made a list of things I did today before I wrote about them, but on that list, I left off that I went on Twitter at least 3 times from my phone.
The neighbors and their daughter are talking to each other on the sidewalk. It should be noted that this is the coldest Memorial Day Eve I’ve ever been in, considering I lived in Vermont for several many years.