the habit of being

They’re tearing down a fence out there.

I had French toast for breakfast. Jennifer’s dad made me French toast once. Mom put vanilla extract in the egg-muck today and it was brilliant. I had two slices with warm syrup and water with ice. I gave away three bites. They went to get fence-things. I took a vivid vivid shower. The steam (water vapor) was so thick I couldn’t even see where the water was coming from. And I saw faces and faces and lips. Breathe. I love the red light.

There were no towels, so I stood under the light until I no longer dripped and put on the same clothes I had on before. My hair fell down untangled because it is so short now. I touched the sliding glass door to see if it was cold outside. Sun can deceive. But it was warm and I went out and lay down on the porch on the bench. Sabrina was below and to the right, wagging her tail. It reminded me of the summer before last, when I took books out into the yard and read. I’d lay down in the grass and be covered with exotic symbols when I arose. Franny walked across my back and the car drove up.

All day there was pounding was a huge hammer that looked like something Bam Bam from The Flintstones would play with. The fence fell down in sections and I watched. I tied them up with the marking-string and looked for lost tape measures and I couldn’t do a thing with that hammer myself. I brought my homework out and did that. Sometimes I wish I were strong. My fingers throb from nothingness. I wonder if playing the flute is what made the top section so much thinner.

We all went out for ice-cream. I had mint chocolate chip in a sugar cone. A first date comes to mind. It was all gone by the time we got home.

I drew a tennis playing photographer for a school bulletin board. I changed my shirt and put on a bra. This is all so out of order. I miss you. I miss you. I’m doing this instead of talking to you. You’re shooting people instead of talking to me. It’s not right. I have no fence now. He knocked it all down and pulled up the posts with the man from across the street. His wife wants our dead fence for their own yard, since we’re getting a taller one. So he helped Ray with the last four posts and they’ll finish together and start putting up our old fence in the yard of the blue house across the street. They’ll have to paint it white; the current grey won’t match.

We went out to eat and I left a note for the girl who was coming over. The note was gone when we got back so I guess she got it. Or maybe some stranger just wanted it. In the booth I read about art with letters. That could be it. He tells me to make paintings based on my writing. I have some old scrawled out stuff but not much. It’s about Cleopatra and rape fantasies mostly.

Yesterday I watched The Lion in Winter and A Streetcar Named Desire. I strive for madness some days. My head is hot and my skin’s not clear. I left my trig book in my locker and I can’t do my identities. My sweater is a little bit itchy but not enough to make me take it off, because my shirt is thin and I’ll be cold. I wonder why my room is the coldest. I wish I were lost in the back alleys of Venice. I need to be taken.

If my knees didn’t creak I’d be catlike. He said I slinked, he did he did. I said I slumped. I want to sit in that rickety chair and be drawn. I want you to talk to me and tell me secrets, because for years I’ve given all of it to you, denying those who would openly love me. You ass. Just say it. I’ll never be enough. Oh I want to scream. I do, I do.

My silk shirt has a bag of books sitting on it, and looking at it I can just feel the wrinkles. I’m sorry about that. He said I never said thank you and I said saying I’m sorry was almost the same thing. People don’t often make French toast for me. I wonder how long I’ll be living in a house without a fence. I remember “Mending Wall.” I feel the push. I dream about computers these days. It’s so wrong. I miss lustful dreams. They once filled my nights, now only my days. The screen flashes blue to red.