sadalone loser lol

I went to a babyshower on sunday, I walked in the backyard but the fiance had to lift the gate for me, I sat with my dad, he liked my shades, said, Very moviestar. He asked me how I was doing as he ate spinach and strawberries, salad on a stick. All of the women told him to eat everything, he was taking it down. I told him three things. I struck him within minutes of the babyshower, but I was guilty

I don't care that he knows these three things

he's my dad,

I guess he wants to know them

The punchbowl was right in front of us

I had been imagining this punchbowl all day, porcelain, with 8 tiny cups, crushed ice & berries & what my grandmother would call a nice blush to pour in

Small cups make many trips to the bowl so dad & I were interrupted and at one point instructed to Smile and look happy for a photo. What do you say but oh god and smile the only smile you know? Irony corners. Dad always has watery eyes, so might just look happy, not definitely teary. Poor dad. I'm sorry I have lain you on.

But he wasn't even invited! no men at showers. just guess how fat mom's uterus makes her with this ribbon of twine. I apparently know not the width of a pregnant woman, I lost desperately

He just stopped by to say hi & was instructed to Eat EAT EAAAATTTT

so sorry, I sat down & wear it on my face, three things

I tried to get the punch down but the berries were froze, not for teeth

I didn't have any of that cake

  but no one did save for the pregnant woman and the bride

I blame my parents

I think the last thing I wrote was a list, not the list of vocabulary words but something else.

A list of reaches, desperate

my mom came by last night, she dropped off some lemon fettuccine with shrimp

it was delicious

& perfect because I've been craving fettuccine since three sundays ago.

my stomach rode cradled in my pelvis

my brain was in my throat

my uterus had dropped & splattered in the steps of my feet.

but I turned upside down, in that bridge move

a real yoga move

and I stretched & my organs sort of congealed back to their places forawhile.

she said, do you have any idea how much I love you?

and I couldn't possibly,

and that made me cry

and does she have any idea what I think? what I've thought?

that I have the smoke of a thousand cigarettes for hair

that I have walnuts for a hand

that my fallopiantube legs were withered, so it was difficult to walk

and I tried to spring with just my feet

but they're too small

and the shells of my fingers turned to stone, they were all numb when I woke up.

she didn't make me all alone,

but I think about how everything funny is sad

and everything sad is sort of funny

and I wonder does it make that everything

devastating, tragic

is hilarious?

and then you said, no way, what's funny about your relative getting shot to death

and we both laughed so fucking hard at that

she didn't make me all alone,

but she knew what she was doing

she had to go get a reverse tubal ligation

& dad had to get something done, too

his sperm count was low

too much yellow 5, dad?

doin the dew?

they knew what they were doing. he was 29 when they met.

they knew that there would be a baby would be a human

and it would have to live

in the future

in this world

and it's a big place

but there's nothing bigger

than being shut up in your brain

which is still throat stuck

& choking

this morning I am

I'm the type who puts the caramel in the coffee in secret, and in doses so small the doses are invisible. It's the kitsch outfits all lined up from bottom to top: silver shoes for dancing, soft-shoe style, though I haven't seen it. I get distracted when I think of shoes and end up looking at them for days, and now I have three documents to write about it all. Moss-green tights accidentally bought, footless, and some cheap fake-denim number withe elastic waistband perfect for sitting here & not walking, not moving because I've pain in my uterus, or in my ovaries, where little cysts grow their little houses. I want to move in. And upwards, pictographs, and an indian-head cardigan. Nailpolish remnants like lichen on tips of fingers. Open something else up; wonder who will know about any of it.

Do you see how that went? how in the morning, early like this, drinking the coffee & sitting half-outside, I'm wandering, two eyes different-pointing, directionless. The familiar music, the familiar mood of the familiar mind, doing its memorable thoughtless moves through.

and there you are

scially inpt

So... cially in-ept. Is it an unfair charge against me? What happens if today, for example, I have yet to see another person (I know, I've seen the grocers and their shoppers, the families of six and the couples in bushwick with a guitar and a dog), and I like it, I know not their names, I doubt to recognize a one of them again, we spend nothing addressing one another. I'd like very much to exist solitary in this apartment. I shouldn't make commitments: this is when I am rightly accused as fickle. Acting on whims. My whims today have me dress to leave for a party, then call and send off an abstract apology, the receiver may be offended, or angry, or anything, so I'm off the phone full of guilt feeling, at why can't I just go despite it. Also I'm proud to want to stay inside my house, to not have to put on a farce of friendliness, to impress those I know already and don't care to cavort with on this night, those I see almost daily for jobs I don't do but to save up money to just move to the different Country. To not drink, to not stuff myself full with pork though delicious it might be. There are beets  in my future, and spelt berries, and carrot juice. Romance running me up and down like the uterus of hysteria. I like to just look out the window and listen to thunder. I'm sorry for using up one of your rsvp s.