I am on the briefest of sabbaticals from work (which is how I prefer to think of this vacation since I’m not actually going anywhere), and I’ve decided to make it count. Especially since my boyfriend kept asking ‘what are you going to do, just sit around and go insane?’
So obviously day one I started my own poetry archive, which you can find here.
I just posted my poem “Ticks,” which is about this time I blew my nose and then everything sounded horribly, perversely and metallically distorted for days on end. (Fun!) Below you can find a contemporary prose piece offering another look at the situation.
Hope you enjoy, and that you’re having a great weekend!
I just walked out into traffic to get away from a scary bicyclist.
I don’t even know why I thought he was scary. I don’t know why I did it.
My hand is shaking. I’m writing alone in Old Town, waiting for A––– and probably look like a crazy person. Texting F–––. Want to tell him what happened, but what the hell could I say? This is why drivers hate Ann Arbor.
God, I’m stupid. I could have died. As it was, no one even honked. Fucking fuck.
A––– doesn’t have a phone. Shouldn’t have come on time. Wouldn’t have been behind that scary cyclist. And I can still hardly hear. I’m working mostly on tone of voice and programmed social cues.
Fuck, maybe I couldn’t hear the traffic…