Dam2

Dam2
Originally uploaded by QquegChristian.

things are returning to normal...

www.ribcage.org

{ the will of god }

It’s not that the split oak is so impressive—and that’s not to say that it’s not—it’s just that we’re tired.

So we piled up some leaves, jumped into them and threw them about, piled them up again, fell backwards onto them and then ate the rest of our trail mix.

Emily claimed all the M&Mish candy coated chocolate pieces and I sorted through to make a pile of them on her stomach.

We’re both covered in dirt. Leaves in our hair. Twigs and sticks stuck to our clothing.

It’s freezing. The sky is glowing. White. Winter waving. The wind wooing us. Us covering up in leaves. Eyes looking up; the two halves of the split oak are swaying. Branch into branch. Shaking hands. It’s grown what must be fifty feet, the trunk into two a third of the way up. Two impressive trees in one. Siamese oaks.

And Emily says, “Why did it grow like this again?”

I tangle my legs in hers and say, “It was struck by lightning.”

She laughs. “The will of God! Adam and Eve, the trees!”

{ screaming for doctors }

At some point, for Emily, crying out in pain became crying out for a doctor. It's every other day with the screaming for doctors.

A stubbed toe - "I need a doctor!" And then Emily sits on the carpet, holds her foot--rocking and pouting.

A bit tongue - "I need a doctor!" And then Emily runs to a mirror, convinced the damage is visible.

A paper cut - "I need a motherfucking doctor!" And then Emily sticks her thumb in her dirty mouth and tongues the cut closed.

Afterwards... I joke, I should've gone into medicine. Became a doctor. One that specializes in minor klutzy injuries.

{ bandana }

This morning, Emily woke from a dead sleep, announced that she had been dreaming and insisted on purchasing lottery tickets. Scratch-offs. Blackjack themed. Five of them.

She said that she was going to prove that dreams can come true.

And so we tied on our shoes. Emily tied on a bandana. An important element. Another part of her dream.

We purchased the five tickets at a gas station and she insisted on scratching them right there. Scratching them on the counter and with a penny. The penny another important element. Her dream coming true.

In her dream: the fourth in the string of five was a winner. An ace/king blackjack. A thousand dollars.

In real life: in the gas station, she made a mess of the scratch-offs and won nothing--not even on that fourth ticket.

Debunked, Emily undid the bandana and laughed about everything. She said, "Just as well," and laughed again. Laughed out, "If that had come true, then maybe so would have that dream where your head morphed into a bear's."

{ coffee is just one }

Emily can smell coffee through walls. It can pull her from a coma. It can make her sleepwalk. Eyes closed, just following her nose. She'll Toucan Sam her way to the kitchen. Groggy. Floating. Glazed over. That cherry hair up in tufts. No makeup. Freckles. Spaghetti straps. Panties. Eyes still closed, feeling for walls with hands. She'll get there eventually. She'll feel for the mug that I placedthere. Three packets of equal and milk mixing at the bottom. Already waiting. Those eyes—still mostly closed. She'll find the coffee pot's handle with her fingers. She'll be careful not to burn herself or spill coffee on the counter. She'll be awake enough for that. But still mostly sleeping. Sleepwalking. Sleep-pouring. Sleep-picking-up-a-spoon. Sleep-stirring. She swears it isn't an act. Says it's the repetition. The frequency. Conditioning.

Years of coffee. Two years of the mug that I place there for her. Three packets of equal and milk mixing at the bottom. Already waiting.

Just one of our routines. And it doesn't get old. Day in. Day out. It feels wonderful. Comfortable.

Emily can take huge gulps of sweltering hot coffee. She'll wake instantly on the first of them. Coffee in the veins. Wide-eyed. Perked up. Pupils dilated. Sunlight through the front window. Then she'll take another gulp.

Emily and I drink our coffee in the morning. It's tranquility. Day in. Day out. It's so incredibly wonderful. Wonderful to be predictable. Just enough of the expected. Enough of the everyday in every single day. All of our little routines!

It gives the day contrast.

Because everything in between. Everything in every day that isn't routine. Well…

stories... still on Wednesdays... on the road for a few weeks...

I'm off for Florida (and an eventual drive up the entire east coast) tomorrow, so I've created this handy blog for updates while I'm away. A few weeks.

I should just prepare these updates in advance, but I'm supposed to go climb a waterfall today and donotwanttorushanymorethanIalreadyam. There's enough, enough, enough on my mind.

I like to repeat things in threes.

So everyone, thanks for reading! You're beautiful and amazing. And I hope you enjoy! And I'll properly archive the following stories on the site when I'm back in town.

See you on Wednesday!