In the shower, while the Head and Shoulders for Men is running down my face and I’m afraid to open my eyes, I think about things that matter, and poems, and songs I wish I’d written, and songs that remind me of friends that’ve died, and loves I lost, and food I ate in Santa Fe.
I showered earlier today right before running errands, and even though California’s in a drought, I showered again because I ran out of toilet paper and didn’t realize it until after shitting, and I needed to be 100% clean in case the night takes me on a journey. In this second shower I decided to let a friend go because I think I’m heart broken.
I want to grow old with my friends. I was on instagram today, going through Big Dave’s (Davia) photos, and laughed because I can’t wait to see the old woman she turns into. I can’t wait until Heron turns 50 and the bash we’ll throw.
Back to it. A friend decided the loving friendship I offered was no match against the insecurities of a man she likes, and removed me from anything he could see. So in the shower I coped with no more random piercings at 3am, no more tattoos in west bumfuck, and no more awesome experimentations in the kitchen between awful movies. She pops up sporadically to check on me from a distance. I’m an in-your-face friend. So I put the chalk to the pavement, washed the Head and Shoulders away and made it to the living room in time to hear Bastille’s Pompeii.