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11 September 2015 @ 02:48 pm
proustian interlude  
a few months ago, i discovered the local drug store sells single-use packets of the same siberian fir-dosed bath salts i bought from jewel osco in the late nineties. since my current insurance only lets me pick up one month of my out-of-synch prescriptions at a time, i’ve been spending a lot of time at the drug store and so have been getting a packet of the salts now and again, when i think conditions might be favorable for a bath. after doing it enough times, i added a two pound jug of the salts to my amazon wishlist, which my parents got me as a component of my birthday present. along with a mighty long reach stapler (maybe for limited release chapbooks!), a twelve-pack of pilots, and a new robe that might be too delightfully plush and warm to comfortably use on the eastern seaboard. hmpfh. at least it’s a new robe. with a satisfying hood. because damn if i don’t want every item of clothing i own with a neck hole to have a hood. a satisfying hood.

yesterday evening, i opened the consolidated box of my presents and was knocked over with a distinct sensory memory of what i assume must have been the last time i had a big jug of the salts. my first months on livejournal, that summer my sister was pregnant, that summer my sister's ex-boyfriend and family were harassing her and, after we convinced her to stop going to public places her unlicensed ex could easily get to, me. they’d just hound us. in the grocery stores, at restaurants, in the strip mall parking lot, with the telephone. they wanted the baby. sister had decided to place the baby with another family. it was a hard and sad decision for her. it was a hard and sad decision for all of us. it still is. ex’s family, they called sister a morally corrupt retard and threatened to put her in prison if they didn’t get their kid, which was bullshit, but it terrorized my sister.

whole thing really brought out the biblical namesake in me. i had the most horrible conversation i’ve ever had with another human being with the guy’s mother, i remember, which, after she hung up on me, made me tear sister’s phone cord out of the wall and shove her phone in her underwear drawer while i begged her to at least let all their calls go to voicemail for a few days since she wouldn’t block their number. then, i went into the bathroom, put on bowery electric, drew as hot a bath as i could for the salts and sat in the water until it was cold. similar reaction to my grandmother’s strokes, the fatal fight with high school bff, and september eleventh. that’s not even all of it. damn, 2001 brought out the very best and the absolute worst in a lot of us.

wow, i thought. this entire box smells like crying. i assume it’s something particular about the big jug, having so much in one space like that. i didn’t have this issue at all with the packets.

what can i say? if any birthday, this one.
 
 
music: patti smith - waiting underground
 
 
 
selva oscuraanonymousblack on September 13th, 2015 08:32 pm (UTC)
really, *shrug* "today i'm a kitty" should suffice.