Gravel

Leggings as pants are wretched, we all know that, right. So tell me, how does the girl packing an extra 35 pounds not know that?

More than leggings I despair when I am faced with the thought that I may not have enough creativity to manage getting through this month with my tongue as I am growing sick from biting it. The inside of my cheek is welted from my incisors; it is the holding of thoughts that drives my teeth into my tender flesh. That sounds morbid and it is not entirely untrue.

More than the taste of pennies, I hate when I am a coward. I am a coward now because I am biting my tongue instead of speaking up and saying what I believe to the few people who need to hear it. It is an adult decision not to call someone out, ask them to sit down and have a conversation. I suppose that I could write a letter I never send, or I could burn an effigy, or, like a normal person, drink too much.

Until I realized why I was so damned angry. I was mad because I felt my power stripped away. By being 'let go' from my not so reliable, horribly underpaid, working almost for fucking free for a year without so much as a thank you very much, I felt myself adrift on the wind of chance and it scared the living shit out of me. When change is forced upon me, I tend to spiral.

What an opportunity to recognize that no one has the ability to dictate my response. What a chance to realize that I am now more in control. In the odd twist of fate the awakening to the fact that I do have a choice even while my options are being limited. It is not that I am no longer angry, but I recognize that I am not beholden.

Also, for the record, I think that people tell all kinds of stories to make themselves okay. Self reflection is not a quality for those weak of stomach and tender of bone.

And finally, I dreamed I had cloudy vision as if my dreams were out of focus.