Everywhere I turn I see women craving change.
Talking about big cities and dreams and waxing ambition into poetry.
But we’re all still here.
Motionless.
What has to happen to force change? Why are we waiting for change to develop and leave us no choice but escape instead of creating doorways and buying tickets?
Why do we take a passive aggressive stance to the situations around us — manipulating the little keys that force the big lock?
I question these things right now, drinking coffee and reading other people’s journals knowing that if I wait a few hours, I’ll forget this little fire and justify another day of normalcy.
*******
I was talking in my sleep last night. B said I rolled over and said, “How boring for you.”
I didn’t realize I was talking to myself.
I dreamed of yard sales and getting busted. At the yard sale, everything looked tired and old and it was all of my own stuff I was rummaging through. All the remnants of my past — dusty and tired.
“How boring for you.”
How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you. How boring for you.