12

this morning was rainy and dark, and cold for phoenix. before i could even get all the way dressed, i was excited about being able to spend the day with the living room doors open. when i went to get coffee, i thought about last year and how every memory of that fall / winter is one with the same thing in the background or foreground or somewhere, and i wondered how people were and if they were awake. i got the cinnamon latte because i wanted to be seasonal. i took a picture of my shoes while i waited in line. the bottom of my pants got wet from the puddles and when i got home i put on pajama pants and threw the wet ones in the dryer.

i opened both doors and considered toast but ultimately decided against it. i sat cross-legged in the middle of the sofa and waited for the computer to turn on and remembered taking that picture of my notebook on the coffee table (i took it so many times before it was perfect), and how football games tasted like stale beer last year and how much i would've given for snow or rain or even just some really strong winds then. i thought about how i would text [person] when it rained or when i went for groceries.

i was sad for a little while, remembering how i'd lived on that sofa for months and had just floated there. i thought i'd known what other lives had looked like while i was on my raft (i'd called it a boat then - now i see it for what it was), but i'm not sure, actually, because that seems far away and i don't trust as much these days unless it's right in front of my face.

i wrote some things down on paper and looked at them while i drank the coffee. i moved on to a few emails and realized that i was doing that thing where i write in my head instead of think about what i'm supposed to be thinking about, so i went back to the paper.

last year i was interested in other people's winters [1] and i asked for photos of the world outside your windows and you sent them [2]. i would've gone anywhere with you then. you could've taken me anywhere.

you did, actually. but for the most part i just floated on the sofa.

things have changed since then because that's what things do. floating seems to always be an option because my life is weird, but this time i don't want to float.

you know the scene when the person who can't swim falls in, and they immediately panic and start splashing and screaming, and someone else yells, "just stand up!" so they put their feet down and there they are - standing?

i mean, what if this is like that.