I sit in bed, listening to the rattle of my apartment’s apocalyptically loud AC unit. I shift my legs every which way, because today I’ve done lots of walking and we did legs in weightlifting, and now they’re a bit sore.
A vindictive, angry man is heading the country again. I don’t read the news articles about that—I’m busy with reading sections of a book by a Jewish author for my world religions class.
I wonder how he feels about the billionaire endorsed by that angry man, who thanked the crowds with a nazi salute.
I put my laptop on my stomach as it heats up, halfheartedly hoping it will help with the cramps, because my period started today.
My roommate comes in and cracks a joke in a funny voice, and I respond in kind.
I like her. She’s a lot better than last year’s roommates.
My other two are in the living room. Parks and Rec plays at a respectful volume on the TV, unlike the volume our neighbors like to listen to music. My other roommate is struggling with her anatomy homework. I know because every few minutes, a loud “UGH!” echoes throughout the tiny space.
I just smile, because it’s lovely to have roommates that are endearing rather than enraging.
My hair prickles the back of my neck, because I got a haircut today.
That’s the shortest you’ve ever done! My stylist says. He’s right. I like it this way.
I stretch out in bed as I move on to the next reading.
One of my dear friends hung out in bed with me a few days ago. She says my bed smells like me, but I have to take her word for it because my sense of smell never really came back after COVID.
I’m going to see her again in two days, because she’s my plus one to a work party.
Anxieties about the future dance through my head as if they are hot ribbons being pulled between my ears, but they dissipate just as quickly.
I’ve promised myself that after I finish my homework I will go and have some chocolate milk.
I take a break from all that to write this, thinking about kids who missed the moon landing because they were playing outside, French citizens who spent the revolution baking bread and soothing children to sleep. I think about the ordinary cogs of my day.
They keep spinning, even while things change and often corrupt in other spheres.
What was I doing when history was made?
This, I suppose. I think that’s alright.
I wrote this yesterday, just havin’ thoughts. I was talking to Dad the other day, and we both agreed that writing was good for me just in general, and I should do more of it. I’m not entirely sure how to categorize this post: it’s not really poetry, but it’s not NOT poetry. I wrote it in my notes app on my laptop in a sleepy haze. Maybe that’s all it needs to be?
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