I know nothing of your taste.

I went home to unwind.
The stress of knowing I have to work 2 jobs this summer,
knowing I am taking 20 credit hours next semester,
hoping for the chance to work on the school magazine,
wondering when I'll have free time for friends,
for me.
It became the pinched nerve in my spine that I felt every time I straightened my back.
So I went back to a place of comfort with welcoming hugs, food, love, music.

I couldn't wear my monroe, couldn't wear a nose ring, couldn't show my tattoo (not that it ever really shows anyway).
I didn't care. Physical discomfort was bearable for a day.

I began to loosen up,
My mom got home, tired, with a kitchen full of dirty dishes.
I began to fill the dishwasher and handwash the rest that wouldn't fit,
And Michael started to play piano.
I don't know the name of the song, I don't think it matters.
He played the chords beautifully, and I worked to the rhythm, I let my shoulders down.
I wished it wouldn't stop.
The harmonious chords were interrupted by screaming discord,
Stubborn children and relationship tension,
(Which is why couples shouldn't live together unless they're married),
The playing stopped.
My thoughts went to Faulkner, Alan Moore, personal ads, Howl, laundry, ridiculous art exercises, my week streaming through my thoughts
unevenly and somewhat strategically placed
amongst dirty dishes


dirty lives.

Easter is coming up. My first Easter on my own.
I haven't been to church since school started, except for when I've been home,
And I don't want to be one of those people that only attends church for holidays.
I figure I'll read the story from the Bible, ask the Lord for forgiveness
it might take awhile.

Sometimes I think about God. About what He thinks about me. About my life.
If I'm doing the right things, if I have the right major,
if it's going to matter.
Or if I'm living through this blur for a moment of clarification to be found in death sooner than I think.
I wonder if I'll die or if I'll live through Armageddon.
I wonder what side I'll end up on.
It's hard to tell these days.
How much forgiveness am I allowed?
I know it's infinite...
I don't feel like that.

Dad walks in, says he has music for my song.
He plays my words back to me, a bit more upbeat than first imagined, not bad though.
Maybe he can slow it down some, but the melody is nice....
My words echo back to me.
"So I'm alone, I'm alone..."
They sound so right with the acoustic chords he strums,
He strums fast, like he's driving his mustang,
I can tell he feels proud. I feel proud for him.

He used to play the kitty kat song...there were three of us then.
Basically two.

Now, I see myself as the girl who played to the kittykat song as Sarah Ruth..
When I went home it took her a few minutes to recognize me,
I felt obsolete.
I was worried she would forget me, and she almost did.
I almost forgot myself.

Mom walks in, helps me wash dishes, I tell her my best friend is pregnant.
I tell her about my new room mate.
I try not to cry when she asks why I came home, and I whisper "stress."

Was it the stress?
Or was it because I don't feel like I belong anywhere?

I think it's just hormones.
Damn being a girl.