What to do when a bird gets stuck in your house

words words
3 September 2008, 3:23 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , ,
Trying to remember what it feels like to breathe within numbered space – I did it for so so long, but now this process feels like an old pair of hiking boots, once familiar, once a part of my very core – but now foreign, stiff, covered in mud from other lands. I am not generally nostalgic; time can do what it damn well wants. And yet here we are, this seven-year older woman with scars, squinting at the girl with purple dreadlocks and a screaming can of paint in her hands, ready to rent the universe, not afraid to bleed.
Uncharacteristically mid-morning. The Broadway sun laying an unflattering hand on those still shivering from night. I plot the upcoming interview, weaving words like “social justice” and “equity” as I step around the man shouting his story of being a soldier in Iraq, coming home, being shat upon until his mind broke in two. Around the native-looking woman picking up glass shards, her instrument broken into pieces of light and scattered across the path. Such hypocrisy, this – in my smart pants and mouthing sinker lines – scared to the teeth to look up, too bullheaded to admit to such helplessness.
The heat is creeping into my brain and making this grant proposal exceedingly difficult to concentrate on. When I describe myself to someone else, it seems so glamorous; I help develop programs that really will save the lives of starving children in Africa; I am part of the effort to curb HIV and malaria and a host of vowel-filled monster diseases that don’t seem to ravage rich countries. But lately each day unfolds like I was a stockbroker – egos and nastiness and growing pains I’m not patient enough to live through. And broken air conditioners, and unseasonably warm September afternoons.

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