It’s a quiet night, and I want<\/i>. Overwrought? Yes. Melodramatic? Perhaps. Deeply felt? Always. But I don’t really care who knows. Actually, that’s a lie.<\/p>\n
Like every other night, I let the warm water wash over me in the shower, turning this way and that, lathering up with the bar of Dial. Tonight, I moved haltingly, sometimes placing my hands against the tiles surrounding me, sometimes leaning my head under the stream of water face first until it flowed down the back of my neck, head turned down. Finished, I pulled back the shower curtain, brow set and a little furrowed, mouth pursed. I stood there, dripping, and then reached for the towel. I dried myself off in the same pattern I always do, dressed, and stepped out into the room, drier air pulling the moisture off my skin with a welcome chill. I moved over to the computer for the last time before really preparing for bed, and here I am, breathing. And breathing. And breathing again. Sometimes my eyes close, and I think. Sometimes my hand reaches up and supports my chin, buried down into my palm, legs crossed, a mobile of self stretching to the floor, balanced, at least outwardly. I turn my head away from the monitor and think. And think. And think some more. Soon, I will rise, floss, brush my teeth, and crawl under the sky blue blanket that covers my bed, holes and all (in the blanket, that is). After setting my alarms, of course. I will read; I will pray; I will turn out the light, fall asleep, and dream of bizarre constructions of events and people on the fringe of my consciousness, all but disappeared until some entity snatches them back into the limelight, if only for a night, since who knows whether I’ll remember them in the morning. My thoughts will return then; nothing’s certain to stay from the night. And the coming-around to this moment will begin again.<\/p>\n
I used to chide my parents for not taking enough pictures of our daily lives. It seemed they only unearthed the camera for occasions like birthdays, holidays, and substantial gatherings of friends, but during those summer afternoons and fall evenings that passed far too quickly, it was absent. I can’t quite put into words why that was significant to me, having some semblance of a record of our day-to-day. But I attached value to it; that much I know.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
It’s a quiet night, and I want. Overwrought? Yes. Melodramatic? Perhaps. Deeply felt? Always. But I don’t really care who knows. Actually, that’s a lie. Like every other night, I let the warm water wash over me in the shower, turning this way and that, lathering up with the bar of Dial. Tonight, I moved […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/698"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=698"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/698\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=698"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=698"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.boldulysses.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=698"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}