Going to be a real scorcher
Lies the weatherman tells.
Weather app predicts it'll be a hot one today, again. In the nineties, it says, with a š„µ emoji.
And then it turns out not to be. Instead, the weather rolls in gloriously. In the low-gentle 80's, soft breeze to prevent stagnation and grease.
This has become a consistency since I moved to California. Whatever I've been told things will be, turns out to be wrong.
I think I exist on another planet, mostly.
I talk to a friend in the same timezone, but her location it's dark by 8pm and mine the sun has only just finished peaking.
Red meat is supposed to kill you. But it's the only thing that healed me.
Too many days I'd turn to my ex and say, "it feels like we're still tripping."
I realized today that I can now make chicken soup and something about that also heals me.
Supposedly I caught swine flu back when that was a big deal. Long before covid. Two weeks on the couch sick as hell. Ended up with pneumonia, had an asthmatic reaction to the prescribed inhaler, and couldn't stop vomiting.
My mom made me homemade chicken soup. Hers is the best, and I couldn't tell you exactly what the magic is, just that it's her magic in that soup.
And I barfed that up too.
Funny, because it was an important thing at the time and now completely irrelevant. I've lived through other experiences in order to generate other stories. You have to evolve with the times.
Driving home yesterday, an old woman walking down a hill of a driveway to her mailbox. And she looked just like every hunch-backed old lady I'd ever seen growing up.
Except, back then she would've been the age I am now.
There's strong potential I'll become the hunch-backtress too one day.
We're all more alike than we are dissimilar.
Still thinking about being an eyeball trying to look at itself.
No wonder we're all looking for ways to consider ourselves broken. Contortionists can get arthritis too. Funny enough, they probably all have Ehler-Danlos.
