the rose of kiev

All my sweatshirts and skirts and jackets are hanging in the furthermost corner of the closet. The giant tupperware containers I bought 2 days ago are nestled perfectly under my bed and full of my shoes. My dresser drawers are full and organized. My laundry bag is starting to fill up. My journals are in the short bookshelf at the foot of my bed. My books are an armslength away from my computer just outside the bedroom door. My shampoo bottles are starting to show empty space just below the line of the lid. My tube of toothpaste is starting to have a 2-dimensional feel about it. I have a half-eaten green pepper in the upstairs fridge, right next to an egg carton missing two eggs. My boxes of cereal have empty space when I shake them. My bananas are starting to spot with age. The piece of twisted plastic keeping my bag of bread fresh keeps lengthening as my bread supply shrinks. It's my turn to do the dishes tonight and I used the smaller skillet to make scrambled eggs for lunch; it...

It's not quite noon and the house will be quiet for a few more minutes; my mother and stepfather will be out of church soon and asking me if I'm ready to go, my dad and brother will be back from their errand, and my teeny-bopper sister will be awakened from her mid-morning nap. Once my family begins to build momentum for the day I'll have to start making phone calls to let people know that things are in motion. I am leaving so much stuff - just STUFF - behind at my parents' houses. I've been downsizing and downsizing my wardrobe (which got surprisingly big with two bedrooms to grow in) and I'm afraid I still have way too much packed. I probably do, it's in my genes. You should see my father's mother when she packs for a week-long vacation out of state. You'd think by the size of her multiple bags she's going to clothe all the needy in a fifty-mile radius and still have a different outfit for every day. It's weird - it's been five years si...

2 days ago I had a coffee date with the girl "in charge" of the house I'll be moving into this Sunday. Snuggled down in a sweatshirt over a white chocolate mocha during a drizzly afternoon we went over last minute details to make sure she and I were on the same page. As we wrapped everything up, she told me to wait and dashed to the car; coming back in with a polka dot gift bag I had only eyes for what lay behind the curled red ribbon tying the two handles together: two shiny silver keys. Inside the bag was a beautiful red journal and a heap of candy from all the girls to welcome me into the house, but I couldn't get over the feel of those keys in my hand with fresh cut grooves. I marveled at the sight of them threaded onto my keychain as Sarah Brasse's eyes danced from across the table. I looked up, feeling the warmth of the mocha spread from my abdomen to my fingers and toes and the ends of my hair. "It's real, isn't it?" I said. "It's...

I've always hated the feeling that comes with watching the cursor blink with boredom on a clean computer screen. Nothing seems to mock me more than to have the space to say something and have nothing to say. I've been getting that response frequently lately and after talking with mom I think it might be because my darn medication is not quite up to snuff. It's definetely closer to par this time around but something is still off, something subtle. I suppose I'll have to wait until my October "follow up appointment" to see if we need to up the ante as far as dosage. For the first time ever I gave into what I've always felt to be a morbid impulse: I poked about online for information about my thyroid. Although thoroughly entertained by the fact that my condition going untreated in men gives them temporary bosoms, I couldn't tune out my frustration at my own body. I am stuck with this. It is going to mess with me my whole life. I am going to be dependent o...