When I Grow Up…

I want to be a writer. Hitchhiking in the desert and drinking ayahuasca tea. I want to imbibe heavily, whiskey in particular, and say nonsensical things while wearing coke bottle glasses with a beaded chain. To be the one who gets invited to all the parties, dinner or otherwise. Serve me covetous love and crazed loathing. And when the train’s coming through I’ll jump on. Travel to wherever, me my thoughts and I…

“Dip your hand into the water just so your first two fingertips are damp” said sister Ana Maria to my kid brother and me that morning during catechism. I let him go first, eager to obey and prove he was a good boy, avidly making the sign of the cross while I carefully set my hand in just above The Holy water so as not to touch it. Coming from the place I had just been, a commune with God seemed sinfully unadulterated.

I listened to the sepulchral silence of the sea. So rare yet enveloping when experienced. Whether you are a sailor out in the calm before the storm or shore bound as the tide recedes back as if taking an infinitely drawn breath. It is unmistakable in its profoundness. And it never bodes well. I dreamt of killing myself once and in the dream as I poured over the intricacy of each uniquely blue vein pulsing through my wrist I began to wonder if anyone else had ever taken the time to appreciate the intimacy of their own demise. Then I made the first cut and watched the vermilion liquid run its course and join the crystalline bathwater.

There’s a fat little bumblebee  on my porch. Every morning I find him seemingly dead, yet every afternoon as the temperature raises I see him climbing the screen; it has been so for three days. Thrice I’ve tried to set him free and thrice I’ve found him lethargic and torpid in the early morning chill then humming back to life with the sun’s radiance, a tortuous dance between life and death in a prison of his own making. I decided to let him be.

I want to catalog the lives of greater human beings than I and crush the literary competition into dust. I want to speak 8 other languages, German, Spanish, Japanese, Arabic, Mandarin, French, Hindi, and Russian so I can converse with all the diverse populations of the world while I sojourn around it on a peddler’s penny making and marauding memories.

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