three people in an apartment can be full sometimes, with roommates and girlfriends floating around and pizza boxes piling up in the recycling bin and beer bottles collecting on the living room table. a year ago I was more lenient. everything would be clean by the weekend, right? I'll clean the bathroom saturday if you clean the kitchen and you sweep the living room.
then people moved out and people moved in and now I'm living with two boys. Two Boys. Not quite grown up boys. They walk erect and have decent jobs and pay insurance on their cars regularly, but if asked even they would hesitate before attaching the label of Man onto themselves.
it's been happening gradually. i trip on beer bottles as I come in the back door, cursing "merde" and "schiesse" when the sink is so full I can't even drain pasta. posters fill the walls for movies, and i yearn for frames and a clean stovetop and to not be the only one sweeping once a week in the hallway.
am I growing up?
Does this mean I want to be a Woman, not just a woman, stuck in between school and girlhood and i'm now searching for stability and matching plates and a routine i can come back to?
i know what caused this need; i know where the insistent rolling of my gut comes from. i didn't know that it needed you to pull the bottom out holding my pieces together and leave me to pick up the different bits to realize that maybe my puzzle was put together wrong in the first place. before i fell, I found what kind of worked. I used my fist to force pieces in that might fit but really didn't. when you dumped the box of my insides out on the floor, i couldn't do that anymore. they fell out and the only way to really put them back together right is to spend time fitting them together correctly. Grooves fitting together easily, not forced this time.
I'm beginning to realize what I want now.
realize what I lost.
I'm going to take my time reassembling. Because if you help me, I want it to work this time. I want it to be for good.