Yesterday I wore soft white-washed blue jeans for three hours in the morning, and my dear friend with the same name as my sister who I have known for years commented, Oh! I’ve never seen you in jeans.
I only have one pair.
I eventually changed into a dress to explore downtown Chicago and pined to be alone and artful after a few days of a crowded room of trouble-shooting, humor, love, wine and whiiiine.
Everything about abortion. Abortion is life.
I wanted to see the Lake. I wanted to reach the point where the water began—vast and humongous so I could give myself to the sky. The skyscrapers align to delight the beholder of eyes most impressed with invention and geometrical complexity, art in a most unique form. Solid, crisp, authentic. The bean. Everything. Everything is huge.
I venture to cities all about the country and discuss amongst a limited and expertise tight-knit community—Abortion. Abortion occurs so often—sometimes celebratory, sometimes tragedy, always everything in-between, always amongst so many different and beautiful people that I am exposed to so much of everything in my daily aspirations, always during these disszcusszions.
I feel as though I could stretch into even more than two.
The lake is open and blue, and yes, clear, and sailboats float, and the clouds collect in patterns, and everything is open. Everything is flowing and brisk and fresh. Everything in the sky, in the lake. There are glass towers then quirky sculptures, a Blues festival and fountains like islands. Then all of sudden there’s The Sea.
I gave myself to the damp grass, the woven sky, the lively lake.
Gave everything to everything. Artfully / naturally. Super natural deities. My most casual dreams.
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