notes to self

write down flashes of dreams on crumbled receipts found in pockets, just to get it down because it might come in handy one day for that story or just because.

dreams are important

scribble the lines of poems that sound better in your head. write them down anyway because you have to at least try to aim as high as your subconscious, right?

swap sci-fi stories over bottles of craft beer in washington heights apartments owned by fly dominicanas because there’s nothing else worth doing.

eat three day old pizza with the television on mute while blogging in your pajamas because it’s wednesday and you’re doing just fine.

call your brother.

and leave a voicemail and then text him all of the hearts and pick the fuck up when he calls back.

know when to end a conversation because you need to take a nap and that nap will serve you better than pretending to listen in between yawns.

the person on the other end deserves better anyway.

count your pennies and put them in a fucking jar.

split up the dollar bills in your pocket. one for you. one for the mariachi band performing on the A train. one for you. one for the young black man reading poetry on the 2 train. one for you. one for the old woman begging on the corner and if you got a spare, give her that one too.

if your mom is still alive, kiss her on the cheek and make sure it makes a sound. cuz she’ll laugh and you need her laugh more than you think you do.

put milk and sugar in your coffee and add some cinnamon or put nothing in it and revel in the shimmer of its blackness. you’re a badass motherfucker, drinking your beautiful black coffee.

write down all of your fears, all the ones that keep you from doing the things you love. say them outloud, over and over again until none of them make sense, until you can cross them out and throw them away and know that when they rise up, you’ll be able to spit them out of your mouth and be ok.

put your phone away and sit in the dark.

water the plant that’s dying on your windowsill. sing to it and apologize for being a bad plant mother.

take a goddamn shower.

rub lotion on your ass and hips and breasts. ashy nipples are no fun. ashy nipples will hurt someone.

laugh at your own joke. laugh hard and wet yourself a little because you’re worth it.

keep her in bed with you for twenty more minutes. make sure to kiss along the curves of her skin and bones. turn off her alarm and ask for fifteen more minutes until you’ve watched the sun rise and set along her ribcage, until she’s fallen back to sleep in your arms as the clouds roll away from her forehead, until you’re sure that she knows how much you love her.

make sure her alarm is set for the right time tomorrow.

don’t ask anybody for a damn thing today.

put on a clean pair of socks. warm socks. socks that make your whole body feel safe and ready. you have this pair of socks somewhere. they’re the ones with the sharks on them.

do not respond to foolishness.

4 thoughts on “notes to self

  1. Don’t take much stock in advice columns but those are some damn good rules for living. What a soul-quenching wait for the bus!

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