Poem Spam.

The Rider
by Naomi Shihab Nye

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn't catch up to him,

the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.

What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.

A victory! To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slowly they fell.

Small things...

My family, for the most part, sticks to a Don't Ask, Don't Tell type policy in terms of myself and the Girl. But yesterday, yesterday my mom took a baby step.

The day before yesterday Mum got back from Lisbon where she'd been on a vacation. I hadn't talked to her since she'd gotten back, so since traffic was total crap on the 805 I decided to call her. We chatted about her trip (much fun) and what she did (drank whiskey on a ferry apparently XD) and all of that. And then, just as we were saying our goodbyes...

Mama: *hushed and almost shy* How's [the Girl]?
Me: *blink* *cell phone static must be for the auditory hallucinations* Huh? What?
Mama: How's [the Girl]?
Me: *blinkblink* *don't rearend the car in front of you because of the desperate need to flail. Or something* Oh! She's good, she's really good! Just finished her last final so we're hanging out before she goes home for Spring Break.
Mama: That's good.
Me: ...
Me: Yeah, um, it is.
Mama: Okay, well, you drive safe. We'll see you on Friday.
Me: *still all kinds of flustered* Yeah, yeah-- love you, Mama.
Mama: Me too, baby.

And then we hung up. AHJajd;jfugh....I should NOT still be this this this... this whatever it is I am about the conversation. Less than two minutes. That's what it was. But still. She. She asked how the girl was doing. Asked about her by name.

Um. Yes. I'm going to go back to my corner and be wiggly and squeeful now. ...still.