Some nights, I am learning, the words just do not flow as easily as I want them to.
I would like to tell you about how very tedious Wednesdays seem as I travel the long road from work to school and back again. But I cannot form the sentences quite as eloquently as I would hope.
I would like to tell you about my frigid walk to the 4 train this afternoon, and the melon-colored tabby I met along the way.
I would like to tell you about how much I miss summer in New York, how the thought occurred to me as I stood teaching a group of second graders today that the tips of my fingers would not feel warmed by the sunshine for a very very long time.
I would like to tell you about the amount of time I have spent in front of this computer over the last three days, typing out phrases like “mediated desire” and “triangulated relationships.” Luckily, I have been drinking enough coffee so that I can swim through these strung-together bits of grammar without bumping up against any sharp edges. But my mind feels a little fuzzy as a consequence.
I would like to tell you about this evening’s text-message conversation I agonized over for far longer than I would have liked. My mind is spent on crafting witty responses that seem just calculated enough to appear breezy and intelligent.
I would like to tell you how every Thanksgiving season I am hit with a wave of nostalgia that weakens me at the knees. I am the sentimental type; holidays both hurt and heal me.
I would like to tell you.