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My lizard brain wanted to keep him

But my pre-frontal cortex discovered something

But my pre-frontal cortex is quiet

As female pre-frontal cortexes should be

I knew early on that I could live without him

I knew a break up would suck

(unlike the vacuum cleaner he never ran)

But I was strong

And desirable

Until I was broken

Before the lizard got loud

I walked with confidence

Like I was the tallest person in the room

(and in those heels, I usually was)

Then, my foot dragged

And dragged

Until I could barely lift it

The Cole Haans went to the back of the closet

The loafers came out

One morning

The family wheelchair waited for me

At the bottom of the stairs

I descended the stairs

On my bum

Arms lifting and lowering

Until I got to the chair

That took me to the hospital

That turned the lizard’s volume up.

 

“No one will want you.

No one will take care of you.

You are damaged.

He’s all you have.”

He still wouldn’t run the vacuum.

 

The cortex told me I was strong

And desirable

And I would stand again

Break ups suck

Like the vacuum I learned to run

From a seated position

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I’ve been wanting to write a memoir about the times I had with my sister. I had (have) no idea how I want to go about it, how I want it to look, or how I want it to feel. I know I am tired of writing about the end of her life. I’d rather write about the living part.

When I moved out of my parents’ house and into my husband’s house, I remembered a tiny mason jar my sister gave me for Christmas one year. She called it a memory jar; it was filled with slips of paper with short phrases written on them. These phrases would trigger a memory and laughter.

I think this summer, with a number of other projects (including a hypertext), I’m going to write out the memory that each slip of paper represents. I will post the drafts here, and I hope I will get some constructive criticism  My sister’s story wants so much to be told, and I want it told right. I know I have some pretty talented people reading this. 

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bluchickenninja.com

graphic designer, bibliophile, spoonie

I Will Start This Blog. I Mean It!

Adventures in cranky essays and rhyming poetry from an unlikely single mom.