spoons

I keep trying to collect my thoughts.

I keep wanting to SUM IT UP.

To say,

here is what I have learned, and this is what I've felt, and this is what people are like sometimes, and goodness how time passes so so so quickslowquickly, and isn't the world so fucking confusing.

SO FUCKING CONFUSING.

But there's just too much.

It's impossible to sum up.

I started working in a restaurant as a hostess, and so far, my favorite part of the job is drying the silver. I like that there is a big box of wet knives and forks and THREE different kinds of spoons, and all I have to do is wipe them dry. And once I have dried them I have accomplished something:

I DRIED THOSE SPOONS.

I like that. I like the tactile simplicity of it. It is not complicated. It does not require my brain. And I like that the restaurant hums around me, and I dry spoons and loose myself in just being.

I like that I can just be.

I don't have a recipe for you. I have not been cooking. How I miss it.

What I really wanted to say is: I'm still here.

I am 19 years old and 2 months today.
I do not know where I am going.
I don't know what I'm doing.
And I don't know what's going to happen tomorrow or the next day.
I know that I like to sing and I like to dance and I like to write and I like to talk and I like to be hugged and I like to be kissed and I like to be loved and I like to eat and I like people and I like you and I like being.

And I like drying spoons.