Sunday, July 7, 2013

the cushion

 i wanted to write something this morning. i know this because i dreamt of ex-friends last night. of running into them on the beach and trying to make small talk, awkward and forced. i woke up and turned on the oven, cracked eggs into a bowl. thought about cutting my hair short. between the blade and the basil, my finger inched forward.

there is nothing like slicing a chunk of flesh to the hinge to make you forget what you wanted to say.

what do you think of first when you hear the word 'cushion?' good, soft, comforting. someplace to rest and feel at home. or is it stagnant, sedentary, insulated, sheltered?
i feel like i'm living in a cushion right now. and i'm wondering how long i can sit here before i just plain can't get up anymore. how long i can lay down before it loses its shape and no longer looks pleasing.

i'm wondering these things because i cannot even chop herbs without losing a pound of flesh.


  1. this is perfect, so beautiful. i love your writing. --jenna

  2. Sorry about your finger! It's amazing how something like that makes everything you need and want to do so much more difficult. I'm always reminded of how lucky I am to still have all my working limbs and appendages.

    I also feel like I'm living in a cushion, and could not have come up with a better way to describe that place in life. Things are safe, comfortable, easy, but after a certain point, the lateral position, the place of rest, is no longer beneficial. I think I've reached that point and am having a hard time getting up.

    Love your writing, as always.

  3. Awww. Me and knives have the same relationship! What comes to mind for me when you say "cushion" is a relationship...a person who is the soft place to land inside a hard world. Emotionally safe, physically protective, heart mine. I want a cushion :)


use your kind words.