Finally and undoubtedly I feel grateful for my life.

March 18, 2011.

Me and my Cool Friend Fern

vowed that from this day forward
we’d refrain from puking
in our mouths
or in the toilet.


A day or two later
Fern called me
In desperation.

I was eating

an obscene amount of cantaloupe.


“Get over here,”
she said.
“I need you.”

So I went to her house
in Saint Henri
and hung out with Fern
and her emotionally fragile dogs
who drooled and farted
as Fern and I 
ate our favourite versions
of non-hazardous
green and brown foods.


I remember falling asleep

on the fresh clean white sheets

of her king's sized bed

with the television on,
the dogs snoring,
and Fern downstairs
sipping hot beverages
and perfecting
her next great advertising pitch.


By the time
it was morning
I think I had
a cold sore.


Day One,
Day Two,
Day Thirty-Three.


Day One Hundred and Seventeen.

One Year and Twenty-Nine Daysé

Four Years and Eighty-Six Days.
March 18, 2017.


Sometimes I find myself
waiting for my prize.


I guess the prize
is no more vomit.


Though every now and then I still vomit in my head
and instead of at the sun
upon the world,
my eyes keep looking at the wall.


Once I had a therapist
who thought I seemed to struggle
with life's less exciting moments
such as putting on
my pyjamas.


This does not seem
to be true
anymore
even if
I'm still me
and still here.


Emotional Digestion
is not always Spectacular,
but I love
to put on my pyjamas.
And usually,
once or twice a week,
I have the pleasant thought
that finally
and undoubtedly
I feel grateful for my life.

The End.

I love
to put on
my pyjamas.
These pyjamas
are for sale.



Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go

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Why I am like Oprah.
What does it mean to be well
Mythological Unconditional Love

My Name is Erica. I love coffee.

Regular Filter

My name is Erica.  I love coffee.  I tried to save the world by carrying around a personal re-usable coffee mug, but I dropped it while I was carrying almonds at the grocery store and it broke.  Now I have granola in my teeth.  Turns out that Buddha and Mrs. Vanden Bosch were right.  I won’t tell you how.  Like Dorothy, you’ll have to figure it out for yourself.  The Good Witch of the North can’t help you.  Neither can the Wizard of Oz.  Or me.  I. Death isn’t a challenge for Grandma Antoinette.  It’s a benediction.  But Quebec children have misery becoming adults.  And their ph levels are always changing.  Stevie Wonder was right too.

 

Americano

Direct formation.  My current vocation is to seduce the world.  Then take those sunglasses off the top of your head.  You look like Mickey Mouse.  Mickey Mouse seduced.  What was Mike Snow’s word of the day?  Friscalating.  As in friscalating darkness.  As in useless seduction.  He offered to lend me a few squares of toilet paper.  Farewell to the corn cob pipe and the button nose.  And the eyes made out of coal.  Considering how boring this course is, the teacher is in an admirably good mood.  An eye rhyme.  If your eyes were made out of coal, would you see it?

 

I love you more than spelt bread.

I love you more than cantaloupe.

 

Soy Latte

You know what’s funny?  The guy who walks around with his opera in his pockets.  He doesn’t want it to get stolen.  They call marshmallows guiBLANCS, because guimauves aren’t mauve.  Xanadu doesn’t have a Z in it I don’t think.  My horse is a kingdom and I am a terrorist.   The next thing I was going to say would have been redundant. Hillary Clinton has three L’s and how many children.  My mom has a bracelet for depression.  What’s your bracelet?  You could be diasporic or exiled and that will not make my spinal fluids boil.  Or bubble or freeze.  Migrant authors don’t celebrate the city.  And I shall celebrate nothing until this class is dismissed.

The End.

Most of this was written in 2009, on disposable coffee cups, in class.

All of the coffee cups are gone, except for the one about the Buddha and Mrs. Vanden Bosch. And Dorothy. And Grandma Antoinette.  For years, Simon kept it in his tiny apartment.  Simon is my ex-ex boyfriend who... had a relatively short and interesting life. I thought that Simon also had the God Box too, but it seems the God Box is Lost and Gone. We'd best get used to losing things. I am trying to mean this in the most optimistic way.

 

 



Coffee Cup, Courtesy of Café Myriade

 

For today's post, recycling was required. Someone offered to pay me for something, and I had to say yes, since Nose/Pubic Hair blogs and Cereal/Invertebrate Personality Quizzes have not yet proved to be very lucrative. Also, Ocean Invertebrate Personality Quizzes require a rather extensive amount of effort.

Stay Tuned.

Exuberant Bodhisattva on Facebook
Twitter: @mypelvicfloor
I Let Go, where you can read the Coffee Cup Poetry, letters to Mike Snow, and Extremely Advice

God Box
What People Really Need
Recycling Day