The Avocado and Me

I don't know how to talk about what's going on in the world. I don't know how to talk about the police brutality and the deaths and the looting. I don't know how to talk about the hatred and the racism and the horrible shit I hear about every single day: Hello, I'm Korva Coleman, NPR News. Today, protests across America.... I don't know how, and I'm not comfortable because I don't know how to say the right things in the right way. But we need to talk about it. I am white. I am female. I am disabled, but I pass. I am well-off, socially and economically. I live in a democratic country, have access to education and health care, and am more concerned with finishing homework assignments than worrying over what I'll eat for dinner. If I'll eat for dinner (winner, winner chicken). To put it plainly, I am extremely privileged, and everything that's happening has made me reevaluate that privilege. We have to check our privilege, constantly. 

I sort of feel like I'm wading through a giant vat of chocolate pudding. Hot, sticky, sweaty chocolate pudding. That's how summer always feels to me, but hey, I will endure scorching sunshine and wasps flying into my bedroom if it means fall will come. There's a lyric in one of my favorite songs from this month (Maine by Noah Kahan) that goes something like this: you don't hate the summers/ you're just afraid of the space. Chocolate pudding aside, this lyric really struck a chord. I think what I dread so miserably about the next three months is all of the hazy monotony that comes with leisure. Drifting has never been something I'm particularly good at, so I'll have to create projects for myself, but that seems like a lot of work. And so my cycle of purposelessness continues; misery, realizing that misery can be easily remedied, and deciding that the easy remedy requires too much effort. Maybe I just don't like who I become during these months. Maybe i

Last day of school: March 12th, 2020. It was an A day. For breakfast, I had gluten-free banana peanut butter chia seed toast. My schedule was English, Choir, Theatre, and AP World History. I read Macbeth, sang "Faith" by George Michael, had brussel sprouts for lunch, acted out The Importance of Being Earnest , and discussed empires in early modern transition. I didn't do my homework that night because I knew. Last place I went: Barnes and Noble, with my parents. Abby didn't want to go, because she always spends too much money at bookstores. At this point, masks weren't very prevalent. I bought 1Q84  by Haruki Murakami. I had a grande latte.  Last place I walked: the library. I had a new routine of going there everyday, after school. I'd read and do homework and have a coffee, and then I'd walk home. Passed ant hills and three churches and one grocery store and lots of dust and bus stops. There was a lady who sat at the table next to me, wearing a

there is very little matter between the skin and bone of the elbow.  if you listen really close, everything hums. once, we peddled to the mall to get cups of peach soup and it was better than ice cream. the lights in the hallways are too bright  fountains.  Laughter feels hollow and thick and sticky and i  am wading away and i  cold showers i  am i am i am the punctuation differs daily. victory comes in the shape of rice flour. are you, when was the last time, really, why not? the only reason i get out of bed is to water a singular plant with a singular leaf. that plant has saved me many times. stage fright matures like a ripe cheese and definitions are not stagnant. we are different people for different people. i didn't realize truth could expire, and i am sorry. the worst part of theatre is after, when there are so many and so much and all i want is to go and as soon as i go i wish i'd stayed. cold wood floors and kombucha, it is disgusting. i remember m