the first

i eat well. i choose only the finest foods. even on unemployment. i know the best burritos. i know the best fish tacos. i've tried every hamburger in marin.

today.
bran muffin from the cake shop in larkspur.

slice of willie bird turkey
1/2 kaiser roll
mayo
pepper & salt
soft, heirloom tomato

slice of willie bird turkey
1/2 kaiser roll
mayo
cranberry sauce
pepper & salt

i had some kind of stomach virus in my upper bowels last night. throwing up, etc. all i could do was lay in the fetal position in bed - heat in the house had to be turned up to 70, as i was also experiencing the chills.

i got through 8 chapters of a book. she finally found love. love that splices from her fingernails to her toenails. i haven't finished the book yet.

when i wasn't reading. i just lay there.

thinking about money. about bowels. about how aunt linda got 2 feet of her bowels removed this week. everyone is rooting for her. all of our family is convening in oregon at the farm, to help. clutching the bibles. hushing the babies.

aunt linda is my favorite. she runs the family farm. she calls me honey. says i crack her up. we bake together. uncle steve loves me too. he builds houses for her. he works in oil. he bought the farm for fun. i help him bale hay.

our bowels are so crucial. like they are the organizers. the trash. the extractors. they didn't like something i shoved down them. "fuck you". my bowels won. see, nature always wins.

rowdy lay next to me the whole time. looking at me. snoring. shifting. looking at me. snoring. breathing heavily - having his shaking dreams. looking at me. i just held him through the OK parts. and then put my back to his during the ANGUISH parts. this helped keep my back warm. i imagined my mom rubbing my back. and just breathing with a sigh after she had exhausted all efforts to make me feel better. rubbing her feet together while rubbing my back. i tell her to stop rubbing her feet together its bugging me.

i thought about how it might be nice to be someones first wife. i wouldn't mind if someone asked me to be their "first" wife.

i would make a fine first wife. cooking this. baking that. having sex whenever however. sure. walking the dogs. cutting hair. no kids. not unless our first marriage last longer than 5. and then we would start bickering. i would start making suggestions about things. little things.
"don't you know when you steam mussels that you should use a smaller pan than that? save energy."
"when you start the car, you don't need to have your foot on the clutch."
you would give me that look of despair. at one point. and then i would start to feel black. you stay away from home. i pretend to be busy.

i didn't even have the energy to turn out the lights.