Visualization

He'll handshake all my cream to froth, perfect; a dusting of cinnamon, embittered & sugarcane. The morning is now black, which is the constant forgotten sensation that circles & though in some I've felt sad over it, it's now like thank god thick. It means that the 8-5 will soon be black to black & also sweaters & gulping steam from froth-topped coffee in the shower to gain limbs gone. Spending paychecks on books from thriftstores, from used bookstores, from paper dreams - indulging in antisociality further, bedridden & fuzzy socked.  Every meal is a carb, every snack, toast. Softening the center. We want to get lost in Lynch flicks, over Chateauneuf-Du-Pape. Pick tomatoes. Mow the lawn. Holding back on the therm-rise, on pumpkin purchase, and all this waiting like good children for what? I think, for me, for this. There's all these interesting things I've held onto since Chicago in 2014: toenails blooming purple but never leaving the clutch, echoes of transcending pube pain, memory of turns, an infantile dragon, Jeptoo's legs like whimsy-sticks, and a beer in hand 5ft from the finish. There's all these interesting women who will show: a nun, an ex-stripper, 3-4x OT hopefuls, the ambitions of Radcliffe & Benoit Samuelson. We're in and out this time, having experienced it in full body last. We'll stay in a hostel the night before, monikered, "Freehand," which spoke to me like "English," like "penmanship," like "cursive," like "Community," and hopefully the romance in the urge will proffer enough of whatever that stuff is you need before you hurt - a clear head, a good meal, sweet rest.

I like evolution. I like change, and when it happens, and how sometimes it takes forever. I very well could have done some things differently that would have helped - taken time off to fully heal, drank less, did the little things more, the nurturing of body aches and relationships on pause. But everything I did I chose, and there were slight unfolds and unrolls and uncoils, and beforehand maybe I would have asked myself too many questions and floundered in indecision, but I own what I've done. I am not a martyr about my pubic pain; I clutch it, I rub it, I talk about it endlessly with the good people, I have Brad & Matthew massage the stems of adductors, there's creams, heating patches, I ultrasound it at football parties, Nikki tapes me in K-tape like a broken mug handle. I have a lot of support & so much energy going towards this baby-maker, it's pretty incredible. But I chose this. And I hope that on Sunday I will be mentally resilient enough to handle whatever bleating it coos from the depths of the V.

I will eat a hot dog, or many, donuts, frothy coffees, that finish line beer, champagne, and red canned wine. I will hopefully not poop myself, and hopefully not break my vagina completely. I will think of Al, Aly, Lydia & Ber, all breathing heavy in the shifting winds of Victoria, BC, and hopefully, I will get my time, lay down and fully believe, "You can rest now."