this imploding heart

please send reinforcements

All my birds are made of paper. Wings too delicate to resist the wind. Beaks too flimsy to peck at the frozen ground.

I'd like to order a thousand typewriter keys strung together.

All my snowflakes are rapidly melting. I'd like to show them to you, but if you breathe wrong they disappear.

Please send me a teensy bullet-proof vest lined with bubble wrap.

All my songs are pecking at their shells, but their eyes aren't adjusting to the cracks of new light. They recede into dark wet safe places under feathers.

Please send the upgrade for Jaded Cynicisim 2.0

I've got a soft, soft heart.

I've got magic in my pockets and I'm tracing your name into it's collar, but your teeth are so sharp and pointy. I want to tell you about the treasure map to the funniest joke but I worry that you'll mistake it for a napkin and blow your nose on it. I want to show you the crack in the bathtub that the monsters come out of, but monsters, unlike faries, grow an extra horn every time you don't believe.

and I've only got the fistful of magic.

and I've only got the one map.

and I've already got all those monsters with all their horns.

so I'm working on a device to protect the small and hidden things that sit quietly knitting in the four chambers of my heart. It is wordy and metal and doesn't like pink. In the meantime, please be careful with your rubber ball. This room is all made of vases.

by way of introduction

Perhaps you were wondering how I represented myself at Cake's family reunion.

Lets just say this: His entire extended family has now seen my underpants.

You knew I wouldn't let you down!

Warning! This Post May End Up Disgusting!

So maybe this makes me the worst couch-sitting/dinner eating/spit swapping buddy in the world, but after an entire week of 'I don't get sick! Have a drink of this thing of mine! Give me a kiss! Sleep in my bed even though you've got an extremely high fever and there are germs the size of gerbils crawling all over you!', Cakeypants came down with it.

I'm torn on the issue. Torn between:

"Neener Neener Nee-ner! Neener Neener Nee-ner! I'm mostly bet-ter! And You're getting si-ick! Neener Neener Nee-ner!"

and

"Shit. This means he's going to be sick and cranky all week, and I'm just too much of a sympathetic muttonchop not to be kind about it. GAA! Why can't I be more of an asshole?"

Not to mention that we're going to his FAMILY REUNION* tomorrow, which obligates his mother to hate me for infecting her little boy.

Okay, here's where the disgusting part starts. The Squeamish and those who'd rather not ruin any good opinion of me should skip the following.

DISGUSTING

So I'm at the point of post infection where all my body wants to do is get rid of all the surplus mucus it's created for it's damn self over the last few days. This means the same kind of death rattle coughing I had in the beginning, except now, I get a little prize at the end. I'm spitting out what look and feel like little balls of Brie. So my question is this: Are these circumstances such that it's okay for me to discreetly spit in public, if I don't spit where someone is going to walk? Any post-Idaho ettiquette I've developed says 'No, probably not', but I'm really hoping there's a 'You Had The Shittiest Cold Ever, Spit At Will' clause.

/DISGUSTING

*I'm totally starting to panic about this Day With Boy's Entire Extended Family thing. Doesn't meeting the family usually put kids on the fast track to breakup? Whatever. I'm in love with the girl at the thai place on Brodadway, anyway.

Bow down before the one you serve.

Cake gave me his old television.

It is color.

I cannot look away.

Sick Sad Sorry, Happy Happy Birthday, Baby.

I'm sitting, ironing, in the livingroom in a slip and an up-do when the phone rings (10 minutes early. Punctuality runs in both directions in my world.). I cant find the damn phone, and I can't run down the stairs in my half-undressed because my nose is running and your parents are waiting and you're holding your old television set by the downstairs buzzer, calling out to them. "She's been sick. She must be sleeping. I'll ring her again."

Shit shit shit.

I pull on a brown polyester skirt and a black record store hoodie and run down three flights of stairs. I can't breathe through my nose.

"Hi. I'm not quite ready, but I'm more ready than I look."

All the way up the damn stairs you tell me "You don't have to come, they won't be upset. You're sick. Stay Home and Sleep. Why do you have to prove everything?"

and the combination of the word 'Everything' and the immense pressure in my sinuses and ears makes me snap at you, which I very rarely do.

"DONTYOUTELLME DONTYOU DONT!"

I look at my hands and realize that I've moved my thumbs from the holding position (by first finger) to the striking position (curled in front of fist).

"Gaa. I'm sorry." I push my hands against my eyes. "Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I just need a second, okay?"

Believe me, my little outbursts are just as much of a suprise to me as they are to you. I pull the freshly ironed black cotton skirt around my ankles before I realize that I still have the brown one on. Rinse. Repeat. I finish dressing in less than a minute. All implications point to 'forgiven' when I brush a loose hair off the back of your neck, and your muscles bend to meet me. (You do that in your sleep. If I set my hand on your hip, all of your energy shifts slightly toward me. I can't explain it, because you don't really move more than a centimeter, but that centimeter seems to murmur 'You. I know you.')

Your parents are sweet and knowlegeable. Your father opens and closes the door for me, as you do for your mother. We drive through downtown.

("That's the new courthouse."
"Library."
"I like it."
"I wish it were more stoic. Less spacecraft."
"Sing me a birthday song."
"Okay.")

The restaurant gives us the best seat in the house. Table in the corner surrounded by glass out over the water. Seattle skyline on the left, Sound Sunset in back. You couldn't fake that smile if you tried.

"I've got the best girl and the best parents at the best table in the best world!"

Happy birthday, Cake.

Regular exposure to insecticides has caused me to break out in hives

Listen, sugarpie. I know you're sick. Everyone's sick. Tiny roomate and I watched the entire Fox lineup last night without any V-hold because neither of us was capable or willing to do anything but lay in bed and bemoan our emminent deaths.

And since most of us no longer live with our mothers, I'm here to fill in. Please read this to yourself in your best "Sonya loves me and is only interested in taking care of me" voice.

Feel free to print it out:

Oh, Honey! I'm so sorry you're sick. It's just the worst, isn't it? I know. You just cozy up on the couch here and I'll bring you some chicken Pho and a jug of orange juice. Here's that nice flannel quilt grandma made, lets just tuck you in around the sides and get you set up with 'The Price Is Right' and some daytime soaps. There you go. (here's the part where you smooth the hair around your ears. Go ahead and try it, it's really suprisingly soothing.) You'll feel better in no time flat. I'll take good care of you."

Now, I know this is nothing compared to mom or significant other ACTUALLY being there and doing nice things for you, but it's sure a hell of a lot better than getting your own damn soup while no one says anything to you at all because you look like a walking apocalypse.

Remember to wash your hands!

Things that happened

Paul and I called the police on the same day! This continues to prove my theory.

On National Talk Like A Pirate Day, I woke up, walked up to my mom who was folding things and watching the telly, and said:
"Argh, ye scurvy landlubber! I be making some hotflaps, would ye care to imbibe with a sailors old soul?"

and she said...

"Um. ....Aye? Aye Aye?"

Thus proving, once again, that my mom is rad. ("We do not understand this child, and yet we nurture her nonsensical ideas.")

Tiny Roomate and I tried hard to go to Whole Foods. Took many wrong busses. Had a long conversation with a German intern. Ate cheese on the sidewalk while waiting for the wrong bus.

Now why'd you have to go and take away my good news day

FOREWARD: my mothers monitor is very old and I can't see what I"m typing. Also, I hate to edit. Please don't punish me.

I'm so annoyed. I'm the kind of annoyed that, later in my life, I might discover is not annoyance at all, but either anger, or fear, or sadness, but the part of me that likes to keep things managable prefers the term annoyed. I'm annoyed.

I had a perfect day, really. Mom and I took the 2 hour drive over to my sisters house in the middle of farm land, whiere my tiniest nephew 'read' (see: recited) me The Burnstein Bears and The Spooky Old Tree. My sister and I rolled our eyes at the same things, and my oldest nephew, who currently has a broken arm, explained the Junior High football game to me.

|Nephew: "See how that guy fell because the guy hit him from the back? That's not allowed."

Sonya: "For safety?"

Nephew: "Um, maybe, but mostly you really don't want to push a guy more in the direction he's already going. Sometimes your own guys knock you down."

Sonya: "So this is actually a game that's all about cutting your losses."

He scratches his forehead with his cast (|#4 since the beginning of this summer, he won't let anyone sign it until Bonnie Somebody signs it. crush.) "Yeah, pretty much."

They lose the game, but my first-grader nephew walks me back to the car.

S: "Are you my escort?"

First-grade Nephew: "Whats escort?"

|S: "You keep me safe."

First-grade Nephew: "Guess What? I know karate."

Mom and I took I-90 home after dinner, listened to some soft rock, talked about her trip to Hawaii, 20years ago.

Here comes the part that ruins it.

So i"m driving 20 MPH into the neighborhood I grew up in. We pass a little civic with a headlight out, and as soon as it's beyond us, it flips a U-ey and follows us. Not like 1 car pace behind following, but like one burrito of distance between bumpers. My neighborhood is out of city limits, so there are no streetlights. and people go to bed early. I slow to 15MPH on the little main road. They keep pace directly behind. I start to think that it's got to be someone mom knows, so I don't really mention it to her until we get to the house. I pull into the drive and leave the car running, lock the doors. The car that was following us idles across the street and turns their lights off.

S: "Mom. Stay in the car. Do you see that car there? Do you know who that is? They've been following us."

M: "Turn the lights off."

|I turn the lights off and wait for them to make their move. Nothing.

S: We're not going inside. Seatbelt fastened?"

I pull the station wagon out of the drive and into the culdesac. The car follows directly behind us. Halfway back down the main stree they pull off into the side street. (by the house where NIc Mazali lived in 3rd grade. I had a crush on nic.). I continued up the street to the big 1/8 mile roundabout. Coming back down the main street i noticed them idlling again where they had pulled off. I pulled up next to them to see if I could see who was inside. (we're in IDAHO here, remember.) they gunned the engine and pulled away.

I had no idea the station wagon had that much get up and go. We followed them to a stop sign where they had to at least pause. I made their license plate number and make into a little song and pulled away.

S: "I'm calling 911"

M: "Oh, they'll be so annoyed, wont they?"

S: "Mom, this is why you pay your taxes. So that when someone follows a lady who traditionally lives by herself home, she can call the police."

M: "I guess."

So I called 911, and explained the situation, the make, the color, the plates. "And they should be fairly easy to stop, the front right headlight is out."

911 op: "Do you want us to send a car around?"

S: "A swing-by to make sure things look normal would be nice if someones in the area later."

911: "Will do."

I hung up the phone and hugged my mom.

Mom: "I supose it was just kids fooling around."

Sonya: "THe world isnt much for that kind of fooling around anymore, mom."

sorry to blow in and out like a billows,

but I'm much too busy telling my mom how much I hearts her while she puts my hair up in pincurls,petting the old drooly cat, and going to my nephew's first JV football game.

You could still gush about your crush, though. I'll getcha back.

hearts,

sjet

or in my absinthe

Here's what you can do to amuse yourselves in my absence:

1: Read what's available of Josh's Totally Fucking Addictive Novel and bask in it's glory.

2: Watch the new TEEN GIRL SQUAD! at Homestarrunner.com

3: Shop for stuff people are selling at Craigslist, drool over weird things that sort of work.

4: Write me some email telling me all about who you've got a crush on, or whatever. I heart email.

Over the river

Dear Pookie-Pies,

I've just purchased a ticket to fly on an airplane. I'm going to mother's and I won't be back until some-time next week. I've ironed your shirts and stacked them in the microwave, just like you like them. Look both ways. Change your underpants. Stay out of the top file drawer.

I'll send corrospondence from the house on Cottonwood Street.

With kind regards and clean dishes,

Sonya

Exactly how it happened:

It's 5:45am and a sleepover day, which means that I've pulled the down comforter over my head so that he can turn the bathroom light on and off at will. In my head, I'm singing to myself: Trees swayin' in the summer breeze, showin off their silver leaves as we walk by and trying to remember what part of Rushmore has that song in it. I spidey-sense him before he jumps on the bed, all knees and elbows and bike helmet, so I pull my limbs out of the way in time.

"Sonya, wake up. Something tragic has happened."

I take the blanket off my head and squint at him against the light.

"What?"

"John Ritter died!"

It takes me a second to remember who John Ritter is (give me a break, it's early.) "The guy from Three's Company?"

"Yeah, and he's got that show with those daughters now. Just keeled over! Isn't that weird?"

"He's pretty young still. What happened?"

"I dunno. Go back to sleep."

So dont you know, that it hurts me so to say goodbye to you-oo-oo-oo. Wish you didn't have to go. Oh no no no.

And then I hear it from the other room.

"OH MAN! NO WAY!"

Again, spidey-sense. Retracting limbs. Pounce. He's on all fours, looking straight down at me.

"Sonya! You're not going to believe this!"

"mmmmm?"

"Johnny Cash died today too!"

This one actually makes me sit up in bed.

"Are you serious?"

"Dead serious."

"That's nuts, cake. Totally nuts."

"It's a bad day to be named John."

His helmet bumps against my forehead when he kisses me goodbye and his bike gloves are cold against my jaw.

So when the rain streaks across my window pane, I'll think of summer days again, and dream of you. and dream of you.

Inspired by Logan and Tim's screenplay.

SCENE: Your office, or home computer, or wherever you're reading this.

A door bursts open and SONYA WALKER enters at a full gallop. She skids to a stop next to your chair as though she were wearing ice skates and begins to sing in a commercial announcer voice:

SONYA
"Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit's The Fi-irst Day of Kneesock Season! Kneesock Season! Kneesock Season! The Fi-irst day of Kneesock Season and I've got them on! Everybody!

All the doors and windows and nooks and crannies of your space seem to produce furry little LEPRECHAUNS dressed in white sequins with some form of kneesocks on. It's terrifying to you because it's actually happening TO YOU instead of you thinking about it happening to someone else, in which case it's very funny. The LEPRECHAUNS sing backup to SONYA's continued kneesock song.

LEPRECHAUNS

'Doo Wop! Kneesock! Doo Wop! Kneesock! etc.........'

SONYA
You can wear them in the snow! They will tell you where to go! You can wear them with your pants! They will make you want to dance! You can wear them 'cause it's cold! Wearing kneesocks - never old!
Dont'cha wanna wear them?

LEPRECHAUNS
Yes you do!

SONYA
You know I wanna wear 'em too!

the song ends and everyone is posed various 'Jazz Hand' positions around the room, except you, who is staring at SONYA with a confused and terrified expression on your face. There is a moment of uncomfortable silence. The LEPRECHAUNS start to shuffle in various single file lines back into their nooks and crannies. SONYA shifts uncomfortably for a moment before speaking.

SONYA
"Um....There was supposed to be a helicopter that bust through the roof here and carried me away on a neon rope scented with lime wedges, but we couldnt quite swing that in the budget after all those sequin costumes. So.....HOLY SHIT! LOOK OVER THERE!"

You do not look away as sonya tries to dart out the door, but gets slightly hampered with the handle. She finally figures it out and leaves.

THE END.

I don't know why I won't let you read my notebooks.

There isn't anything in them, really. Notes to myself scribbled in a drunken frenzy. Phone numbers with no names. Appointments that were entirely forgotten because they were written in a notebook instead of on my wrist. Grocery lists. Errored Tabulations. Dress designs. Directions to parties. Open letters addressed to 'Boys I went to High School With' or 'Cop at the Grocery Store who Carries a Gun'.

but it takes everything I have not to drop my water glass and tackle it out of your hands when I walk in the room and you're casually flipping through. I snatch it out of your hands like a child unwilling to share instead. The word comes out of my mouth like a rock dropping into mud.
"Dont."

You sit with your hands face open, amazed at my ridiculous display.

"What's in there that I can't read?"

"Nothing."

"....Whatever. You know how I think life oughta be lived."

and I do. 'Like a pane of glass' you always tell me. 'I live my life like a pane of glass. You can see everything just as it is.'

but I already feel so breakable. I need to have secret steel trusses built in. Steel trusses made out of all the bad things I want to write. All the dull things I want to say. All the IHateYouIHateYouIHateYou's I don't mean. And you're just not allowed to look at those. Just because I say.

Someones in the kitchen with dinah

Dear New Kitchen,

I love that you are big enough for one person to be making chicken, one person to be baking brownies, and one person to stand and eat cereal out of the box all at the same time. I also enjoy sitting on your counters and listening to my downstairs neighbors talking about how everyone is going to Prague these days.

love,

Sonya

She'd hug aquaman if she had the chance

I can't believe I got all mishy mashy when i could have been telling you about The Magical Trip To The Aquarium that I took with Cake and his delightful mother.

WARNING: The following entry will contain exclaimation points in relation to nature as well as poorly remembered factoids. Do not place in mouth.

The aquarium has this glass upright cylinder that you can walk through where the Jellyfish live. One side is just natural lighting so you can stand on the inside of the O and watch the jellies swim, the other side has softly rotating colored lighting that makes those beauties change color. An old man volunteer delighted in telling me all about their digestive systems while thoroughly observing my breasts. Thanks, lecherous old guy!

Did you know that seahorse boys take the eggs from the ladies and the babies live inside the dads until they're ready to be born. The dad's give birth for 2 days! I'd never actually seen a seahorse in person. They're about the most fantastic things ever, with their little paper-fan flipper on their necks and their tails grabbing on to the grasses to rest. The only thing to usurp them were the Sea Dragons. They're like giant sea horses with these wild spindly things that look like branches growing out of them. They're freaking huge! Size of my arm! Would be absolutely terrifying if they could fly!

We sat in the fish dome for a while and watched the SCUBA guys feed eels as long as my livingroom and man eating salmon and sticky sea anemones. I like to alternate between staring fixedly at the fish and sneaking glances at the plethora of fat babies in strollers who's parents are trying to get them to notice the fish swimming around, but who are generally more fascinated by trying to eat their shoes. There was also a tremendous starfish who was slowly digesting a fish by laying on it, but it made it look like the fish was taking a little nap with the starfish as it's blanket. Awww!

FACT: Babies are great. Particularly babies I am not responsible for, but am able to observe while they act adorably.
FACT: Fish do not like starfish as blankets.
FACT: I totally caught cake waving to the fish when he thought no one was looking. Also adorable.

Otters have the same number of hairs on one square inch of their bodies as grow on 40 human heads.

We Heart The Aquarium! Even Though It Makes Us Slightly Seasick for Some Reason!

(Thanks To These Sites: http://www.wsg.washington.edu/story/storyarchives/blinks.html
http://mzsrv.zoo.org.au/emblems/safish.htm
http://www.calacademy.org/research/izg/SFBay2K/brown%20anemone.htm
For Pictures of Sea Life)

20 20 24 hours ago...

There's this kind of release that comes when it finally rains. I've got all these ideas that were robust and healthy in winter and spring, but the sun does something to them. Without the water they shrivel up and slip between the couch cushions, so when I open my mouth, nothing but an uncomfortable stutter comes out. I spent all summer trying to write a song, but it got caught in my throat and came out as a gagging cough. I spent all summer trying to write a nice letter, but it came out as a rent cheque and a deposit slip.

but yesterday, sitting at the bar as the boys watched the game and my favorite waitress and I sang along to the 'bam bam ba-bam ba-bam bam ba-bam I wanna be sedated', the most fantastic thing happened. Rain started to fall on the top outcrop windows and I found myself short a sweater. I borrowed a pullover hoodie from cake and looked at our reflection in the barback mirror. The reflection of water sliding down the outside windows and the cold breeze coming in the side door flipped a switch in the back of my neck. My vocabulary blinked hazily from under it's bedspread. My theory about the magic contained in small boats stretched it's neck and yawned. My want for catchy little ditties about uncertainty and tiny devotion sat straight up in bed.
Don't you take me to the airport. Don't you put me on a plane. Don't you hurry hurry hurry before I go insane. I've had enough of this sedation. Keep the rain coming please.

Try to kiss her I bloody my nose

To A Percentage of The Drivers,

This is not a bitchy pedestrian complaint. This is a gentle reminder of the law.

In Seattle, pedestrians have the right of way when crossing from corner to corner. Not to mention in a painted crosswalk. If you see one waiting and there are cars behind you, please stop. If one is crossing in front of you with such timing that you won't even have to stop, just slow down for 4 seconds, please do not maintain consistent speed and instead flash your lights and honk your horn. It takes about as much effort to put your foot on the brake as it does to put your hand on the horn.

To the driver who threatened my life yesterday: Someday it might be your daughter.

Respectfully yours,

Sonya

If you love it, set it free, if it loves you, it will come back.

Yesterdays shopping trip was the best shopping trip in the history of mankind and shopping trips. Though Tiny Roomate and I were both a little Flip Flops and a Tanktop Skanktastic yesterday (it was HOT, yo.), we were feeling Brilliant and Insightful. I'd love to let you in on our brilliance, but it's top secret and dorktastic. Top secret information speckled with statements like "It's exactly like being bad at math or colorblind. It just so happens that some people are born that way. OOH! Onions!"

and

"Sooonnnyyaaaa....think about this. Are you only buying those because they're two for a dollar?"

"But! They're so economical!"

"you've got to fight the urge, baby. you've got to get over this thing."

But the really amazing thing about the shopping trip is this.

A few months ago, The Fat Boys and I sat around in my old apartment in our new matching underwear and ate coconut Fruit a Freeze bars dipped in burbon. Those bars were possibly the best things I'd ever put in my mouth ever, only to be de-throned when a bike messenger lets me bite his delicious calf. I went back to the grocer that day only to find that there was only one box left. One box of fruit a freezes next to a hundred boxes of a similar-yet-horrifyingly-inferior brand.
They were cycling out my beloved frozen treats.
I went to every fucking grocery store in town. I put out watches with people in faraway neighborhoods. I rummaged through a hundred frozen good sections to no avail. They were gone.
We tried to replace them. Tiny Roomate came home with every frozen coconut item Uwajamaya carried (this is an astoundingly high number of items.) I limped along on Happy Time Coconut Frozen Fruit Treats and Whole Fruit Coconut Bars Of Evil.

Until Yesterday.

Yesterday, as I was surveying the frozen vegetable selection, Tinnious Roomateous, the Goddess of Frozen Coconut Items came around the corner bearing a gift from Olympus in each hand. I fell to my knees before Her Holiness and averted my eyes from Her glory. They had been returned to me. My delicious frozen treats had come back to the one who loves them.
I turned to the deity. "How is this possible?"

"Thou shalt not know the mysteries of the frozen foods. Thou shalt give thanks and delight in these creamy delicious bars, so sayeth the Goddess."

And there was much rejoicing.

Delicious, coconutty, rejoicing.

'Don't you put that in my ear!'

Maybe it's fucked up. ...I don't really know.

but when we watch a movie and you sneak your pinkie toward my nostril like a twelve year old, and we end up on the floor, both my hands wrapped around your wrist as your finger hovers, menacingly close, and I'm screaming "If you put your finger in my nose I'll blow snot all over your hand!! Don't you even fucking think for a second I wont do it, assface!!!"
thats how I know you like me.

Maybe one day I'll be the kind of girl who considers only kisses and hugs and trinkets affection, and will never ache for an indian burn. Maybe I'll be disgusted at bruises acquired in the "Why're you hitting yourself?" game and insist on holding your hand in the grocery store. Maybe someday I'll have somebody and never have to resort to biting them in order to get them off me so I can answer the phone. But I wouldn't hold my breath. Mom and Dad were affection with kisses and hugs and verbal affirmation. Mom's affection came in meals and crafts and songs. Dad's affection came in pranks and fishing trips and holding me down by my shoulders and dangling a sliver of spit over my face, sometimes swinging it around like a pendulum. If I came with a card of instructions, somewhere on it there would surely be the following statement:
"Not to be trusted with rubber bands or in indian leg-wrestling matches."