Step 1: Learn to say no.

I'm going to be a regular person soon. I'm going to go to bed at a reasonable hour. I'm going to get daily exercise and hydrate often. I won't drink. I'll eat a high-fiber diet and take long, luxurious dumps three times a day. I'm going to get a subscription to the New York Times and recite interesting tidbits to the simpletons who only get the local news. I'm going to pay my bills on time because I'm going to have a good job. Maybe something to do with helping people or real estate. I'll wash my sheets every Sunday. I'll start watching CBS sitcoms while I cross stitch. I'm going to tell everyone what their problem is by setting the example. I'm going to lose weight not to be more attractive, but to reduce the risk of type 2 diabetes. I will learn to love bran. I'm going to take up working crossword puzzles while I stab a grapefruit in my breakfast nook. I will have at least two tubes of Ben Gay. I will train myself to be disgusted by both smoking and bacon. I will save for a house and when I have enough, I'll mow the lawn within an inch of its life every other day, at exactly 5:45pm. I'll own a weed-whacker. I'm going to buy my first box of adult wipes. I'll tell you a joke I heard at work. I'll forward you the email that has been floating around the office. You'll laugh your fucking head off because you're the type of friend I have now. And we'll both be so good for having it all.

To all those who aren't at my feet

You self-absorbed idiots. You shallow, absurd motherfuckers. You with your frozen, packaged meals and your spiritual guidance books. Today, I hate you.

I saw him there, tense. Mouth dry. Begging his nurse for pillows and pills. A man unable. A man able, then unable, then able, now unable again. And I wonder what kind of world this is. I wonder like everyone wonders and I feel bad about myself because I'm as small as they are.

Riding the elevator and sanitizing my hands like everyone. Knocking over brochures and sodas like everyone. Rummaging through the cupboards when the doctor leaves the room. Upsetting the nurses. Just like everyone.

But I walk with purpose down the halls with the plastic railings. I walk with conviction. My head held high because I know I'm the only one in the world who feels anything worth feeling.

And all of you who go about your daily business. Swilling your wine and rubbing your corns and temples from a long day on the job. All of you who park your cars in your garage and turn on the television without looking at me. Without ever seeing me. All those who have long conversations against a truck with a father still standing. And all those who choose to save themselves for other nights.

Of course you would not smash your glass against the sky with me tonight. You must save your energy for those more worth it.

Tonight, the joke is on you. I'm it. I'm everything. And here I am, passing you by.

Things I Wanted That Are Gone Now

I had a dream last night that a bronzed woman, tall and firm, held me to her. She was naked, and it seemed to be that she was not usually, and that this was a rare moment to be savored. Her skin was left on my cheeks and the lily-white undersides of my arms, like gold leaf. It smelled of wine and felt good, like I was healing, though I didn't know I was hurt.

When I woke from it, my shirt stuck to me and the sheets had to be peeled off. My panties lay limp against my hips and I felt myself warm and desirous of more. I imagined her again, but she wasn't what I wanted. And so I stared at her until she was.

I pulled in his face, bearded, always warm. His eyes were blank and a color that doesn't really exist. I moved down and rested my head on his chest, as I had been imagining since he left me. He inhaled the warmth and generosity I wanted to give him, but his breath always returned flat, like fog, except there was no meaning. In later days, I would be angry about this.

His movements were mechanical and passionless. He didn't smile, nor did he wince. I closed my eyes and smelled him deeply, instantly forgetting that I was alone. I am in love with him, but part of him hates me. I'm not sure why. I think he says nothing because he isn't either. But I don't mind, as long as he can still get it up, and as long as I have a place to go on weekends. I think to myself how horrible it sounds when put like that. And so I came, and went back to sleep, long past the afternoon bells, and much too late to be angry at anyone.

tradition.

and i in my cap

The dark in northern Minnesota can swallow you whole. Iron beasts loom across foggy water, steaming and bellowing low from their full bellies. Even deeper are the lines that frame the husky chuckle of diner captains, dreamy with sea spray and condiments.

The low moan of an oxygen machine soothes the harsh quiet. My grandfather says he just doesn't want to smother when he goes.

Merry Christmas.