Monday Journal entry

April 28, 2014 (I almost wrote 2019 … whoa … slow down)

Boys share a cigarette on the street corner. One straddles his bike while a smoke points northwest from his ear, a small contrail against his hair, mimicking passing planes. Days grow warm. Summer’s heavy foot will soon walk across the valley. I need something oppressive to fuel my writing again. The winter months are so pleasant, days lazy, sweet, vacation sleep. Nothing is accomplished by the pool or out to brunch with Camelback gilded in the background.

This morning, I felt the baby in pops. Small singular bubbles are beginning to rise. I noticed them a few times before, feel them mostly in bed or when I’m resting. Then I promptly threw up. I’m pregnant in all my dreams now. I’m checking the scale for the first time in my life to see if I’ve gained weight. Only a few pounds and 1 in the second trimester. The doctor will expect more. But I’m eating a lot: 2 small breakfasts, 2 lunches, 2 dinners, plus snacks. Good god. My body no longer feels like my body. The way it’s changing and pulling and shifting. I’m a ship. I’m a big rig transporting cargo. My body is no longer mine alone.

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