Moss and Mushrooms

Forget me not

January 1st
I sit on the front porch with my mother, it's dark with a burning candle. She has thoughtfully arranged crystals of every color and statues of animals to surround the light.
I have more reasons to love her every day.
She tells me to write down the things I am letting go of, we'll burn them, I write that I am letting go of the part of me that doesn't want to be well, the part of me that feeds myself stories that grow into rot. I numbered the page only to use a small bit of one.
I rip it into tiny pieces, I am far too excited to watch the page become ash, just before midnight the candle dims into darkness because the paper has snuffed it, we welcome the new year with laughter.
I pick a few crystals, green, orange, and light blue. I chose a white bird. She reads my oracle cards, she reminds me, as I am reminded every day, that I need to stop living with such a heavy heart.
I wake up the next morning and slowly pull myself out of sleep, I cross off the completed items for December and make January's to-do list.
I pray. I begin my school work but quickly pull myself into a daydream about an actor whose movie I saw years ago. I text my boyfriend about our children leaving mountain dew for santa.
My mom gives me a twenty dollar bill, I buy us energy drinks, my favorite brand.
I return to my textbook attentively, highlighting my favorite words and lines, call it a poem of sorts, those math and english chapters.
I write about the little laps around the sun. I write about being childish, childish as in confused, childish as in excited. I call the chapter daisies in bloom, passionate, hopeful, happy.
I eat dinner with my mother and sister, we talk about immortality. How would you live if you couldn't die? What would you do if you were the only one left?
My sponsor pulls into the driveway, he texts me saying "let's bail." He talks on the phone with his son who is also sober. We reviewed my one, two, and five year plans at a fast food restaurant. I read the categories, relationships, AA, writing, career, school, and Elliot sillies. He asks me what love is.
I arrived at the AA meeting in his car. There is no meeting, just listening to someone talk about police officers and cigars, I listen happily. I cannot find someone's pie container.
My boyfriend texts me. I tell him he looks like a Greek god.
I called my sponsor, I told him today I was not angry or fearful, I joked about how short our calls used to be, now I ramble endlessly.
I talked with my online friend. I think I made them happy today. It seems we have another thing in common, one of those not-so-strange strange things. I talk about excitement that cannot sit still. I talk about my list of boyfriends.
The joy is pouring out and in endlessly, I am always looking for the words but never am I able to capture it in writing.

January 2nd
I am up until the early hours of the morning, posting a chapter I have been adding to for weeks, getting a text from my friend to please get some sleep. A bit of breathlessness I need to tell my sponsor about.
Waking up at eleven, eating the dinner food for breakfast, trying to write but deleting the poem before it's more than a few lines, drinking AA coffee.
Walking through my textbook, reading about Abraham Lincon, answers circled in hearts, highlighting the little poems.
Clocking in at work. My coworker tells me her excitement never got to be anything. Making pizza dough that feels like a statue. Sending my boyfriend a poem that made me think of him. Listening to poems that feel like being smothered. Putting things in the wrong container. Telling myself I will do better tomorrow.
I tell my dad how lucky we are. He agrees. I tell him about all the people who led me to see that.
The voices are talking, I am yet again surprised at their vividness. They comfort me, they tell me I need to be realistic. I sometimes feel someone wanting to come out when it is not their turn. Never unkind, never ugly, I would be unable to separate myself from them, and I wouldn't want to.
Eating dinner, my father seems happy and hopeful, I know I have not always been loving but I am doing right by them now. We talk about slow growth rather than unearthing changes. He tells me I can do the dishes tomorrow, I hug him good night.
I call my sponsor and become confused on how to do a fear inventory. He tells me he would not bet money on me being the one who made it to step twelve. I feel lucky. He tells me I have to work towards the goals I have. I become fearful, I pray, the fear quiets.
I wrote some. I text my boyfriend goodnight although I know he is asleep by now.