Well, I’m chlorinated again. I swam two days in a row this week–the first time I’ve done that since I started swimming in July. Aside from all sorts of equipment issues–brand new foggy, leaky, and now broken goggles, a too-tight swim cap, and a bikini top that tries to let my boob out–I feel pretty good. The English Channel is next, probably. Move over, Trudy.

i feel it, with everything you do
i like this, i do yes and i like you
this connection, we felt it, from day one
lets lay out peaceful and stare into the stars

you came my way
when everything was tangled
now I’m feeling clearer
with every moon
see the sun is shining
your waves are easy
and I’ve got some good health
and I’ve got you

free falling, free falling from the sky
i caught you, i did yes now i know why

I wrote this then and didn’t publish it for fear of sharing my girlbody facts online:

“I am wondering how real the effects of the contraceptive pill are. I just saw this article on someone’s twitter that says women on the pill recall fewer emotional details from an event but understand and remember the overall situation better than woman not on the pill. The women not on the pill remember the emotional details but lose the “gist” (that is what they called it in the study, gist, seriously). Hormones are a big deal, but we all act like birth control ain’t no thing. And every doctor tells me something different.

For me, if I’m on it I feel more analytical. More organized and focused. I can get A LOT done. I’m a doing-things bot. But I’m tired, nauseous, my brain gets cloudy sometimes, and I feel like there is a wall between me and all the words I want to write down. My skin is clearer, but I weigh five pounds more, and I feel kind of disconnected from my body.

Off the pill, I’m scattered. Messier. I’m really good at not getting things done and then feeling bad about it. I cry most days at least once. But I’ve got better ideas. And I like myself more. I write a LOT more. I need less sleep and my stomach is more settled. My body and I, we’re best buds.”

There you go. Now it’s out there. I’d love to hear other lady’s opinions on this. Maybe I’m being hypersensitive, or maybe I’m onto something.

…A vocabulary of alarm stuck inside my mouth.
Like a giraffe inside a giraffe, inside a giraffe,
Inside of a lion. An arsenal of weather. How is it
going to change you? To let go of something
you’ve never held. Someone says, Get get vulgar.”

-from “In the Inside Outside” in Goat in the Snow by Emily Pettit

Breathe. In. Out. Phew.

Will not be making these mistakes again this week. Or next. Or hopefully ever. Can I write a paper in the bath with a glass of wine and good music? I can try.

morceau \mawr-SOH\, noun:
1. Piece; morsel.
2. An excerpt or passage of poetry or music.

Morceau comes directly from the same French word which is related to the Latin word morsum meaning something bitten off.

I like it that the french consider a tiny corner of something tasty to be in the same category as a little taste of poetry.