I tried to change. Closed my mouth more, tried to be softer, prettier, less awake. Fasted for 60 days, wore white, abstained from mirrors, abstained from sex, slowly did not speak another word.

so the end of the bike to school story goes something like this: a fall, a jammed wheel, many tears and a surprising rush of fury that a second before was nowhere to be found. A few fucks flew through my head. Theo, oh Theo, made a poor choice that resulted in said fall. The sun was still shining and the weather was still beautiful but now the day was colored by red hot anger. I walked the rest of the way home, lugging sweatshirts and keys and a bike pump that were so perfectly in my little bike basket before they weren’t anymore. I rushed through a shower and flew to work with the windows down, serving as a sort of makeshift blow dryer for my hair.

Do what you can, with what you have, where you are. Theodore Roosevelt wrote that in his autobiography, which I have not read nor do I own. I do, however, have a copy of a biography about him called Theodore Rex, but I haven’t read that either. Yet. I bought it at least three years ago at a thrift store when we lived in Chicago with such good intentions, but it remains in a stack, unknown to me.