I read somewhere that day 7-10 or so of a woman's cycle, she is more likely to be calm, confident, poised, at ease with herself, able to communicate clearly. And with respect to evolution, it makes perfect sense since this is also when we are fertile. I'm like a lab-grown pot plant (The Botany of Desire is my bible), I'm effortlessly oozing the chemicals (not THC exactly) which make me desirable to a mate. No mating will occur this time around; nonetheless I'm feeling oddly hopeful. (Perhaps moreso?) Why not. It's summer, a clear and effortless day that falls at the opposing end of the calendar's cruelest, darkest days. And my loyal ovaries, 40 years strong (cough) are doing their damnedest to squeeze out a few more viable seeds in the hopes of reproducing the genes that, if only today, seem worthy of renewing.
The farmer's market is full today. Depending on the wind direction, it smells like soap, or fresh flowers, or grilled cheese, or aerated water gushing in the fountain. Sitting between Picasso and Mirò under a cloudless cobalt ceiling, sunlight dancing on the water. A breeze softly tickling me through my shirt, playing with the wisps of hair on my neck. The war that rages in my head-is paused. I'm on a sandy ancient beach blissfully unaware of a conflict as old as time.
Are you dreaming about me?
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