I still twitch every time I tweeze the soft white cotton out of a new vitamin bottle. The fresh cleanness of it seems like it needs to be kept. After my mother died I spent several months digging stashes of pure white cotton preserved in plastic baggies from the back of deep drawers and travel-totes full of first aid supplies. Today I brought home a brand new bottle of multi's and carefully cinched the cotton out between two fingers, twitching. The look and feel of it livened me, softened me, and created in me a strong desire to tuck it away. Instead I moved with it to the trash in a deliberate act of loving her and letting go. After I dropped it I closed the cupboard door without looking down to see it there, presumably setting lightly atop my soiled heap of kitchen trash.
It's St Patty's day and Jax and I greeting the green-clad drinkers throughout town as we headed to and from Dog Beach. Some of the men flirted with Jax, some of them flirted with me. I wondered about my plan to stay at home tonight.
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