run until we're out of time

Recently, I had a person tell me that I was "quite attractive". Isn't that funny? It's like something I could put on my resume. "Erica Anderson-Senter: finished college with a good GPA, can diffuse difficult social situations and is quite attractive." I thanked the person and quietly noted the formal feel of being not cute, and not hot, but "quite attractive." Fuck it, you guys, I'll take it.

This morning it was cold outside and I overburdened myself with too many things to carry. The most difficult thought I could entertain was how the hell I was going to open the door. As luck would have it, a man was standing near the entrance, so I asked him to help me out. He obliged, but he said he was only doing so because I looked like a nice young woman who voted for Romney. If I had voted for Obama, he beamed with confidence, there's no way he would have opened the door for me. That shit's funny, huh?

Once, when I was six, I got a new baby brother. As the earth would spin, this baby grew up. Tucked in there, between then and now, we had this one shining moment when we jumped hard on my bed in the cold room and sang Farmer in the Dell as loudly as two blonde Andersons could. We sang and jumped and jumped and sang until our feet and throats were bloody with so much love. The moment stayed in time. But, goddamn, how far away.

Once, I overheard my cousin getting beat in her bedroom for not sweeping the floor.

Another time, Monica told me in the gym that daddies pee inside mommies every night. I couldn't handle this, so I ran away crying.

Early, one morning, I watched my childhood home burn to the ground.

Each life composed of tiny, pin-head moments that craft something beautiful. And something awful.