Stella Says

Posted: 20 September, 2013 in Daily Droppings
Tags: ,

Shuffle Says: “Drove Me wild” Tegan & Sarah Heartthrob Finally got a copy of this album and frankly, it’s splediferous.

Each morning I wake up and my niece Stella tells me what to do.

For Christmas last year my step sister gave everyone in the family stationary each page emblazoned with a picture of her newborn daughter. Each gift was a different size, shape, picture. Mine was about 1/3 size of legal pad

Too small to be used for desk writing, too big to carry around in a pocket. The pages tore out easy, not durable enough to keep thoughts, it would hold them no better than my own brain and how useless would that be. Little Stella didn’t really fit into a category of things I ever used, so she sat for months in a drawer until I moved and it found its way into a whole box of scratch paper and empty notebooks. I tossed the thing on my desk of the new place upon a heap of shit I didn’t know what to do with.  I ignored the pile as best I could.

However, the day came when I finally had to stop eating nothing by dodgey take away and beer. More importantly, I was out of tea; so I made to brace myself for the wild streets of wicker park.

As I reached for the door I stopped and did something quite out of character. I decided to make a list. I grabbed a pen from my bucket of utensils and reached for something to write on and there sat Stella. Flashbulbs reflecting as tiny dots in her pupils, mouth open, fine blonde fluff for hair, lips wet and chewed on. Most likely wondering what the fuck this thing is doing in her face.

I scrawled above her head. Enumerating my needs for tea, whisky, bacon, eggs, apples, peanut butter, frozen waffles, beans, pot noodles, bell peppers, onions, beer, and potatoes. and made my first confusing as fuck journey to cross Milwaukee for groceries.

Since then Stella has stayed on a mildly less cluttered desk, her weight and thickness perfect for folding in half and stuffing in my back pocket.
which makes her perfect for lists. Groceries usually go on the back, but every morning I fill that empty space with all I hope will occur that particular day. Her eyes are a challenge filled with hope and playfulness, the very cliché of infancy.
-good morning, Uncle. what do you want to do today?
-Today, little Stella I want to write about you

Each night before I bifurcate her skull and let her flutter into an old paper Trader Joe’s bag in the kitchen we use for recycling, where she is destined to join empty beer bottles, tuna fish cans, and junkmail, she asks me what we’ve done, how much text in her space has been struck through, like she is asking whether Santa came yet. Her eyes still holding out hope for tomorrow, when we will do this all over again, but she’s got a lot more tomorrows that I, the little shit has no idea how lucky she is.

We’ll try again tomorrow, little one.

Tomorrow, I promise

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