Dear Wigleaf,

I am writing to you from work. My view is a parking lot, wisps of cloud and if I'm lucky, that Dalmatian puppy that walks down our street in the afternoons. He likes to roll around in the grass. His owner will take his paws and dance with him sometimes.

In the office, we listen to 80's songs on Fridays: Soft Cell, Dead or Alive, The Cure. It feels like I'm writing about a stranger, but when I was 26, I couldn't listen to The Cure's Disintegration without falling apart. I mean, the kind of crying that turns into shaking. Now I think of the night my sister took me shopping after my first heartbreak. "Just like Heaven" came on through the outdoor speakers and my sister knew all the words too. I danced around a lamppost, pretended it was a giant microphone.

Co-star tells me today is a self love day. Today I am prepared. I have tea tree sheet masks, The Lost Boys on DVD, heavy blankets. Maybe that's not exactly what self love means, but it's what I have. I'm getting better at it.

Yours,
Jessica




- - -

Read JC's story.

W i g l e a f                10-12-19                                [home]