sorta secretary

he said he looks at them and thinks of me. the two are incongruous, i think, but it's not worth fighting over. i need to work out my own space before i try to synchronize it with his.
he said to send it to him and he'll do the dirty work, what i'm avoiding. and he asked whether receiving an advance and/or signing a contract would affect my graduate ambitions. i didn't even have to consider, which frightens me. the path i need is untread and somewhat inaccessible. i need more money and resources, less responsibility and debt. genuine pursuit of happiness is a luxury in this nation, not a right. as long as i keep that straight.
nothing here is my own. not even what i create. nothing in this space belongs to me. which was never more salient than during today's reception of our child language publication. she gave me ownership. she respected me.
now. well.
i need wing-spreading space. who doesn't? but i crave it more than most, i think. desks are not meant for me. i watched him walk across the coffee bar today and wanted to drift syrupily inside him. i wonder what it's like to dance all day, to live, breathe, eat art. to collect a paycheck for it. his gray hair, thin body, utter eccentricity were suddenly sexy. i have this savage desire to hook myself to a bungee cord and fly gracefully across the stage. i have this savage desire to penetrate him.
his perfect snapshot of gluteally creamed coffee stares at me daily as i grouse. i don't even know where he is. i don't even know him. i wonder how that could have been, what would have been. different. new. he wondered last time if i were pregnant and i didn't bother to respond. because i had him. and he told me to be careful, to enjoy the moment, to not bend to the inklings of my character and complicate my life a little more. such a soap opera, he always laughs, but i entertain him.
which is the point. all my children is over the top, but it definitely boasts a cult following. people are drawn in, addicted, because it frees them from the stagnancy of their own lives. not so secretly, the occasional peering into my cloudy fishbowl thrills him.
which might be what bothers her about our interaction. which might be the source of her jealous defense. because my intrigue (however defined) makes hers cower.
at least she's cute.
my belly is beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. i need the reminder. it is miraculous. it is life.