I’m trying to climb back on the grid, I really am. I’ve had my computer back for a few days and have completed all my paid assignments. But a lot has happened this month and it all boils down to my realizing how much more I want, and how much Rilke applies if I’m to achieve it.
You must change your life, said Rilke.
In the first and second and third place, I’ve grown powerfully tired of social media. I know this isn’t fair but after a time away it just seems like the worst of 20th century snail mail: chain letters, clippings from college roommates who assume they’re ranting to the choir, notes from bored aunts about everything they ate and aren’t-they-just-the-cutest kittens and babies.
I want more. I want please and thank-yous. I want diagrammable sentences rather than rebuses; polite declines rather than rebuffs. I want declarations and advance invitations and follow-up questions and direct answers. I’d wanted the Summer of Jane but at this point would settle for Dick and Jane. Or just See Spot Run. Continue Reading →
As I dictate this into my iPhone, I’m lying on my kitchen floor staring at the tin ceiling. I am on day 3 of not having a computer as my MacBook is being repaired, and it is shocking to realize how little I can access of myself without fingers flying over a keyboard. Suffice it to say Gracie Rosmansion is very clean and a certain permakitten is very entertained. The happiest part of this is that the doves have re-nested on my fire escape, with new eggs to be hatched. This has been an animal summer and for that–but not only that–I am super grateful.
I am coming downstate tomorrow and am not yet willing to be conversant on the following topics: Trump, Olympics, Pokemon, Stranger Things, Kimye, #AllLivesMatter, the freaking heat, flying cockroaches, movies, gluten, the decline of NYC, more Trump. For weeks I haven’t worn a bra, haven’t honked my horn or bit my cuticles, haven’t made small talk. I have only eaten food from local farms, fallen asleep to crickets rather than honking cars, read musty paperbacks, combed yard sales and thrift stores, bicycled down quiet green roads, listened to old records, drunk rosé on a screened-in porch, talked to animals, and taken long tromps in the woods rather than gritting my teeth through prissy gym classes. I’ve got my color back. Heck, I’ve got my sense of humor back. So why am I returning to the alleged grid? Why, to see you, my pretties.