First day of school tomorrow! More importantly, first day of teaching tomorrow. WHAT DO I WEAR?
The first night I brought him home we made love on the shag carpet with the desk hunched a few feet away in the darkness. It’s a jealous beast, I joked, and thought I heard it groan, but no, it was only S, who at that moment perhaps foresaw something, or recognized the little grain of truth lurking inside the joke, how my work would always win over him, luring me back, opening its great black mouth and letting me slip in, sliding down and down, into the belly of the beast, how silent it was in there, how still. And yet for a long time I continued to believe it was possible to dedicate myself to my work and share my life, I didn’t think that one need cancel out the other, though perhaps I already knew in my heart that if it were necessary I would not side against my work, could not any more than I could side against myself.
The pauses between words became longer, when for an instant the momentum of pressing thought into language faltered and a dark spot of indifference bloomed. I suppose it’s what I’ve battled most often in my life as a writer, a sort of entropy of care or languishing of will, so consistently, in fact, that I barely paid it any attention — a pull to give in to an undertow of speechlessness. But now I often became suspended in these moments, they grew longer and wider, and sometimes it became impossible to see the other shore. And when I finally got there, when a word at last came along like a lifeboat, and then another and another, I greeted them with a faint distrust, a suspiciousness that took root and did not confine itself to my work. It is impossible to distrust one’s writing without awakening a deeper distrust in oneself.
Phone, I promise you, 99% of the time I mean neither duck nor ducking. Please kindly stop auto correcting my cursing and/or dirty talk.
I sometimes wonder how many upper-class British* families contain a brother and sister sibling pair who:
Because if they don’t exist in real life, they sure do in literature.
*I would also accept old-world New England and/or New York money
lbmisscharlie replied to your post: “Another dating catch-22 from HBBO Inc.: I cancel hook-up plans, saying…”:That first half was so me tonight: I had dinner plans with the girl I’ve been “is this a date or just 2 queer girls having dinner” all summer, and I just wanted to stay home. I went & it was not a date, and I could only think of the 2nd half still.
Awwwwwwwwwww, yeah, that’s rough, friend. :-P The indeterminacy of queer-lady dating is so frustrating! I’ve actually been meaning to write a post about that and how it gives me mixed feelings about all those “platonic kissing is so gr9!” posts. I mean if you’re into that then more power to you, but man. If I am kissing someone it is really not intended platonically. I’m not even sure what platonic kissing means.
ANYWAY, ahahahaha, sorry your night was kind of a bummer :-P
Right? Platonic kissing is not a thing I do: I kiss with intent or not at all. Anyway, the post-not-a-date text exchange I had with a fellow queer lady friend who’s very emotionally invested in this drama went appropriately thus:
ME: Still not a date, no matter how much I wish it was. But she’s so cuuuuute.
HER: Maybe it’s just a slow process?
ME: One can only hope: Maybe my infinite charms will eventually prove irresistible.
HER: I bet they will…the thing is to not wait TOO long
ME: SIGH. Why are people so difficult?
I am officially fully moved into my new apartment! Old one is empty and fully scrubbed and I hand over my keys tomorrow. Now I only have the fun part ahead of me: unpacking, organizing, and finding places for all of my stuff in the new place! My new roommate and I are going to do a massive kitchen organization this weekend, start to decide on paint colors for the shared spaces, and begin to figure out the best way to organize the massive amounts of craft and sewing supplies we have between the two of us.