Well hello there -
It has been a minute, I know. I am sorry, sorry to myself mostly. This writing fuels my life in ways I struggle to put into words. Its vacancy from my routine these past several weeks, a product of my laziness and anxiety, has affected me greatly. I adore feeling the need to observe, to think, to read, to digest, to consider – even if it just be so I can write about it here. But in forfeiting that curiosity over the last 58 days, I have noticed so much of what I love about myself beginning to disappear. I am less motivated, less attentive, more aggravated, and less understanding. My temper is short, my mornings in bed are long. My feelings of self are more calculated and cutthroat, and my desire to show up in the world at my best, less important. Writing this newsletter helps give me purpose, purpose that now, after finishing school, feels all the more important to have, no matter how small.
But in the act of beginning and forfeiting several iterations of this newsletter edition, I have found myself discarding things in other aspects of my life as well. I wrote letters I never sent, opened books I never read, drafted songs I never finished, and cooked food I never ate. I’m feeling unfinished, unkempt. I wish I had more direction. I wish I knew where to plant my feet, where to sink in and build something. But I don’t.
I have been writing in short bursts, small moments in description, trying to capture my habits and perspectives at twenty-three. Turning twenty-four in one month feels foreign, uncomfortable, unfathomable. So I’m choosing to preserve the me today – being honest, being open, writing as I think, holding on to everything I am in this very moment.
I went for a run and stopped after five miles to sit on a tree stump and scroll through Instagram. I couldn’t stop thinking about the electrolyte drink I had waiting for me in my car, my mouth salivating as I tried to steady my breathing enough to take shirtless pictures of myself for my boyfriend.
I went to the movies last night and spent most of it staring at the green fluorescent exit sign. I only looked at the screen when no music was playing, a game I made for myself to get through the shitty film. I spent more time than I thought staring into the darkened corners of the velvet room, wishing I had gone to a silent film instead.
I pulled off my silk sleeping mask to check the time. It was 10:17 AM. I slept later than I thought, longer than I wanted to. I spent the next twenty-five minutes on my phone, looking through Instagram and reading the New York Times until I was unable to consume more horror from Gaza. It wasn’t until I heard my mother from down the hall, folding laundry, that I shot up from bed. Later, I made a yogurt bowl with too much granola and watched a YouTube video about child abductions and black-market organ transplants. I lost my appetite but forced myself to finish the yogurt because I didn’t want to waste food or get hungry before my workout.
I went to a hot yoga class at 7:00 AM on Friday. I woke up feeling nauseous. I sometimes think if I eat too much too soon before bed I wake up feeling hungry. Other times, I wonder if my dreams about meeting famous people or waking up on the moon with seventeen minutes of oxygen left and no one in sight makes me feel sick when I wake up. Or maybe it’s the ravenous alarm at 6:15 that refuses to stop until I rip the sleeping mask from my face and walk across the room to my phone charging in the bathroom. In class, I burp every time I fold into downward dog and my legs begin to shake during the warm-up. The class is long, the music is bad, and the teacher is not very good at her job. I try to focus on my breathing but end up staring at my stomach in the mirror and wishing I had more muscles. After class, I eat a Starbucks bacon wrap and drink a quad-shot cappuccino alongside lukewarm apple cider vinegar. The vinegar makes me feel even more sick than earlier but I take a shower and fall asleep on my bed trying to read the paper.
Yesterday, I got my car washed and wanted to see if I could hold my breath for the entire time. I cheated and took a small breath during the drying portion of the wash but told myself I did it anyway. Later, while kids younger than me were cleaning the inside of my car, I realized I hadn’t put on deodorant that morning or shaved in five days. I tipped them ten dollars which they took without a smile or recognition and I couldn’t tell if it was a lousy tip even though the woman at the counter said most people only tip five dollars. Maybe it’s because my car was dirty, maybe it’s because they knew I was their age and felt like punching me in the face. Maybe they were grateful but also tired and hungry and just wanted their shift to end.
On another run I took during the week I listened to the same song the entire time. I ran six miles in forty-three minutes. I don’t really know how many times I listened to the song because I restarted it after the first thirty seconds. This morning I tried to listen to the same song while brushing my teeth but I had to change it almost immediately, the song’s introduction I loved for almost an hour reminded me too much of broken glass on bare skin.
I can’t tell if I am sick or have allergies but I’m choosing to tell myself it’s allergies. I sneeze a lot, my boogers are green, and my throat hurts. I hate the thought that it is allergies, I always prided myself on the fact that I didn’t have any. I hate the idea that I’m sick even more. The amount of water I drink, vegetables I eat, and time I sweat should amount to at least some health in the form of not being sick.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in the pool while reading my book. It’s set at 100 degrees and I try to last as long as I can before having to get out and cool down in the grass. I want to swim naked but there is always someone around. I read until my toes are shriveled and I feel lightheaded. I get out, towel off, and drink water until my stomach is full. I take a cold shower, put creme on my face, and remind myself that I need to shave, tomorrow maybe.
I am playing Mozart’s Moonlight Sonata and Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera on the piano. I try practicing for thirty minutes straight but my mind wanders after only about ten. I end up throwing my phone under the bed to focus more, which I end up doing for about twenty minutes. I start to sweat so I open the windows and take off my shirt. When I get hungry, I pack up my books and get on my knees to find my phone. It is covered in dust. I sit on the bed and watch TikToks until I remember why I wanted to leave, the sound of my grumbling stomach a subtle reminder. I laugh at the fact that I spent more time on TikTok than I did practicing piano. It makes me hate myself but I choose not to worry too much about it and lace up my sneakers to leave.
I have been reading The New York Times and playing Connections and trying hard not to cheat at the crossword but I never finish it. I either have to refill my coffee or use the restroom or both. By the time I remember I was in the middle of the crossword, it is already the middle of the afternoon and the idea of sitting down to finish it feels as ridiculous as mowing the lawn while it rains.
I am trying to quit nicotine so I drowned my vape in my water bottle. I threw out old cigarettes and last weekend smoked three I found in my work bag on the back porch. I sometimes dream of smoking cigarettes with Princess Margaret and Ian McKellen on the main balcony at Buckingham Palace. I tell myself if that is to ever happen I would get a hall pass and be able to smoke as many cigarettes as I wanted to. I then remember that Princess Margaret is dead and Ian McKellen isn’t far from it and I will never be in Buckingham Palace so I light one in their honor.
For now, my affections include The Shards and Less Than Zero by Bret Easton Ellis. Evening runs without a shirt, “Baby Blue” by Dreamer Boy and “Spite” by Omar Apollo. My brother’s tortoise Ray Ban wayfarers, Apothékary’s “Take The Edge Off” tincture, and The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt. No blinds on my windows, whisky highballs with lemon juice, blueberries with pistachios, strawberries with sugar, and 9:15 bedtimes.
That is all for now.
Until soon, I hope.
C
xx
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