mayday

It’s Monday the 1^st of May, 2017. I have a headache, seated awkwardly on a wooden bench at Blue Moon coffee shop, listening to hippie music from the 60s and 70s. It is snowing, then raining, then something in-between, then just cold with wetness gathering up from the cars that drive by. I have to go to my internship tonight to do intakes. My phone will die. I am not looking forward to it, mostly because of the shriek in my skull when light hits my eyes just right, or when a chair is scraped along the floor. I’ve taken medicine. I’ve taken coffee.

The internet isn’t working too well. I am missing the good parts of the book I am reading, because my jaw is clenched too tight, causing a fog that swamps my eyes.

It feels like late fall, but the evening is still bright and tempting, so you crawl into the warmth beneath the covers and console yourself with an extra couple hours of Netflix.

I have determined the future. It looks like another year of the same. Afterwards, I have contemplated and come to no great conclusions. I’d like to travel. I’d like to spend some time in Portugal and the areas of Spain, I was too hasty with.

I’d like to see Southeast Asia before it drowns or burns. I’d like to have someone I feel attached enough to invite. But these are the dreams, for now it’s just head down, assignment, head down, reading, head down, internship, head down side work…

I’m considering giving up the side work. It doesn’t feel worth my time. I’d rather spend it writing. I wonder if I can write while I am in school? I’d like to spend the summer writing, really putting some substance to the frame. I want to get further along in the project, but I also want it rich. I want it buttery, hardy enough that people feel nourished by the writing and not just the story. I want the story to be intriguing, I want it to be so delicately woven that people end up rereading for the pieces they missed. I want the characters to cause aches in all the right places. I will save the desirous pleasures for later characters. I am too ahead of myself with certain areas. The more I slow down, the better the writing can be, but I need time and energy to give lovingly to the project and that is hard to balance.

I am intrigued by this world. It’s mayday after all. I should be protesting, but I’m grinding my teeth instead.

I watched Thirteen Reasons Why, and though the story was completely different, it did a lot of the things I want my writing to do. It made me want to re-watch it when I finished, to see what I had missed.

Before the retreat into my bed covers this weekend, I had actually been quite social. I had last week off from coffee shop job, so I was able to hang with some folks –some new peoples from Augsburg, some old people from high school. I haven’t seen any of my morris friends in a bit.

But it was weird how it was simultaneously comforting to be social, and also worrisome. I felt more human, more involved, part of something other than the world in my head I have created… but I also felt like I knew it couldn’t last…like my period of socialness… was doomed to let someone down. Maybe my retreat was an attempt to make sure it wasn’t me. This weekend I invited the isolation. I really didn’t want to talk to anyone. The headaches made it easy.