Wednesday, August 15, 2018

handful of things

I text my inksister every day. Even if it's simply a heart and a word. I quickly do the math of our time difference, hit send, put all my energy into the act as if actually sending a bolt of electric her way. A bit of heartbeat.

My niece is starting the 6th grade this week, and I try to give her a bit of advice about that. Of course it is given via text message to her cell phone, which still blows my mind a bit. She's nervous about the combination lock, and I tell her I hate them--always have. I was never, ever good at getting those things open. I would usually have to ask a person with a locker near mine to do it(this person often being my cousin). I was still pretty shy at that age and hated asking, so I think I carried most of my books around with me instead of dealing with it. Some things like that are getting harder to remember. I do remember first day of school anxiety though, which was usually followed swiftly by a first day of school migraine.

I busted up both feet playing soccer. A purple toe for each one, x-rays for the right. No fracture, thankfully, but bruised deep enough to make walking a true pain in the ass. I've never been one with a slow stride--the past week has been a humbling lesson. Things slowed way down. It was bad timing to bust myself up just before my trip to Pittsburgh. I did as much walking as I could, feeling a little embarrassed when I had to ask my friends to slow down a little so I could keep up. Some evenings I had to cancel plans and cut the losses because the constant pain was frying my mind. Every day is a little better but there is still some ways to go.

I was blessed to be a part of a phenomenal book release. Vanessa tore me apart with her cover of Otis Redding's "Pain in my Heart," which she mixed with her own incredible words. JB was brilliant and steady as always. I read new work that I feel quite strongly about, and I was overwhelmed by reactions from my peers and others in the audience. I'm happy that the new work was received so well--it's encouraging and inspiring.

As I work on my book, I hope to utilize this space a bit more as I sift through thought and draft. I have so much new in progress, and I feel much more purposeful returning to it. I love putting in the work. I've outgrown the declarative metaphor of writing being a bad lover. It is unclear who is courting who. More like words and I have moved beyond the caught eye across room. We've sliced the crowd in two to meet on dance floor and we are cutting rugs into blooms & thunder. It is creating that I love so much. It is my blood, my root, my way of taking on and being in this world. It is my language and method. It is how and why and always. It is the thing I feel most urgent about and sure of. Again and again, writing brings me back.

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