nah

i'm thirty one years old, i feel like the teens who follow me deserve to know that

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a non-stoned stoned thought i had last night upon spying a neon depiction of a skateboarding grim reaper glowing in a first-floor apartment window: 

hilarious and insane that all depictions of death we possess come from those who haven’t died yet 

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UGh those pics were supposed to be three to a row. glad tumblr is still broken lol

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have returned for annual bday post. 33 was BUMMMMMPY.

v. long post under the cut.

to start: my mom got very sick and i was the only one in the family taking it seriously—losing my shit, begging and pleading, very cassandra vibes—until she landed in the ER four times in as many months. after a crohn's diagnosis, three heart surgeries, and three months of cardiac rehab, she's doing better, thank god. if something truly horrible had happened, i would've held my dad responsible, such was his level of neglect and callous magical thinking. her final procedure was last tuesday and she made them both dinner that same night. but now she is exercising and taking care of herself in a way i’ve wanted her to for decades, and has a team of doctors who treat her like a human worthy of a good life. for that, for her stellar health insurance, and for her life, i am grateful beyond words. 

meanwhile my bf and i moved in together. that had its usual stressors—neither of us had lived with a partner before!—exacerbated by the fact that for three solid years he's been dealing with debilitating chronic pain, and the fact that my dad sucks and i have some hard-to-excise bone-deep terror that living with a man will ruin my life. but we’ve come really far. and there has been so much joy in cohabitation, something i didn’t believe was possible for me. this is the first time i have felt truly safe in a family environment. communication is frequent and loving. i can trust him with my feelings, even when they’re not what he wants to hear. my mean ex used to tell me that the level of kindness and respect i wanted was unreasonable bordering on impossible. in one sense he was right: it wasn’t possible with him! but it was out there, and every day i’m so thankful to be with a man who has never said an unkind word to me, even in conflict (and who cooks for us all the time, listens, cleans, jokes, loves me in a way that is palpable and obvious). this year we spent a lot of time with each other's families and there is love in all directions.

MEANwhile my nonprofit job became untenable as a covid-related hiring freeze left me doing the work of several people. i begged for help and/or a raise and/or to take a week off and was rebuffed. over the course of several months, pain in my left hand and wrist from a fall and broken finger the previous summer (caused by my dog) spread from one hand to both hands; by november gripping things was so excruciating i could not get milk out of the fridge, use buttons or zippers, chop a vegetable, rub my dog's ears, hold a pen, sleep through the night, etc. went to tons of doctors who helped 0%. only felt some relief when so stoned i was nonverbal. nathan had to be my hands. i cared about this nonprofit so i didn't quit, but doing my work—writing, and using a mouse to load emails into our CRM—often left me dizzy from pain. when my best friend at work encouraged me to take medical leave, my boss lied about the leave policy (making it seem like my situation didn't qualify) and edited our meeting notes after the fact to cover it up. it escalated to the point that i sent screenshots of the google doc’s edit history to our executive director. (meanwhile: mom in hospital across the country, bf w constant headache, dog who bit our neighbor when he reached his hand through the chain-link fence, still moving into our apartment, etc.) i finally took five weeks of medical leave, and with every week of rest, my hands felt 10% better. when i got back from leave, in january, i gave notice. they hired 3.5 people to replace me. i stayed for another five weeks and trained them. my former boss was promoted to managing director. i will never work for a nonprofit again. 

then! somehow! stumbled into a non-evil remote tech job where i make more than double my previous income, work fewer hours, and simply do not feel stressed out. i’ve paid off almost all of my debt from the Bad Years. i started budgeting using YNAB, which i now evangelize. have never once felt so materially secure, never had this sane of a work environment or better work/life balance. i want this for everyone. 

the pain in my hands faded slowly for months and is now completely gone. feel certain it was my body forcing me to quit my job by rendering the tools i needed to do my job unusable. one might say: keeping the score ;).

meeeeeeanwhile: our beloved dog is aggressive when he's afraid. unless we control his environment, he is a danger to himself and us and others. i've become obsessed with modifying his behavior, spent like 1,000 hours on reactive dog reddit, and we have come remarkably far. this would have been extremely stressful on its own in a normal year, but last year it was a footnote.

and another thing: lost my best friend in an ugly falling out. might have turned out differently if i hadn’t been mid-nervous breakdown, but i was. basically: repeated violations of my trust that i could not take the time to address due to moving/job/mom/pain. because i was not in a state where constructive conversations were possible, and because he could not wait for me to be ready, the conflict festered and complete collapse ensued. sucked then and sucks now. no silver lining here, nothing that makes me feel better. instead i have been telling myself: life is full of loss. 

(most friends offered me grace, help, and patience, which i do not take for granted.) 

small but significant: started habit of taking a walk soon as i wake up, which has shifted my circadian rhythm so completely i now wake up without an alarm at 7:30am (unprecedented for me, a lifelong night owl). has been huge for mental health and general sense of wellbeing. in general, have found ways to exercise that feel like a celebration of life and body rather than punishment, and that has been really wonderful.

so overall: deeply sad, painful, and exhausting year woven through with a new and sometimes overwhelming sense of peace and joy. 

hoping 34 will allow me to settle into my new life, shift my focus back to writing, strengthen my remaining friendships, turn outwards, become a useful part of the fight for a better world. 

anyway! time for pics. 

max with my brother / in our jungle of a backyard / spooning nathan

our shared office in progress / guys being dudes / at a bnb in new hampshire

we somehow managed to host nathan's family for thanksgiving / got a little christmas tree / went to a wedding with his family

and here's me now.

okay love you all!

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hi :) i am back from beyond the tumblr grave to do a little year end reflecting 

2020! lol! i started the year in seattle, rolling on mdma—first pic on my phone jan 1 is one of my fav friends from college stroking my face, which i had specifically requested, while i close my eyes in total rapture. [1] a great start, i thought, after my miserable 2019. then i was back on the west coast in late february because my very difficult uncle died suddenly (my mom now suspects it may have been covid which does not seem impossible to me) and i went back to help her clean out his apartment. then i flew down to california to see friends in berkeley and LA, plus visit palm springs for the first time, and then i came back, had time for a promising first and second date, and then it was the pandemic. 

i’ve been in nyc since then, with the exception of one short trip up to vermont last summer when the cases here were down to almost nothing and calculated risks seemed actually calculable, vs hope-and-a-prayer-able. and i’ve had it easier than so many—than most!—but of course it was still hard. 

i’ve lived alone for three and a half years, but this was the first time i regretted it. i got lonely! sick to death of my own company. afraid to be alone with my own thoughts, which tilted towards mortality and my flaws and failings, big and small. this summer dan moved out of walking distance and i was crushed. i kept thinking: friendships mean so much, but there’s a limit. at the end of the day i am single, and i am making decisions alone, still, at 32—how did my life turn out this way? after trying to deal with these feelings on my own, i finally said them out loud to dan. we were sitting on his stoop before the move and i cried with my head in his lap. he told me that we were family, and that if i had asked him not to move (to this expansive, cheap apartment right by prospect park, the unambiguously right choice) he wouldn’t have. that soothed me on many levels.

from mid-march to october i didn’t have sex, and the first time i slept with someone i felt myself tear up with gratitude and relief. i’ve been having a bad, prolonged bout of insomnia, and i am convinced it has something to do with receiving so little touch. the only period where i was really sleeping was the month or so when i was seeing someone regularly. he ghosted, which felt bad—not because i missed him specifically, but because i thought i had found a source of SKIN CONTACT that would get me through the winter. it’s ok! but it’s good information to have. i also feel more sure than i used to that i want a partner and kids. 

my friendships, by and large, feel strengthened. several old friendships that had waned the way old friendships often do returned as a daily presence in my life, which was a major source of comfort. some of my friendships suffered because of political differences! some friends in relationships (though not all) seemed to withdraw into the comfort of coupledom, and i felt a little abandoned, almost betrayed. many emotions felt heightened like that. 

i repaired my relationship w/ first (only) great love of my life (not m*x to be clear, college bf), and now we talk on the phone every sunday. i’m about to call him now! 

i look older and i like it. [2] i feel more like myself. 

work stuff was semi nuts. i got a part-time contract job in sept 2019 after a long bout of unemployment, doing largely admin work at a nonprofit, and in the ensuing year my boss was fired and i became the interim comms director. they were also down a development director, so i did some of that work, too. i asked for a lot of money and got some of it. i ghost wrote things for n*am ch*msky and j*dith b*tler, which i find extremely funny but also, tbh, cool. i was very nervous but i’m doing a really good job. (they want to give me a staff job and i am refusing for the sake of freedom.) 

i’m making the most money i’ve ever made by a LOT, so for the last few months i’ve been paying off debt very quickly while also buying a few things that have improved my day-to-day quality of life (a space heater, nice slippers, new underwear, a big giant warm coat). i also feel like i can give my friends money and donate pretty freely without worrying about it, and it’s obviously great timing for that. 

in addition to taking on this weird new job, i did a couple other things in 2020 that scared the shit out of me. every time i did something that required courage it got easier. i would tell myself: just do it, you’re not a coward! and there was more and more evidence to back me up.

the single best thing that happened to me in 2020 (besides approaching financial solvency) was coming up with a writing accountability system with dan. today marks 100 days; we’ve helped each other write 10,000+ words of fiction we wouldn’t have otherwise. miya and i just started a similar system for small amounts of daily exercise. it’s the only thing keeping me even remotely on track. 

last year around this time i wrote, “i am pretty good at being a reliable presence in other people’s lives; in 2020 i would like to become a person i can trust. themes for the new year: discipline, habits, art, love, joy.” i got there, basically! minus the joy, but...i’ll grade that on the curve. and the answer was there all along. it’s comparatively so easy to write 250 words every day because i am doing it “for” dan. i didn’t develop discipline—i actually think i have less of it now, because it takes a lot to just get through the day sometimes—but my friendships have given me the ability to stay on track. 

i published absolutely nothing this year, but my novel manuscript is going well. i’m going to have a completed draft in the next 5-6 months. i’m reasonably confident that i will sell it and i’m proud that i have not given up. 

things i learned: 

building new skills, no matter how random, is paramount for my will to live 

it’s ok to eat popcorn for dinner sometimes, but not consistently for like six months 

daily effort is the only way 

touch is necessary for my mental stability 

it’s a fine line between cutting myself adequate slack and thrusting life into miserable chaos 

my body is like a car battery in that sometimes it can only be charged by moving it around 

i can run the comms department at a midsize nonprofit, and i can raise an enormous amount of money w/ minimal assistance or oversight 

things that were always the right choice, even (especially) when i resisted them: 

practicing banjo 

going for a walk 

stretching

washing a dish, possibly two 

hydrating in some fashion

getting heart rate up via exercise (vs panic) 

showering

doing laundry

goals for next year:

continue accountability practices 

begin the process of fixing some old, emotionally fraught problems (some teeth stuff, some tax stuff, etc) 

when it’s safe, date like it’s my fucking job; it’s a numbers game  

complete manuscript 

publish min 12 pieces of writing 

treat my body like it is my friend 

shop for the neighborhood community fridge every time i grocery shop for myself 

read read read read read read read

(photos below the fold)

[1]

[2]

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Who remembers this fit

Cale Brown (@calebrownn) has created a short video on TikTok with music Rasputin (7" Version). | Who remembers this fit

hey everyone miss u 

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today i am glad trump isn’t dead yet :) 

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hahahhhahhahAHAHAHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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i realize this is humiliating in its naiveté, but it still shocks me to watch people who spent their teens obsessed with art become adults and instead become obsessed with money

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no amount of being talked to is enough being talked to! 

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very strange and humbling to feel socially needy for the first time since high school 

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it’s been strange and novel, these last few months, to feel lonely. before covid i hadn’t really felt loneliness since high school, or maybe early college. it’s 5pm here, i’m thinking about dinner. i’m thinking: i cannot possibly eat another meal alone. i can’t do it! but there’s something about this current loneliness that’s like being so overtired i can’t sleep. i sort of can’t bring myself to make a plan that would ameliorate it. or maybe, more accurately, i just don’t know what might help. 

on friday i had dinner with a friend on my roof. yesterday i saw my closest friend for an hours-long walk through prospect park. this morning i took a long walk in my neighborhood with another friend. just got off a zoom call with a mutual aid group i’m a part of—my friends, mostly! and yet i feel loneliness as an actual, physical ache in my chest. living alone feels bad for the first time ever. i don’t know what other changes i can make; i don’t know why i feel this way when i’m able to safely see so many people i love; i don’t know what to do. 

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at the present moment i have basically no interest in talking to my friends who don’t fit into at least one of the following categories: depressed, artist, broke 

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unexpected delectable flavor combination? avocado + sauerkraut, you heard it here first 

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sorry this is just a sunset blog now

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hey pals

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last night barely felt real

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Now the thing that they are talking about is this violence—a car burnt, or the Arc de Triomphe being attacked. But, as many people have already said, what is this violence compared to the extreme violence of social domination, of poverty? My father is fifty years old. He has trouble walking. He cannot breathe at night without an apparatus so his heart doesn’t stop. And my father is young. The state of his body is due to social violence, because he was a factory worker. At thirty-five, his back was destroyed in the factory. The French state, Nicolas Sarkozy, said, if you don’t go back to work, you will lose your welfare. And so now he’s fifty years old, he cannot walk anymore. What is a tag on the Arc de Triomphe compared to that? What is a car burning in comparison to that?

To Exist in the Eyes of Others: An Interview with the Novelist Édouard Louis on the Gilets Jaunes Movement | The New Yorker (via naheternal)