#astrawrites

[jessastra]

A little excerpt from my warmup write today:

I hope I can keep that up in a way that will make me a much more consistent person to be around, because I can’t preach stability when I’m crumbling to the ground as I speak, my blood spilling itself all over the pulpit.

[jessastra]

I really wanted to share the warmup write I did today, because it feels like one of the purest pieces that I've ever written without being sad. It's the season of loving myself!!!!

WARMUP WRITE

There’s an inflatable tube-man flailing across the street from me right now. I can see him through the tiny perforations in the sunshade to my left. The smell of coffee beans and Clorox wipes drift towards me from the coffee bar on the other side of the room. I’ve loved this corner seat for a long time. I’ve been coming to this Caribou since it was built. Riding along with my dad in his shitty 2000 beige Nissan Altima for his early morning writing sessions, pretending I was writing too.

                  During covid I would ride my bike here, especially after I convinced my parents to get me a laptop for school, even though I didn’t really use it for freshman or sophomore year. I’d sit in the corner with the booth seat that always smelled of spilt coffee and sticky-sweet, blended drinks. I pretended then that I was working too, instead just messaging my friends or bringing a controller to play celeste. I think as much as I loathed the idea of doing things for the aesthetic, or told myself I did at the time, I did it ALL the time. So now I sit here in my ripped jeans and oversized Sleepless in Seattle t-shirt, writing something out on my laptop in a coffee shop whose walls have held my aspirations and ideas for 14 years, realizing that I’m doing all the things I thought looked so cool back then, because of the work I’ve put into myself.

                  I think that’s the thing I didn’t realize then: to get to the things I wanted, I had to work for it. And ask for a lot of help, which I thought I didn’t need and didn’t want at the time. I thought I was the smartest, most interesting, most special person in the entire world. (Credit to Vitruvius from The Lego Movie on that one.) But anyone can wear the mask!! I didn’t need to be special because I was inherently better or smarter than everyone else, which I believed to be true for an embarrassing portion of my life. I just need to be here, with my unique life experience and my friends who love me. I need to improve, grow, admit when I’m wrong, laugh, cry, and, most important, ASK FOR HELP. I am content to be a human, just like everyone else. I have flaws. So many. But they don’t define me, and neither do my successes. Love defines me. Hope defines me. And for once I’m not writing this so that other people think I’m smart or emotionally aware as I’ve done so many times in the past, not even partially. Well, maybe partially. BUT THAT’S OK. I am growing, improving, loving, crying, learning.

                  The inflatable tube man is still flailing across the street. The moths and butterflies flit around the garden in the yard by the Caribou. Everything that was here when I was a kid still is, and I have changed for the better.

[allmycolorsforyou]

[text] I’m actually kind of scared of your mother.

Text ✉ Marley ⇄ Quinn

Quinn: You, half of the people from St. Rose Catholic Church and dad’s secretary.Quinn: It’s okay, Marley. She’s looking forward to meeting you.Quinn: If you could refrain from mentioning the several times you have given Emma candy before dinner, we’ll be golden. Quinn: And she doesn’t need to know what you have been doing with her daughter after her granddaughter is asleep either.