Hey — recently I learned about psocids, commonly known as booklice, which made me think about the fact that they like damp books, the fact that I always have books from the library, the fact that it calms me down that they picked my digs to hang around in because it means I'm a reader, when actually I just have a lot of cardboard sitting around from moving that manages to get wet even when the apartment is so dry I wake up thirsty, I go to bed thirsty, the fact that they were probably just hanging around my apartment because they like to chew on the wet plaster in the bathroom, the fact that while emptying the vacuum in the garbage disposal I made a mess because it was an unfamiliar vacuum, the fact that I squatted in the neon closet of the garbage disposal, afraid to do this in my apartment and settling, instead, with my foot propping the door open, sweating and scared to empty an unfamiliar vacuum, an unfamiliar vacuum—
In September I started my first full-time job. My office building has revolving doors, which I am not used to, and in my first week in this city I squeezed into the same chamber as my friend and then immediately regretted it. Perhaps willingly, I have been sucked into an ecosystem where I am thinking, endlessly, about optimization. We sent out an internal survey and some of the top things folks wanted to learn about were time management and productivity hacks. One of my bosses walked by our monitors the other day and said, "I saw everyone in that wing editing PowerPoint slides. Surely we can't all be adding value."
And I've been thinking about this, hearing people walk briskly behind my chair at work, thinking about this while watching a TV drama about a law firm — it's not that I want to be a lawyer after watching that show, or that I want to have meetings to attend; it's that I covet that poised, purposeful pantsuit walk. Walking briskly because you have somewhere to be, because your work is important, because you believe in it. And coveting not only that walk but the ease behind it, that you are walking briskly towards this shining, glitzy sphere of interest, able to ask for a specific Riesling because you are particular about wines, but in an endearing way, to crack a joke at the right time instead of wheezing good-naturedly before saying, lamely, "That's crazy."
I was feeling a thick resistance to making my life easier. I reread Things that don't scale by
and dried flowers on my clothing rack in a dark room. I chopped up garlic instead of buying it pre-minced. I whistled at birds and didn't think about how so much of my everything is chalking up lines and walking towards them into infinity, or oblivion, but not exactly, because I'm not trying to get existential about it; but I think I’ve forgotten how to play just as soon as I started to understand its importance. Which means I didn't really understand it at all1.Sometimes I think I get some feelings of rightness, of motion in no particular direction except maybe a comforting loop: of that incomparable chillness in eating a good breakfast, putting music on while doing the dishes, calling a friend. I bought Band-Aids with little animals on them and that felt like it mattered as much as anything could matter.
Carl Sandburg's poem about fog:
The fog comes
on little cat feet.
It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.
...is a short poem, but one he couldn't have written without agonizing over that particular movement of fog, its shy twist. Which makes me think of the dearness of attention, of that joy that you get from devotion. Anyway. That kind of care — of looking hard at the ephemeral, of your wrinkled tissue of interest, glitz forgotten, of the self, of other people, of your communities, whatever — who's to say you can't be striding towards that over everything else. A pantsuit walk towards the coziest spot in your neighbourhood. Any old bench, sitting in the cold, watching the dogs walk by.
the gallery
textwall.cc, made by Duck, who also made status.cafe, where you can write text, live, like the biggest google doc of your dreams. i have one as an experimental guestbook on my website. why not??
What else — Anne Helen Petersen's A Shortcut for Caring for Others, which discusses a crowd-sourced idea of putting together a personal emergency guide for yourself and your friends, so you know how to better take care of each other, right here, right now. It's such a kind and practical idea that I really wanted to share it with you.
And now for some music:
this 2022 version of spiritual state by nujabes. i’m so obsessed with the drums and how it churns forward…
from my dinner playlist - side by side… u can’t help but dance a little side by side!!!
from a recent movie i saw full of DANCE, which was wonderful
stromae is just my biggest hero so i had to put him in here
a song my brother shared with me yesterday that has kept me company today while i walked outside.
reasons for staying
because music has never sounded so good, which i keep saying to myself, which means it keeps getting better, how does it keep getting better? in dancing a little on the street because your song is good, that’s a private little joy, one that keeps you company like a little animal, a little dancing animal, that’s what you are, and how when i went to pick up my surprise leftover cake bag from the store the lady told me to have a good night and gave me TWO CAKES, because i can pick up cakes whenever i want now, because the chances to treat myself well appear more and more frequently, as if this whole thing is a garden that i planted just by being alive, just by dancing along.