Last Minute

There has to be some part of me (all of me?) that loves leaving just enough time for everything. An entire day with a 5pm deadline is simply not as juicy as only having 44 minutes (23 minutes...6 minutes...30 seconds!) to get it done.

I once heard that the key to productivity is something like having a good idea and not quite enough time to do it. I definitely have the second part down.

Summer Loving

Sweet sunshine, cold drinks, warm breezes, long days. After a tunnel of darkness the light has never been brighter, the breaths never deeper. I hope to live the way my last-year self dreamt of living: free, real, and full, energized not just by self-preservation, but self-fulfillment. I can't wait to see you there.

Slowing Down

Several months ago my computer stopped saving things because I ran out of storage. I also let my WordPress subscription expire because I wanted to redesign this website, so the address defaulted to include ".wordpress.com" and random advertisements started to appear. My podcast was also hosted on this site, which also ran out of storage, which left the last episode in March.

I had a goal to figure this all out by June 1, which happens to be the beginning of Pride Month, but wouldn't it be a better gift to me (a gay) to relax and do this on my own time? My only anxiety is a pervasive loss of interest in my online personality and aesthetic, though I am shocked that the public has seemed to proceed in its cultural life unbothered by my already waning presence.

These technical problems have become the embarrassingly unkept garden beside my rural virtual home. Even I am starting to not stand the dysfunction. But this weekend is Memorial Day, a time to honor our fallen, and it just wouldn't be right to focus on myself this much right now.

Another week.

Summer Reading List

Whatever

I

Want

And

You

Should

To

How to Return

The CDSizzle announcement is like, cute and everything, but is that it? Like, that's it? It feels like the airline pilot is asking us to return to our seats after doing cartwheels in the sky, the contents of everyone's carry-on bags strewn throughout the cockpit and every 3.4 oz bottle exploded. Return to my seat? How am I going to get this shampoo off me? Whose underwear is this? How much longer until this plane actually lands and we can get off? In the meantime, it's a practice sitting still with the wreckage, observing the aftermath, and being ok with no screen showing the flight path.

Are we there yet? Soon, I suppose.

Final Stretch

Phew. If you are reading this then I am still not done with my first year of graduate school. My brain is swimming in a sea of words, some of my creation and most not, and I am definitely ready to touch the other end of the pool and trepidatiously punch my fist in the air while I hold onto that floaty lane divider thing and definitely not look at the scoreboard.

Sorry I'm Late

What did I miss?

Summer Over There

I've been thinking a lot about how to run through the finish line. As a runner you're told to fix your vision past it, to maintain momentum all the way through. How can the deadlines be finish lines, ones that propel me forward?

I am looking ahead that time when I can release my strides, take a deep breath, and feel the summer sun. I hope I'll see you there smiling, too.

My Greatest Wish for You

My clothes are folded, the dishes are drying, an no alarm is set for the morning. I can only pray that you, too may reach this level of nirvana, one night soon.

Official Statement

We have admittedly hit some road blocks with the essay rollout this week. Rest assured that we are working with local authorities around the world to ensure safe and timely delivery of future essays. We apologize for the inconvenience and deeply appreciate your readership.

Trail Blazes

My good friend is starting a big hike tomorrow, and so is everyone, it seems. Reemergence is the new mode of operation. What path will we follow, and to where?

I hope your shoes fit right, your pack is light, and every blaze appears clear. You already have everything you need.

Triggered

There’s this perverse solemnity that comes over some conservatives and NRA members when another mass shooting happens. Suddenly their voices become so measured and serious, a patronizing display of false solidarity masked under a pitifully thin veil of grief. As we’ve all had this conversation before (or watched those TV people have this conversation before), numbness has become the survival tool. The well of shock ran dry long ago.

What I need is for someone in power who identifies as a Republican, conservative, NRA member, far-right person, whatever term least offends, to say, “Yes, this is bad.” Don’t deflect to the victims or their families or the gunman’s fucked-upness – just admit that this is bad. Tell me you agree that people should not have to mumble “phone, wallet, keys, gun” as they pat their pockets going to the grocery store or spa or school or church. I know you might, but is not about you. This is about deli meat and foot massages and homework and God. This is about the “personal freedoms” that are actually personal, not those attached to a Spartan fantasy of self-defense.

I am mystified by the psycho-emotional gymnastics necessary to cling to the identity of “proud gun owner” during weeks like these. I’m a “proud” gay, but I wasn’t when a bunch of us flew to Puerto Vallarta for circuit parties during the pandemic. I’m not when a prominent gay person says something fucked up, or when we neglect people within our community, or when we body-shame each other or act culturally superior to other people who just want to have a conversation. Sometimes, I’m an ashamed gay. You can be an ashamed gun owner, too. It’s not a productive space, but perhaps it’s one that could allow you to get out of the way.

Past the Deadline

I've passed the deadline on a few personal projects, for which I have little accountability and for which no one is materially harmed in their delay. I feel like I expend so much meeting everyone else's deadlines (pause for applause?), that by the time my own start to approach, they become malleable in texture. A date turns into a season turns into a chapter turns into a life phase. "I'm not ready for that yet," I say right up until I begin.

I remember walking into an audition once, and with every bare footstep on the Marley floor I heard the voice in my head saying, "Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it." Now when I hear that voice, I know it's just me getting closer.

One Year Later

Oof.

Breakfast Sandwich

I wake up to NPR playing the 7:00am headlines. I reorder my room and make a mini pot of coffee, silently responding to each story. (Republicans governors are acting crazy...what even is $1.9 trillion anyway...I guess it'll be partly sunny later). I put my winter gear on and mask up for a short trek to the nearest corner store where they sell breakfast sandwiches.

You can ask them to make one for you, but it kind of takes a long time and what you should really do is just grab one from the warming station which is actually easy to miss as you walk in but they're 49¢ cheaper and you don't even have to wait. The only catch is that sometimes a sausage, egg and cheese bagel isn't an option and you have to decide if it's worth waiting for them to make one fresh for 49¢ more or if you should just go for an English muffin this time. Either way once you checkout you can either use a card, which is seamless but then you have see it appear on your statement later, or you can pay with cash but then you feel an odd pressure to tip because there's always an empty tip jar there, so the breakfast sandwich always ends up being $1 more. But hey, you don't have to work at a corner store so what's an extra dollar? It feels nice to do something nice, but it also feels gullible to spend $6 instead of $5 on a breakfast sandwich. Once you scurry out of there remember to put it in your inside coat pocket, close to your chest, so it stays warm.

On my walk back I notice the giant frozen lake, and it looks so calm.

Third Lap

Whoever said the hardest part is starting has never got to the middle part. The middle part is the hardest. It's the third lap of the mile. It’s the moment where you know you’re more than halfway there, but you have nearly as far to go as you’ve come. There’s still no countdown, still no final stretch. You’re on the back corner of the track with your friends and family at the other end. It's the time when you dig deep, when it's just you and the voice in your head. "I've made it this far, and I can make it all the way."

Camera Time

Welcome to your next internet camera webcam video call virtual meeting. Today we'll be going over how to get off this thing and get out alive. Take another sip of coffee and stare at something for a bit. Ok great we'll see you back here next week. Ok I'm going to log off now. Bye! Ok bye. Bye. Buhbye. Bye.

Be Mine

Valentine's Day reached its heyday in early elementary school, with the equitable yet emotionally charged distribution of the box of themed valentines from Rite Aid. Every kid in the class needed one, but there was a clear hierarchy; the silent politics of allocating which quality valentine to give to which peer was one of my first experiences of pure interiority.

The addition of wine and chocolate and jewelry adds complications that inadequately commemorate the phenomenon of romantic love. But I still like seeing the drug store transformed, the aisle of red plasticky crap filled with the potential to express our innermost feelings. "Of all the random stuff at Rite Aid, I chose the best random thing for you."

Distinction

There's a big difference between doing nothing and doing nothing.

Original Recipe:

1 part sleep

2 parts water

3 parts gazing into the distance

Incorporate thoroughly, add wine as needed.