| ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- We could send letters ... God, how I miss the days of real letters--ink or pencil on paper with sometimes-hard-to-read handwriting and doodles and clippings and fancy stamps and everything. I still have some, tucked away here and there in drawers. Somewhere I have a vintage suitcase--up in the attic probably--that has old letters and postcards and other bits of life ephemera, mostly from the '90s. There may be a few late 80s hold-outs, too. There are zines and old magazines and copies of high school and college newspapers--have I ever told you that the first record review I ever wrote was for The Smiths "Strangeways, Here We Come"? The takeaway: I am old. Also, writing about music has always been such a great love. To be honest I feel like such a journalist fraud most of the time. I like writing features and human interest stories. I can do news but I don't feel like it's my strength. Anyway, I digress (but is it really digression if it fits into my overall everyday feeling of being a fraud?). An ex was recently in town. The Poet. He lives in Virginia now with his fiancee. He was a philosophy major (OF COURSE) and now he has his own landscaping business and seems generally happy. He messaged me on FB to get together but kept trying to call me through FB despite me telling him it'd be easier to text. Long story short we were never able to meet up and part of me is relieved because part of me just wants to keep that bit of my life, safe under old sweatshirts or collecting dust and nostalgia in an old suitcase. Maybe that's because 20something me really did make some godawful decisions. Sometimes she wasn't the nicest person. Often she had horrible self-esteem that made her do really stupid things. Some of those stupid things resulted in hurting other people. Mostly it just involved me licking self-inflicted wounds. I look back now and think, 'well, the self-esteem is sometimes better but often not and mostly I've just learned to forge on in the tornado of awful thoughts because, you know, survival. Anyway, I've always thought you were a wonderful, empathetic person and, of course, I've only found you more wonderful over the years. xoxo 9:46 pm - 07.09.17
sounds: ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- previously on ... - next time on ...
in which i hate feeling as though i'm not acing this thing - 22.09.17 - 6:11 pm We all float on - 20.09.17 - 10:14 am work, work, work - 18.09.17 - 7:59 pm Make it Work (Fuck the Haters) - 12.09.17 - 8:37 pm there goes the sun - 10.09.17 - 9:13 pm |
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