Hey y’all,
I’m sitting at my day job typing this because, well, who cares about my day job?
I feel a bit upside-down today. My partner left this morning for a trip, and he won’t be back for a few days. I become the worst type of dad when it comes to travel, and I may have yelled about TSA liquid regulations (“THESE HAVE BEEN IN EFFECT FOR NEARLY TWO DECADES FUCKIN A”). My cat has started a new medication to avoid having conniptions whenever she sees me, and I’m not sure if it’s going to work. (“DO NOT COUNT ON IT MOMNY”) I’ve been mulling over a piece on student loans, but I’m a clam with no grit yet. I’ve started a series of drawings but my hand feels a bit ungainly.
Sometimes I suppose I am a bit too irradiated.
So instead of drag you down, I’ll share with you something a bit more upbeat—a prose poem. In many ways, it’s a sister to my piece that was just published in Contingent. But as my dear friend S. pointed out, this one is less elliptical, less broody, less lunar than “guys (etc)”. Maybe it’s a Debbie Gibson to my typical Elisabeth Fraser. There’s room for everything, an “Only in My Dreams” for every “Blood Bitch.” We’re always in tension with ourselves—or rather, the idea of ourselves. I’m a Leo sun and an Aquarius moon. I’m in love with the world even I’m spooky about it.
Hope you’re having a good afternoon. I’m actually going to hang out with S. and watch and eat garbage. Poem is below the line. (You should read the one in Contingent, too.)
Cheers babes,
KJ
7 tips for how to get over a crush
write him a note! the longer, the better. be honest and sincere: no need to hide behind jokes today. give him the note as the bell rings, just as you’re both set to leave psych 102. he’ll be kind, let you down gently—he “accepts homosexuals” but “just can’t feel that way.” he smiles and you smile back. he’ll become a sustainable farmer on the west coast.
write him a note(!), but this time make it teeny tiny, a scrap of paper, a one-line meditation—maybe “your eyes are beautiful.” that’s a good one! wait outside his class before you deliver it, like a creep. hand it to him and wait for him to open it as he keeps walking, like a creep. feel the ability to see yourself from a fourth-story window, gap-toothed and pudgy, sweating like a creep. he’ll become a youth pastor or something.
swear off guys altogether! in fact, get engaged to your friend from high school: she’s free, you’re free. you live two hours apart. you don’t have a car yet. buy a pawn shop diamond and live off menthols. fuck while watching an episode of <designing women>. watch everyone wonder if you’re having an episode. it ends when you put designs on her sister’s ex-boyfriend. who is a woman? you’ll go to her wedding at the museum.
pour yourself into your studies! go to graduate school because you’re tired of working on failed documentaries, fooling around with failed guys at art school parties. chat up a librarian while writing a paper. he has perfect black curls; he’s been to japan; he knows sonic youth side projects. he’ll hug you—as one does a creep—after your date. he’s somewhere, this guy is everywhere, who hasn’t been left drooling and sobbing over this jerk.
say yes to new experiences! go out with every boy who says hello to you, has a shitty neck tattoo, asks you to sit on their face while you’re playing scrabble with roommates, lectures you on the phone about your own research. stare in the mirror (like a creep) after you blow an ugly guy who has an aversion to peppers and onions, because clearly your mother raised a fool if you go to bed with a man who won’t eat your cooking. meet a new cute guy for tacos; talk about miami freestyle; go on a walk; feel his nervous feet tapping yours under the cafe table. look up: realize it’s been seven years. he’s your husband.
commit to a higher cause! join a union—better yet, become the union’s lead organizer. wear three hats along with all the other leaders. get to know a fraggle of a man who handles grievances. play online scrabble together the entirety of the holidays. make lewder and lewder jokes with one another while designing bargaining surveys. drink wine / get tattoos. sit close, closer, knees kissing first, then lips. cry in a shower when he moves across the country for his partner’s job. he is your best friend.
take a leap of faith! get drunk and go to bed with a new friend. repeat this until he’s no longer new and / or you no longer have to be drunk. repeat this until you mouth “i love you” one night. pray that he thought you mouthed “i love this” or “i really like this” or “i’m a creep,” because you are always the murderer of your own joy. wake up hungover to an email from teen vogue: “7 tips for how to get over a crush” and laugh at the idea of not wanting to always be overwhelmed. he’s coming over tonight.
(thanks for reading. tell a friend. don’t keep this only in my dreams. —kj)