when to worry

Anxiety is my ride-or-die apparently and gosh I wish I could kick her out of the car.

It’s been a rough few days.

I’m tired of feeling gross.

Tired of not having the kinds of friends here I can confide in. That’s on me, a little bit. I know a lot of happy gadflies and while they’re super fun to run around with, they’re not confidantes.

Work is awful, like unwaveringly terrible and awful, I feel overlooked and undervalued and that’s weighing on me.

Writing = rejection right now, over and over, from journals and writer friends. Just, everywhere.

Do I stay or go? On so many fronts, existentially and temporally and now.

I just don’t know.

why does Google think I'm Dutch?

 

must be the VPN

despite not being a poet

Despite not being a poet, I attended a hybrid poetry workshop the other day. It was led by a local poet I admire and held at a wonderful Black-owned bookstore.

As the crowd of attendees swelled, folks packing onto velvet settees and chatting cheerfully, my anxiety increased.

Do I make excuses and flee? (the poet already saw me and said hi)

Take another CBD mint? (hemingway ftw, I can’t medicate and write)

Or tough it out? (I stayed)

*

My goal was to force my mind into other fresher lanes. I’ve been hauling ass down the freeways of short fiction and longer-form CNF for awhile now.

The poet shared some beautiful writing, including a piece by Roxane Gay. I began to understand, dimly, dumbly, how the structure made the piece more powerful.

Then we did writing exercises, and I stared at my computer and mostly failed. It felt stressful and panicky. I don’t know if going was a good idea, or a successful one but I also don’t think that matters.

What I'm reading (winter 2024)

It's been a mad dash of memoir reading these past months, including a few by celebrities:

Kerry's: the magnificent "Scandal" star's memoir Thicker Than Water reads like a politician's, to me. Elegant, contained, not too revealing. Much like her, think.
Britney's: The Woman in Me reminded me why she's a megastar: it's deeply personal, fun, sad, insightful, and full of longing. I'm embarrassed at how terribly we have treated this genuine artist.
Jada's: I was interested to learn more about Jada Pinkett Smith, apart from the snark and the mean headlines. In Worthy, she writes vividly about her tough Baltimore upbringing, shares rich details about her longtime friendship with Tupac, and generally paints a picture of intellect and accomplishment. It lost me with the woo woo stuff toward the end, though.

In a more literary vein, I just reread Ayaan Hirsi Ali's Infidel. Her story of her determination to live the kind of life she wanted, despite many years of hardships in Somalia and Kenya and Holland, two forced marriages, the loss of a sister and the strictures of men-led religion. Unfortunately now she's leaned into belief in a christian god, but her story is still compelling.

And I was reluctant to read Jennette McCurdy's I'm Glad My Mom Died, mostly due to the title. A thoughtful barista in Memphis urged me to read it nonetheless and I'm glad they did.
What a story, of celebrity, anxiety, abuse, lies and love.
It ended abruptly and in a way I get why, it's almost too much pain to bear ultimately, but I'll just say I'm amazed at McCurdy's bravery and wish her well.

bear with (plz)

Lots going on in busysmartypants land.

No more or less probably than for anyone else but between work, writing, reading, and enjoying my first carnival season I’m feeling quite underwater.

I’ll keep doing what I’m doing and in the meantime enjoy this Zen moment.

@dwightkincy Red fox on chill with fur blowing in the wind. #fox #nature ♬ original sound - Dwight Kincy

I'm (not) happy for you

 

                                                         

c’mon man

It’s wild how much forgiveness is extended to certain segments of society.

As a not-young white woman I know I’m the beneficiary of such largesse too.

Last week I asked a man in his 70’s to please not touch me. We were working a parade event and he’d grabbed my elbow, asking me to make change for him.

It was the eighth or tenth time in the four times I’d been around him that he’d grabbed me. Many of the other volunteers avoid him, switching shifts or coordinating offline, because he always stands too close, talks too much about himself, and touches touches touches.

His face fell as he registered my request. Literally crumpled. Then he bristled. I just need change, he snapped.

Eventually he went to the bar and got a drink and sat down next to another volunteer, muttering that he hadn’t meant anything.

I know you didn’t, I said evenly. I just asked you not to touch me. You can talk to me without grabbing me.

Later, he apologized stiffly, not meeting my eye, repeating that he hadn’t meant anything, and then left. The other volunteer said, Don’t you think you were being too hard on him? He really felt bad. He was almost crying. And he apologized.

Now I bristled. It felt like I was the one in the wrong.

Maybe it’s a generational thing; they’re both in their seventies, but what kept coming back to me is his insistence that he didn’t mean anything by touching me. Which is devastating.

Because that’s it. That’s the issue. The unwanted touch that makes me recoil and causes all of us to trade knowing looks and whispers, is meaningless to him.

*

Also last week, I was in a meeting where a male co-worker was abrupt and dismissive to a woman co-worker.

((PAUSE to digest shock and reaction.))

(((OK just kidding. We all know this happens on the regular.)))

*

Every time the woman offered her expert recommendation, male co-worker responded with a curt, one-sentence answer. Later I messaged another (male) colleague and Colleague responded: oh he (Co-worker) is a great guy, our kids grew up together. Maybe he just a bad day.

Thus dismissed, I mentioned my discomfort to the project leader but she too demurred. Co-worker has a great reputation, she said. And he keeps offering to help with our project.

*

Flash-forward to this week and Colleague asked to chat with me. The expert woman had told him privately how dismissed she’d felt in the meeting, ignored, disrespected. Colleague was calling to apologize and figure out how he could listen better. I completely missed it, he said humbly.

So, validation, I guess.

To trust my instincts.

And a reminder to be a better ally and amplify women's voices.

*

Also, c’mon man! Guys, do better, so we don’t have to.