23 May 2015

0 [the end] in the UK

i do not want to move back to america. there. i said it. which probably means some unforeseeable awful or great thing will now happen necessitating that because the thing you say you don't want to do is usually the thing you're meant to do, but ah well. there it is. i want to stay here.

and there was a way i thought that would go, based entirely on hearsay and rumor. then, on wednesday, i went in for my visa check and MY DESTINY WAS IMPERILED. it remained so for 28 hours, until i could get in to see an international student advisor, at which point my destiny looked pretty much the same as i'd been expecting it to but just came at a cost of £450.

when we skyped this morning, debo looked deep into my image on the screen and said, your week has been one of many emotions, hasn't it? truth.

(seriously, i should never ever ever have watched that felicity jones movie where the girl gets banned from america for years because she played fast and loose with her student visa. it has only ever contributed to my emotional ruin. if you are moving abroad, do not watch it. it will ruin you.)

so things are better. the future is no more clear but it is not dire at present. which is saying something considering i'm someone who's been laboring for months over an academic article who's main point appears to be that we will all, one day, die.

the crazy thing is that i can see how it could all come together. the future, i mean. which, i know, isn't a guarantee, and given my thinking, it's hardly logical or coherent, but it could be fun. and given my 12-year-old self's ability to pinpoint the two people who would preoccupy me for the next 20 years, i'm not entirely convinced i'm not a prophet.

it has been a very very strange month. one i've mostly spent spinning my wheels. reading, taking notes, drawing glyphs, doing all of the not writing part that precedes writing. gathering a thought soup for something. apparently the incredibly obvious truth that we will all die, but also less obvious larger points about the way we write lives and history and the functions celebrities and images and stories persform in our culture and our lives. and finding a language to put those thoughts into.

does that sound crazy? nonsensical? i've sent my father a draft of the article solely to perform a sanity-check so the waters indeed feel treacherous. i am, after all, less than two months out from the week where i killed all of my imaginary friends. i am a delicate flower. only capable, at present, of dressing myself in black and white.

there's this other project beckoning. not tonya, though there's tonya too. but a project on obituaries. a project in which gloria emerson looms large. today, after shipping that article off to my father, i allowed myself some to go down the gloria emerson rabbit hole, just to feel out what my future might be like. and it occurred to me i'd never heard her voice.

and so i found a clip of an interview she did with john lennon, which led to the realization that i'd apparently also never heard lennon's speaking voice and also the resurfacing of a vague memory of discovering a clip of jackie speaking before boarding an airplane. a clip i'm nearly 97% certain appeared to me in a dream and not in real life.

it feels like a delicious treat, like a really nice slice of cake, dipping into an undeveloped project like that. maybe nothing will come of it. i've been thinking about obituaries for awhile now, so i suspect something will, but that isn't the point. the point is that i actually know what i'm doing. i have only just in these last few months figured out how to do what i have, in some secret part of myself since i was a teenager, been working towards having the ability to do.

in a few days i will be 34. only now do i know what my work looks like.

i expect this certainty will last about a day, if i'm lucky. probably more like an hour. but, god, it's a beautiful thing to dwell in, grinning like an idiot, while it lasts.

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