16 September 2021

0 today was big

i did not leave my home even once, but it felt significant. 

not my not leaving my home, but the day, more generally. in that way that teaching on zoom feels significant but you also never really can be confident that you've had a real interaction. you've given a performance, yes, but you never quite really feel seen. 

so much drama happens at home now. 

my interior life has always been exceptionally rich, but now my public life occurs within my own interiors and it feels a bit ridiculous. 

the proposal is finalized. the agent is submitting it. 

i keep sending him nudges because all of my prior agents have ghosted me. and i appreciate that he has never shamed me for nudging him while also being annoyed at myself for feeling grateful. 

"i don't want to sound ungrateful." that was the talk i delivered on kim kardashian this morning. a talk during which i disclosed that i was in an abusive relationship in college. something i know i would not be capable of doing in from of a room full of strangers in real life, but there are things that are possible on zoom that wouldn't otherwise be. and i am grateful. truly. 

my essay grading scheme rewards risks, even if they aren't entirely successful. on zoom, i am able to take those risks myself, in my scholarship. and i am grateful for that. i fear it will soon go away. though i hope not. 

today, tonight really, it will have been eight months since the date rape. i texted him early this morning, because i was awake and thinking about it and i needed to remind him. because i assume he has the luxury to forget. 

screech is dead. do you ever think about that? screech died. 

lindear found out the husband of the sister of someone we went to high school with died of covid a few weeks ago. 

shane died of covid

donovan died nine years ago of i don't even quite remember what. 

all these men, all these boys of all our youths. 

i think turning 40 threw me, maybe not just because it feels very grown up, but because it hit me that a full 20 years of my life, fully half of my life, has been spent dealing with the repercussions of abuse. 

and here's to the next 20 years, should i be so lucky as to have them, being better because i'm doing the work now. but fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. 

i vacillate between anger and sadness and often conflate them. 



06 September 2021

0 i am writing about kim kardashian everywhere this weekend, so it seems

in all of the available venues. on the professional blog. in a draft of a talk i'm giving in two weeks. in the powerpoint for that talk. in a draft of a journal article i think i'm going to submit at the end of the month. in the dumpster fire word doc where i've been dumping for the last five years, working over all of the pieces that are spilling out everywhere else now. 

and yet it still isn't enough. 

i know i need to be writing about victim blaming. 

writing about how what it is that i am actually talking about at this point isn't just how kardashian grabbed the narratives available to her after the assault in paris in october 2016. but how those narratives blamed her and how her recounting of her own experience was shaped by that blame. 

to the extent that, in april 2017, she told ellen degeneres she was grateful for the experience. 

talking to debo earlier today, i complained that there were no documentaries or books on the william kennedy smith rape trial. 

maybe that's my next book, i said and even as the words came out of my mouth i felt that sensation settling in my guts. the sensation of having just had an idea from which it will not be easy to escape. 

the sensation of the story sinking its teeth into your brain matter. 

even over the phone, debo's horror was palpable. 

earlier today, canvasing the internet for photos to use for my kardashian powerpoint, i found an image of a halloween costume from october 2016. it was eventually pulled from the market so maybe there's hope for humanity. but while it lasted, for $69, you could get a costume that would enable you to pay homage to the violence kim kardashian experienced in paris on 3 october 2016. 

i cannot stop thinking about the nastiness of this, the cruelty. 

i do not have the words for what i need to say. 



02 September 2021

0 i'mma just lay all of the mess at your feet


the egyptian and i have broken up two times in the last two weeks. which seems like rather a bit too much. 

he knows he is not ready for a relationship. i do not even know where i am. am i here? i am definitely not there.

shane russell has died. 

if you were a girl at my high school, that means something to you.

i cannot remember if he went to our middle school. i think he did but i don't want to commit to something inaccurate. 

what i remember was that he was one of like five cute guys in whatever school we were in. and then, while i went on a journey towards trying to be chic (by which i basically just mean wearing bootcut jeans), he went country. 

this is a typical trajectory for boys in tennessee. but it mean i no longer found him attractive, post-wranglers.

lindear had a crush on him too. we open the text conversation about how shane is in the hospital with covid by acknowledging we both had till-then-secret crushes on him in the mid-90s. 

i'm realizing i've been in the middle of something of a light depression, ever since the charles j. shields stuff came boiling back maybe but more so with the changing of the seasons.

i'm pretty sure i shouldn't be crying in between classes. 

i want to say something really profound but, really, i have nothing. 

there are these banana trees, on the corner of corcoran and 15th. 

i walked over to see them the other day. a day or so later, when the egyptian and i reconvened to discuss whether or not we had made a mistake, i took him to see them. 

standing under them, he wanted to kiss me but didn't. i wanted him to but i looked away.

this is special, right? he asks me, as we break up for the second time in two weeks and i nod, swiping my pointer fingers grandly beneath my eyelids to collect the tears falling from my green eyes, like our queen celine dion. 

the thing about the banana tress in america is that they cannot handle the winter. they have to be unplanted and packed away for the cold months. burvil used to put hers in the attic. 

in order to live, they must be uprooted and packed away. but then the spring comes again and then the summer, and they stretch themselves, grandly lifting their green selves up towards the sun.

that's it. that's the ending. the banana trees will be back. let me just put my little faith in that.