where i go back and reconstruct the timeline.
i've such a vivid memory of blowing J and A's minds in a bar in chicago on division in 2011, when i knew the PRECISE date of every time we'd met in the preceding eight months.
my therapist knows this about me.
in our session the other day, i gestured towards it and said something like "you know i love a solid timeline."
i've always assumed this is because i'm a biographer. maybe it's just because i'm me. maybe i've always loved a solid timeline?
on wednesday, we held an event at howard that has been sitting in my head since february 26, 2021.
i went back.
i searched my gmail.
i know february 26th was when i emailed a man i work with about it. so it had been in my head before that.
i feel like this is maybe why i like yoga. the precision. knee over the ankle. hand in line with the foot. left foot at a 45 degree angle towards the left edge of the mat.
thursday afternoon was the first time i fully flummoxed my therapist. multiple times, she said "i think i'm just a little confused."
i rather more prefer it when she says, "that seems........... healthy?"
it's just so helpful to have the timeline.
with the memories, it's like an... i do not have the word but they are such a tangled knot that when we talk about what is triggering we wind up talking about at least three to five different men in order to excavate one moment.
clusterfuck. that is probably the word, but i'm unwilling to fully commit to it today.
the dates, finding the specific dates, feels like i'm stapling the story down. like, physically, there is a feeling of the staple puncturing the paper and going into the cork.
the specific dates are a restoration of some control.
but, really, do i have any control here? do we ever? this is also maybe a reason for believing in god, but i struggle with that too, excepting for the moments when i walk over the ledge into writing something i do not yet know.
AM I EVEN HERE?! i wonder that often, i'll be honest. whilst also feeling somewhat grounded by all of the time spent on zoom and all of the friendships and the haze of care that surrounds me and the words on the page and the concrete detail of all of the dates in my brain.
things have happened. knowing precisely when helps. for whatever reason.
and maybe the reason doesn't matter.
maybe it makes me feel realer?
ya'll know by now i do not do endings. because we're never really done here, right? this mess is ongoing.
i write about kim kardashian, trauma, time, and uncertainty. the dates of everything we ever did are seared upon my brain for whatever stupid reason.
i assume there is a reason. i assume there is a point to all of this. most days. as i wait for the words to come.