08 January 2022

0 i got myself out of a bit of writing today


a book chapter that was originally a conference paper then a book chapter, all pre-pandemic. i signed a contract. i had a doc named "pres legs." three years in, it contained-- LITERALLY-- 327 words. 

people, it sparked NO JOY. yes, i could have done it but it would have been a soulless drudge of a dusty thing, and who even needs that? life is hard enough as is. 

in getting out of this thing that clearly was not going to happen, i plead bereavement. which felt like a lie at the time but now i think of it, bingley died. we are bereaved. 

marcel has been here eight days and already fits in with claude in a way that bing never did. maybe because he was smaller, gentler, sweeter, less alpha. claude is a bossyboots and so i guess felt he could beat on bing at will. 

marcel is older, bigger, sweet too but also demanding, and he busted out of the bathroom hissing and spitting and tossing blows. 

i confess, i'm a little bitter on bingley's behalf. he deserved better. we all did. 

i should be writing more. in particular, i should be writing about victim blaming, but i just cannot seem to. maybe, i'm realizing, because i still, in so many ways, blame myself for the things that happen. maybe because i am still very, very angry with myself for what has happened. 

hard to attach words to feelings you cannot locate. 

still, my sentences involve constructions like "i imagine i would be feeling..." because i am mostly numb. 

and it's not that i want to be. just that i am. 

i do wonder if the semester will help. 

i anticipate nothing but a shitshow from beginning to end with possibly the occasional personal victory thrown in here and there. that seems like an atmosphere in which one could pry open one's hearts and thoughts and peer deeply, darkly in, non? 

maybe i'll get to see my parents. maybe i'll keep all of the cats alive for more than 4 months. maybe i'll have multiple sheet cakes. maybe the jackiebook will, at long last, sell, for a sum however paltry. 

maybe it won't be so bad. 

actually. that may be the attitude with which to go about the new year: maybe it won't be so bad. 

my resolutions are to actively seek joy and have fewer breakups with the egyptian. 

and, you know, maybe get a book or two under contract. 

who knows? nobody knows. this is the thing about life. we never ever know and yet we throw ourselves into some murky future in hope, that something will happen, and maybe it won't be so bad. 

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