All in Women in the World
Here’s a blog post I wrote in 2012, just before I left for Prague to go to film school. When I arrived (2013), my way of making friends was to engage a bunch of international students in a debate about why I thought the Best Actor and Best Actress category at the Oscars should be merged.
I rode the A train to JFK before 5am last Friday (July 26th, 2019). This meant that, while not deserted, the train was quiet. There were people sleeping and Sleeping (the first being a upright doze, the second being all out, laying down flat, jacket over the face for ultimate sensory deprivation).
“The meatball’s dead,” my step dad called through the window to my mom.
“Really? Are there any marks?” she said.
I was looking through my notes of things to write about this morning, and I saw that I had written “taxidermy recommendations.”
I stopped to take a break and searched “tasers” on Amazon Smile. I was supposed to be writing, but I often take breaks to follow tangential whims that usually lead to me mentally saying, “Huh” before moving on to the next thing.
There’s a sign in the cafe that reads, “Cowboys only. Heifers by invitation.”
A man just held the door open for me to a single person restaurant bathroom. The door opened inward, which meant standing side by side between the toilet and the overlarge trash can.
I got the most compliments on my appearance when I was depressed and lost my appetite.
Whenever I travel with a large group of people, I’m surprised by how afraid men are to share beds with each other. They will sleep on the floor, the couch, the countertop…as long as they don’t have to share a giant king size bed. But when I was working to sort us out last night, one would said, “I prefer not to share a bed,” and the others just sorted themselves onto their own safe islands.
Today I saw a Confederate flag hanging in the front window of a small house in upstate New York. The house looked tiny and dirty. It was unpainted, and the light from the small window was completely blocked by the flag. It must be really dark inside.
Sometimes life is like herding smoke—I can barely contain it, and I’m in constant pursuit of order and control. Other times it is like breathing in at a bakery—everything sweet surrounds me. All I need to do is inhale.
I keep thinking about Grandma’s letter. Did she really address and stamp an envelope to each of us ten grandchildren? Or did she only send it to the offenders and just make that sneaky comment about “you know how you are” to send us into psychosis?
Today I opened my mail.
I don't do this often because the mail I receive is not interesting or important. If it is important, I take note of the sender and then deal with whatever they need on the internet.
Today I saw a man make a kissy face at someone I couldn’t see. Disgusting, I thought. and followed his gaze to two small dogs. I thought he was making the face at a woman and was being gross. Why do I always think the worst of people?