Been a While

not sure what to use this space for nowadays. playlists?

I can only explain what I’ve been up to lately in moments. In trauma. “Got dumped, moved in with parents, mom can’t breathe, got a trachea, dad had a stroke,” I say without taking a breath to every person I meet in New York. These milestones were split up but the time bled together in a world I cannot escape. A world that, two years later, still dictates every aspect of my life. I’m exhausted. I’m sad. I’m so embarrassed to admit I have zero passion so I evade the “what do you do?” question as hard as I can. “What do you do?” A New Yorker asked on my first day here. “You don’t need to know what I do,” I responded, fully sounding like I worked for the government. “I’m a citizen.”

It’s been two years since my series of losses but still, they haunt me. Like a tree stump tangled in grass I trip over every time I walk uphill. I catch my foot on one piece of the past and fall down the stairs, unable to catch myself on the railing. Each step crashes into each other and ultimately, reminds me of reasons why I’m unable to do it. Why I’m unable to pick myself up. You’re unlovable, you’re incapable, you’re all alone all alone all alone.

In this string of misfortunes, I got waitlisted for a full ride MFA and was subsequently rejected. Not the biggest thing, but still something that happened during my Bad Time. Before that, I wrote all. the. time. I used to post immediately and didn’t care who hated my writing and didn’t care if it was perfect or polished because I was proud of it. Now, I toil. Now, I tirelessly edit every word I write. If it’s not perfect, I spend months rewriting it until I abandon it. A Google doc of 26 words exists with the same essay I have tried to write for almost a year and have failed to perfect. “I can’t write until I move past the breakup,” I tell my friends when they say just start again. “I can’t write until I have perfectly captured the moment my life see-sawed for the worst.”

The only thing that doesn’t make me feel hopeless is a good soundtrack. Like Achilles dipped in the river Styx, anchoring his soul to his heel, my soul is anchored to music - the only thing that makes me feel less alone when I’m at my lowest. I like to walk with the sun on my face and imagine a scenario where I am in love. Or I’m tragically heartbroken. Or I see myself in reflective glass and think damn, has New York really done that much for my ass?? Okay. Maybe I’ll stay.

I love to curate the soundtrack to my life a lá Liz Buxbaum and love to share them with my friends. There is something romantic about burning CDs for your crush, slipping them in their high school locker, and waiting for feedback on their thoughts. I loved to arrange the songs like a story, putting together the ones that sounded best, making sure they knew Track 3 was always the one that made me think of them. I miss making playlists for people. Even when they don’t listen to them, it’s a labor of love that makes me feel giddy.

I went back to Iowa two weeks ago. I said it was to recharge but really, it was to retreat. I got laid off and rarely keep a job and this was the first one that felt adjacent to somewhere I’d like to go. Somewhere I could use my creativity. I reminded myself “this is why you don’t hope.” “This is why you never get too close to the sun you stupid fucking Icarus.” But I did. My life was disrupted (again). Then I saw a woman with the voice of an angel sing Black Velvet at a seedy dive bar in the middle of Iowa and it served as a reminder to do the things I love because I love them. To ignore everything else and bask in the glow of music and, most importantly, WRITE.

So I am here writing. Not editing. I will not edit, if I am consistent enough with this, and will try to put out a playlist of songs I am vibing with on (realistically) a monthly basis if the mood strikes me. You already know where I’ve picked up the first song. A lot of these are just my current vibe which I would coin: I Just Found A Natty Light Outside in the Snow After a College Party. Beer is Still Cold. Girlfriend Just Broke Up With Me. I’m Going to Drink it And Head to the Bar at 8AM.

I don’t have a specific photo of the Natty Light Bush from College (that was real) but here’s a meme from around that time.

I’ll get better at the name. That’s just a very Midwest March to me. Healthy mix of fuck em/want em back/let’s ball. Buckcherry after RAYE is simply *chefs kiss* to me.

P.S. If you can’t tell by all the Greek mythology, I recently read Percy Jackson. It whips.

P.S.S. Here’s a link to the photo I use with this post.