Today’s finding is particularly scrambly — pages falling out of a notebook, like. It’s all back envelope scribbles but also some longhand, too.
Did you know that I’m grateful to you for reading? Every time you visit my cluttered studio, my heart stands up a little taller. Do you want tea? Make yourself comfortable.
Pages for you, then.
Brahms Requiem just ripped my heart out again, and then cradled it, and rocked it to sleep. And then tucked it into bed.
My poor heart needs it. I don’t think I’ll ever not sob when I hear it. One day I’ll be a part of it.
Now we sing Carmina Burana in all its libation, frolicking, and unashamed indulgence. It’s a journey of high highs and low lows. In a way, it feels like pure experience — just letting impulse wash through you until action and desire are one and the same. If you’re mad, scream it! If you’re horny, languish my darling!! I don’t yet know all the words and I don’t have all the translations. But I will. The melodies are forging paths in my brain and the words will follow soon after.
I’m excited to see what my voice can do after not using it for several years. I think it’s still there. My sight reading is mostly guesswork but I was surprised by how okay it during the first few rehearsals. I’m still brittle around the same notes. I’m still pretty good at consonants. Most of all, it’s just really, really nice to sing again.
Would you believe that the circle of friends still stands?
My silver shines brighter than ever.
Weekends like this always put me in a good mood.
I’m glad I didn’t throw up last night. I was curled on my friend’s couch with six sleeping others and carpet around me, steadying my breathing against the jumps of my innards. I think it was the fish because there wasn’t enough drink for it to be the drink. The nausea faded. I feel whole. My flight leaves in an hour. A man prays at the empty gate. I write, he prays.
Would you believe that my numb fingers captured their smiles on film? Would you believe that the blisters on my feet are a happiness? That the sweetness of strangers follows me?
Of course I worry when my friends worry. Many of us are jumping again. A few years ago we were all doing it together, and now we’re all doing it but further apart. We’re changing jobs, leaving schools, falling in or out of love, moving cities. And all of this, again! Or differently, this time! We dream about the future while scraping enough happiness together to get through each of our days. We’re learning how to take care of ourselves.
The stories we tell ourselves are often so different about our missions in life, our shoulds, our aspirations. Even so, we support each other even if we’re bent on different paths. We make the time to circle back to each other to remember who we were when we were together — and who we are now, moving along.
If I could comfort each of them about their dreams, I would. I’d read their palms, peer into their futures, hold their hands in mine to say that they’ll be okay. People talk about the mom or dad of the friend group, but is there room to be the fortune teller? The archivist, the librarian of our friendship circle? The keeper of past and future? Even when the friendship circle is ever thinning as it spins out to encompass farther and further cities?? Or — even if the circle spins thin, I think it still spins strong. Even though we’re everywhere, we’re not going anywhere, as far as being there for each other is concerned. We’re still there for each other, even if we’re not the same.
How do you stay in touch with far-flung friends? Asking for a friend.
All we can do is laugh on the couch. Laugh in the face of all of this! Our jobs, our lives, our health. Another application. Another program. Car totaled, new car. Health insurance changes, deductible maxed. Work for years to earn the discount for education. Maybe live in another country. It can’t be that hard, right? We shake. We sleep. We wanted this weekend only to get away from all that, to sit in cozy silence on a couch. Of course we all got so much more, and hopefully what we wanted — at least, laughter, and cake. I finally took their portraits. I’m not very good, but at least I tried. At least we’ll have these blurry memories. Next time I’ll focus the lens better.
I go back home, to my sweet cat and my sweet lover, and I go back to my job and a mountain of work ahead this week. And isn’t all that alright? All that is enough. I have all of this.
Finally, here is a brick of obscurity to lay down before you. Use this paragraph to prop your door open and then invite everyone in.
I’m thinking of sharing my writing with the people I know. Why is this important? Is this important? I don’t know. All I know is the people I know, and the things I know, and the things I want to write that I know. I know that the people I know will read the things I write that I know, and I know that this will be hard. I will not write what the people I know want to read, but I will share my writing with them all the same. I love the people I know and I love my writing, and I love sharing what I know with the people I love, and I know that eventually we will all understand each other. I love everyone. I love the people I know. I love the people I know. I love the people I know.
Where have you been this week? Where do you put obtuse writing? What have you put in your pockets? Do you share your messy writing with the people you know? What they hell do they think about it? Asking. for. a. friend…
I really enjoyed this one! I only share my writing with 3 or 4 of my closest people, the ones that I know are at least kind of interested in it, and will give it the time to actually think about it. Beyond that I just can't expect anyone I know to give it the attention that I would like them to give it. That's why posting here has been helpful for me, it's a lot easier to deal with a stranger not digging your stuff than one of your buddies.