What I’m reading: Trick Mirror by Jia Tolentino
Trick Mirror is devastating. I suspected going in – a coworker crowed about it in such a joyous bloody wound of the heart kind of way that it arrived before I recalled ordering it – but I find myself alternately limp and upset or tense and hunched over like the book is a grenade I might throw myself on to protect others.
I’m going to recommend it to EVERYONE.
How I’m doing: Snot fountain
Sing the praises of septoplasty. A year later and I regularly lose my cool enjoying a deep breath. Despite what they tell you, you still get sick as often – you just don’t get AS sick. This is important when you spend most of your year wishing you could be the boy in the bubble or perhaps in a gnome-sized hamster ball at minimum.
The dog would enjoy towing me around, that’s for sure.
My week has consisted of sprawling wantonly in front of space heaters until my legs turn red and wrecking facial tissues.
What I’m writing: Their Appointed Course (working title), a new poem
There’s a twitch in my brain where very common male names just don’t register as such. I’ve been convinced since childhood that Jeremiah and Aidan are wonderful names for girls. To be fair, Jack was/is a name for a girl/woman and Hilary/Hillary is all dependent on how many of a letter you throw in, much like fiancé/fiancée (mentally pronounced as fancy – my language center likes to troll), so I’m not an excellent judge.
My love for Aidan comes from a story I read as a child of a foolish little boy who begs a pooka to come visit him in the night. The pooka does and, contrary to all expectation, the boy has a lovely time and doesn’t die horribly. Aidan is lucky beyond ignorance, beyond disbelief.
I’m aware the story is trying to tell children that your intentions and expectations towards other beings can change how they treat you, but this is a fucking pooka here.
Aidan has someone looking out for him and only lives because something monstrous loves him.
That – to me – is a much better beginning.