It’s June, and it’s warm and, for the first time since I was thirteen, I’m allowing myself to leave the house with bare legs. No tights. Just my skin. Me. A friend I’ve known for years acknowledged his seeing my legs for the first time. It’s funny how we, how I, get stuck in habits. Stuck in rules. Trying to embrace the heat, six months and I’m in the morning of Alaska’s freeze.
I’m in revisions again, like last summer. And the summer before that. If you’d told me last June that I’d scrape the last three month’s work and start over again in December, I would have laughed. Laughed and cried and, let’s be real, ultimately have believed you. This is how it goes. This is my life. My summers. Endless cycles of revisions. I don’t think I mind it. I’m behind. Always behind. But I’m trying to not force it. I’m trying to allow some personal kindness. I ran and ran for the last two years and it’s time to take it easy. It’s summer, right?
It’s June and I have a part time office job at a very corporate corporation because my TA stipend is far from comfortable living. I might also have a part time gig serving sushi. I like sushi. The free sushi would be swell. But working means less time for writing, less time for taking it easy, and I am employed and I do have an annual salary type deal waiting, so is serving sushi necessary?
Maybe not. Probably.
It’s Saturday, but it feels like Sunday. Lately every day feels like Sunday, even the days I go into the glossy tall office. In this house, my parents’ house, music always plays. Someone is always in the pool. Spiked drinks in sweaty mason jars with neon straws. Everyone home. Visitors from New York and New Jersey and Australia. Me, inside, reading a book a day, claiming I’m writing, revising, but really in one of those slumpy periods where I’m at a loss as to attempt to make the book better, so I talk to my dog and stretch and read instead. I’ll figure it out eventually. I hope so at least.
It’s June and it’s kind of summertime, and somedays it feels like I never went to Colorado at all, that I’ve been sprawled out on my parents’ living room floor all along. Almost 23. Where did the decade go? In August, I’ll go incognito, transition 100% to myhaecceitywhatever. My solution to feeling over exposed. My solution to having students and not wanting to be so terribly accessible online via Google.
I should speedwrite or freewrite or do something. Try to find my ending. The end. Do you have an ending I can borrow? Or, no, that’s not true. I know my ending. I know it, but not well enough to make the final jump, not well enough to understand how the logistics play out.
It’s June. I think I’ll make a Pimm’s cup.