I subscribe to his daily emails, which he uses as a forum to promote his online culture mag, TheRumpus.net, but more importantly (or, more interestingly, at least to me) he uses them as a medium for dumping his thoughts. Any and all of them. His emails are gems of stream-of-consciousness that are about everything and nothing and meaning and life and loss and truth, and usually friends, girlfriends, writing projects, movies, literature, California, and/or New York. His writing is highly addictive. I'd also highly recommend his newest book, a memoir, entitled The Adderall Diaries. Just... read it. Seriously. You'll thank me.
FYI - I've changed all the names below.
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Today I was thinking about North Korea.
But that was because Stephen Elliott told me to. After that, I
thought about France. My brother passed the Bar last summer and
trekked to France and about seven other countries with five other
guys. “Go to the Lake,” I told him, meaning Lake Michigan, where
our grandparents had a modest McMansion in Harbor Springs. “That's
what I did when I passed the Bar, and it was great. Low key.
Cheap.” “Sounds fun,” he said. He paused. “I think we're
going to Europe.” I swallowed. “That's cool,” I said. I
thought, “I hate you.” And then, “Why didn't I think of that?”
But I was dating the wrong guy at the time and it never would have
worked. Steven and I were both too risk-averse. That's not true.
I'm the one who's terrified of taking leaps. If I'd said “jump”
Steven would've said “yes, dear.” But I never would have said
that. I said things like, “Why don't people like me?” And he
said things like, “Why do you care so much what other people
think?” I didn't really care what Steven thought. Not in that
way. It just took me a while to figure that out.
When
did this become a conversation? Or several conversations. I don't
think about Steven much. Not in that
way. When I think about a man in that
way these days it's usually Scott. When I'm thinking more about sex
and less about love I fantasize about Brad, and when I'm thinking
less about sex and more about love I remember Jordan. The one that
got away. The one I shoved away, and then when he didn't immediately
leave I kicked him in the nuts. Weird how that didn't work out.
I need
a theme. Can music be a theme? Look inside, look inside
your tiny mind and look harder.
Lily Allen is trying to tell me something. It's blasting in my ears
and I think she must be talking to me because all I've ever wanted to
do was write but I never actually write and when I do it's neat and
tidy and boring. Nothing inspired or brilliant or evolved. It's
mundane. Quotidian. Vanilla. Do you get a kick out of
being small-minded? You want the approval of your father, well
that's not how you'll get it.
What is she punishing me for?
I feel like this
essay is getting away from me. I want to take a deep breath and
regain control. I meant to have a smoothie with dinner tonight and
instead I had a beer. I opened the fridge and the beer was right
there, and I didn't feel like cleaning the blender again. I've had a
headache all day and I kept thinking how a smoothie would make me
feel at peace. I should take an aspirin.
Who'd have known, who'd have known,
when you flash up on my phone, I no longer feel alone.
I wonder if she's talking about an ex-boyfriend. Reconnecting with
people from the past is at once weightless and oppressive. It's
lonely, the re-kindling. It makes you realize you missed something
you forgot you missed. You were too busy to notice the loss. What's
lonelier than realizing you've gotten too busy to miss your friends?
No, I've decided Lily's talking about a new crush. What made me
think ex-boyfriend? Nostalgia is my caffeine. My upper. It reminds
me how bad things can get. What about you?
Love,
Me
PS This was
supposed to be something about meaning, but it got away from me
somehow.
--
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