Letters for Burning

It’s been pouring and I don’t have a problem. Endless summer can wait.

Working full-time has affected both my sense of time and my appetite. I eat all of the time now, and wonder if that’s because the days seem to stretch out before me, and I itch to fill myself and the space that comes with this new length. I’ve had little left over for things like Tumblr, and it has forced me to sever the fat and focus more clearly on what I need to do. Dare I say I’m more content with this new structure that has forced its way in my life. It’s paring itself down, while all the fat from before is going to my stomach.

One of the “perks” of my job is that I’m constantly learning about new music releases. For one, I know you guys are really loving Vampire Weekend and Daft Punk and The National right now. I can see the numbers.

On top of my job, I’m also now a reader for Keyhole Press. I was referred from my position at Hobart. Even though there is such a ridiculous backlog for the next print issue of the magazine, I’m actually really excited to have a more direct role in putting it together. For the first time ever, I’ve been given the power to reject writers outright. I should probably feel worse about hitting that “decline” button so quickly, since I know what it’s like to be on the other end of it. But we’ve got a lot of work to do, dammit. If you’d like to submit something for the new online issue, you can do that, although I don’t handle the reading for that.

I also have a few things that are going to be published soon. One of these things that I am most proud of is my piece, “Princess for Neither, Castle for None,” which is going to appear in the first themed issue of Sundog Lit. The theme is video games. The piece is collaged nonfiction (something like a “segmented essay”) that is probably the most personal, experimental thing I’ve done. It’s a coming of age story that plays with form and point of view and gets pretty messy. There are scenes of childhood mixed in with tidbits about adventure games and boss battles. There is sexuality confusion and alienation and games as a form of escape. The guest editor, Brian Oliu, said it was beautiful and sad in just the right moments and a wonderful love letter to video games. I’m excited and hope to share it with you soon. 

Life got a speed boost and I’ve been pretty dizzy. My new full-time job, my 26th birthday, my sister’s graduation from high school. I am trying to process what has happened, but the happening is still happening.

I did not know full-time jobs were so draining. How do people do anything else? Nine hours a day, five days a week. I come home and collapse. How do people go back to school? I just want to sleep and eat. I’m pretty sure I’ve gained some weight.

I’ve been given my own nameplate for my desk. I placed it in front of the girl’s name who is on leave. I’m assuming she is having a baby. I often think I’m hallucinating while working. Like how the girl next to my cubicle has different hair every other day or so. Or how people say “good night” in the office when it’s only one in the afternoon. Maybe it’s the mind-numbing effect of looking up and down at the number-filled screen for so long. I try to daydream and write down notes for stories on my yellow lined paper whenever I have a moment.

On the surface, my 26th birthday was just another day of plugging in numbers and filling envelopes. But I’ve also felt a change, which is not something I can say for most birthdays. I felt like I’ve grown and I’ve experienced. I felt like this is an actual marker, a chapter complete or beginning, I’m not sure. But there is bold print and a fresh smell of new book that you want to breathe in. 

I’ve been reading Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings. This is really my second time reading it, but the first time really doesn’t count. I first read it when I was in middle school, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t like it at all. But what middle schooler could appreciate a book about marginalization, poverty, and child abuse? I’m halfway through and I think the best way to describe this reading experience is seamless. The language is simple and beautiful. It has lines like: “I sensed a wrongness around me, like an alarm clock that had gone off without being set,” and “He closed in upon himself like a pond swallowing a stone.” The characters’ struggles are so palpable and carefully rendered, and there were several moments so far where I actually laughed out loud. It is what the grandmother calls “tender-hearted.”

My sister’s graduation was last night and it was bizarre. Not only because my younger sister was graduating from the high school I graduated from and transitioning to a new part of her life, but because of the ceremony itself. The band started out by playing songs from video games, one of which was definitely this one from the Kirby games. I wonder if anyone else caught it. Getting down to the speeches, one of the girls definitely stole stuff from “This is Water” and Daria’s graduation speech. I was kind of pissed off at the overt plagiarism, because it’s not like she was quoting it; she was using it as if it were her own material. She even ended it with: “And there’s no aspect, no facet, no moment of life that can’t be improved with pizza.” I was so mad. Was this the valedictorian? I sure hope not. I bet she thought she was so slick and clever, but you were caught red-handed, miss! I told my sister about it, and she said she didn’t even know any of the girls that got up to do speeches. The diplomas were handed out, lots of them, and when my sister walked across the stage, I couldn’t seem to find my voice. I told my family I was gonna boo her, but I couldn’t do that either. I just clapped instead. When she came out of the theater, I tried to make up for it with a good hug.

It’s a long weekend and I need it. I will use it to write until I finish something.

Let it be known that on the night of May 8th, 2013, Joseph thought for the first time of how nice it would be to draw a hot bath. He is suddenly no longer a boy. After a long day, he eases his wrinkles in.

Today was my first day of work, a real full-time job. I’ve never had one of those. But I went for an interview this week and I was hired that same day. I don’t know what to make of it all so far, since they’ll be training me for a while. It’s mostly plugging things into computers and office work. The company is quite large, a huge office with little cubicles. It’s very mixed, with people my age and other older people who have been there quite a long time. Everyone was very nice to me. 

I’m going to be 26 soon, which is unbelievable. My brain stopped counting after 18. I am both 18 and 80. Whatever, numbers. I don’t have to think about numbers anymore. I have a degree in English to prove it. (Incidentally, I was always really good at math in school, so go figure…)

My sister’s graduation is also approaching. She was whining about how bored she’s going to be this summer now that I have a job. I promised her we would go shopping sometimes, but just for me, now that I’m making money. 

My aunt started texting me. She wanted to know how my day was. My family is more excited for me than I am.

I have emotional bulimia. My face reads nothing until I have a moment to get it all out. You wouldn’t know I’ve had terrible issues with anxiety because it doesn’t show. And, despite what you might expect, I don’t think I’ve shed a single tear in maybe over a year. My psychologist says I’m so expressive and emotional in my writing, and it is quite a contrast to see. I’m blank, but the pages never are. They get filled easily and quickly. It gushes out in a flood, and the water settles until the next time I need to get rid of something.

I guess these analogies are appropriate, since I’ve been so immersed in the world of self-injury and just finished A Bright Red Scream. Body issues came up, eating disorders. My mom used to think I had anorexia because I was skinny and wouldn’t eat. I don’t think I was, but I am good at controlling what I need to control. I like being in control of something. At least, the one thing I can control: myself. It’s funny though, more and more, I have less and less interest in power fantasies. People are always talking about superheros now, and watching movies about superheroes, and pretending they have other kinds of identities and superhuman abilities. But I always want to write about weakness and passivity, I want paralysis and flailing and maybe, the end will either be tiny kicks or getting on your feet. That type of victory is sweeter and more personal.

I have been given even more control now because I’ve been going on job interviews these past few weeks. I don’t know what on earth I’d do with money other than try to live and maybe eat sometimes. There is less disillusionment now anyway, and more forward momentum. There’s the desire to feel useful and step outside. It’s been raining quite heavily, but that hasn’t stopped me. I really want to go bowling. Who wants to come?

“You know she has to assume the identity of everyone she’s dating.”

That’s a good friend of mine talking about his sister. She has certainly come far. I remember her going from long black pants and dangling chains to wearing camo and shooting off guns. Her skin doesn’t just shed away, it’s like a chameleon reassembling in a completely different environment. It’s really quite something and even surreal when you take a seat and look through journals and trace the lines. Here’s where we came from and here’s where we are now. 

We like to think we don’t change, but we do. We sometimes feel stuck, but we’re never really cohesive. I’ve only been around Scott for a week, but I’ve already noticed how my voice has taken on new qualities. It’s picked up some of his mannerisms. My sister called attention to the hard “k” sounds in my “likes.” I hadn’t noticed. I’m slowly absorbing his power.

I’ve been congratulated for sticking to my own colors. Being a beige blot in purple. Not copying or adapting when I’m thrown into a new pattern. I’m not sure at which age we start to become more like mosaics and quilt our own patches, but I wish it were soon.