My week was weird.
I think I’ve learned a few things;
#1 is that I need to stop baking pies with men who were born in 1992. More on this later, I have been writing about it….It’s all good material, right?
#2 is that ‘dialectics’ are making more and more sense to me the more I go to therapy and the more that I live my life. A story can be funny one day and then extremely unfunny the next.
#3 is I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity.
I worry that my writing is trite, juvenile, that it isn’t good but I feel maybe a delusion but maybe a truth that it is good. That I am innately good at this thing and that if I just keep going and if I just keep writing I will be known for it. I want readers. I want people to underline my words in pen or cut it out in lines to string through a sad slideshow of quotes on Tik Tok or talk about it with their friends, their lovers. I want to be known, so deeply known. Mostly by one person, a love, but perhaps my words will have to suffice. I worry that no one is here to witness my life. Do I want to be witnessed? I feel impatient for it. For love to find me. I want a years-long lived-in kind of love though. And that is where I feel impatient. I sometimes think that I am not very good at editing but then I think about the ways that I usually write and how it is often an edit of my more incoherent thoughts and ideas. It is a muscle I am learning. It is such a muscle and it needs to be worked. I think I need to worry less about things being perfect, to let myself write poorly, and maybe let people read the poorly written shit. A lot of being an artist is failing, we talked about it so much in acting school, how you get good when you fail. I feel like throwing some shit to the fan but also I want what I send out and get printed to be okay. To be pretty good. Rejection is a muscle too. A muscle that I avoid. I think that maybe I should start asking people in public for their numbers. To get the muscle worked more. I don’t think I care about those rejections though. I care about the bigger ones.
I don’t have much to say other than that. Incoherent as it is.
I could give you a list of recommendations from the week though…
for music, ‘Washing Machine Heart’ by Mitski. Obviously.
I also recommend listening to the same shit you liked in high school when you’ve had a high-school-level miniature heartbreak. Mine is mostly Daughter.
for beverages, I recommend Topo Chico’s over ice and with orange bitters added in.
for food, I recommend eating. just eat something. seriously.
for life, I recommend changing your sheets, calling your long-distance friends, and keeping your window a/c units on even though it’s expensive.
for reading, ‘Housemates’ by Emma Copley Eisenberg and you should too. I think it’s already a lifelong favorite.
for shopping, I highly recommend buying books because you are sad and deserve a treat.
for art, I recommend leaning into delusion. into dreaming. bitch, I’m gonna get published so soon, I swear.
Okay! I think that’s all I’ve got! Thanks for letting me hit submit on some shit!
bitch you *ARE* gonna get published so soon i swear‼️‼️‼️‼️❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥❤️🔥
ALLISON!! “I want to be known, so deeply known. Mostly by one person, a love, but perhaps my words will have to suffice. I worry that no one is here to witness my life. Do I want to be witnessed? I feel impatient for it. For love to find me. I want a years-long lived-in kind of love though. And that is where I feel impatient.” I feel this so so so deeply. Your writing always hits so deep 🩷