sentences from my diary

i’m migraine-y lately. after a spell of extraversion, ample energy, little sleep, scant meals, creative output in both writing and painting, and lots and lots of time with friends, i’m feeling once again lethargic, like I felt in September, a month where I did not write.

I remember in October thinking: “why don’t I always just sleep 6 hours, eat one big meal, walk for 3 hours, and write so much I get carpal tunnel? this is fucking awesome.” but I think that was a fluke, or some last release valve of energy before the cold season sets in. maybe it’s because I’ve traveled quite a bit this past month to Vegas and to Banff… and airports wear on me, spiritually. I’m tired now which makes sense.

I am writing still though. poetry. to be published later, not here. somewhere better. if you know where I might succeed in my submissions, please please email me.

anyways, what are we doing here?

right!

sometimes I comb through my diary and find good sentences. so that’s what i’ve packaged for you today, as a way to keep up my momentum with substack. they are very random and from all sorts of different days. don’t try to connect the points, just let this all wash over you.

I hope you are staying warm and cozy. I hope your cup of tea and sugar never empties. And I hope you, like me, can learn to relish the way your nose still gets sunburnt in the winter, because it means the sun is still shining.

here’s my diary:

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“I like to leave my shame sitting out,” she says, gesturing to the dirty laundry piled on her chair.

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I like anyone who is an “ex-” anything. It shows you have the resolve to see through the turbulence of life. There is a lightness and a darkness in those people capable of undergoing change.

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Hana texts me their train is stalled because they found a body near the tracks. I sent them a .pdf of the Alice Munro short story Chance where something similar happens. I re-read it myself. I’m overwhelmed with love for my english teacher, Ms. Sinkler, who introduced us to Munro. This is a short story about me (truly) and a type of romance I’ve experienced. A bookish girl. That pervasive loneliness.

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For starters, I don’t believe in rules in dating. Love feels like love and should be approached with abandon. The right person isn’t going to be put off by bad timing.

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embracing the beauty that is there instead of trying to manicure or conjure something to fit a narrow definition. i also think vibe/personality accounts for attractiveness much more than just sterile objective beauty !

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Curling my hair in the morning

The womanly thing to do. The smell of hot and chemical hairspray stickiness. The act of putting yourself together as an art. It can, in some way, become duty - obligation. And in others, it is privilege. A meditation.

~

We had planned to walk but it’s hard to resist an open table at All Time. We had talked about splitting a salad and fries, and how that is the perfect meal, but instead, I ordered ceviche and perfect crispy potatoes. We ate this with our lavender lemonade - which to me, tasted like nothingness because I’d just brushed my teeth.

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“His brother had died and he told me about that. And his mother died, too. He told me, this elderly man, he never got over his mother dying.”

“I think when your mom dies it changes you forever. It’s like there’s a ‘before’ and ‘after’ in your life. You don’t really get over it.” I paused. “My friend is a CNA, like, she worked in an old folk’s home. And she told me when most people are dying, they call out for their moms.”

We are teary-eyed. We hold each other by the arms.