yes, the title for this entry is a beyonce lyric, so what? it’s relevant to my life and i have been getting a kick out of her music lately. hi! it’s 3:12 am. i almost passed out at 8pm because i threw my back out while sneezing (which, according to google, happens a lot and is not unusual AT ALL!) and aaryn gave me hella pain pillz. now i am wide awake. there’s a cute warm boy in my bed but i just can’t sleep!
it is a cliche to be thankful on thanksgiving. but. last thanksgiving i spent 8 hours puking alcohol. half my face was swollen, my eye was black, my brain was bruised and my heart was broken. this thanksgiving was wildly different, on another coast and another life. i am so grateful that i survived my saturn return. dear world, you don’t know how close you came to losing me last year. but i guess if i am still alive it’s for a reason. regardless, i am grateful to still be alive and to be 2,500 miles and one year away from that bile-smelling bathroom.
i got an inspiring letter a few weeks ago from maranda, who has also written a novel. they said they were going to send their book to at least six publishers, and even getting rejection notices would be heartening because it would be some progress (this is a paraphrase and a bad one–sorry). so i was like, “well, shit! i can do that too!” and it’s actually pretty profoundly discouraging. realizing how freakin’ unmarketable my first book is. and also, how many presses that don’t take unsolicited or unagented submissions.
and so i’m starting to think, maybe i just wrote that book for me and my friends. my ex-gf read it and it inspired her to have a really hard conversation with someone who’d haunted her for years. this hard conversation turned good and it lead to the beginning of resolving this issue–something that affected her so much that she cried at least several times per week about it, for years. she called to thank me. i said that it wasn’t me, really, it was all her. but of course i was so fucking happy that something i wrote affected her like that. & that my words were able to do what i could not. sometimes i would hold her while she cried about this issue and it changed nothing. i’m sure it brought her some comfort, but it changed nothing about the situation, and my book (indirectly) did. WOW. i am so fucking proud.
& if i published this book it would just disappear into a gaping hole. the people who read it wouldn’t have my phone number, wouldn’t love me. it probably would not change anyone’s life, not like that. i think some people would enjoy reading it. i suppose i could self-publish but that seems like an awful lot of work & i am completely terrible at publicizing myself. i fear a stack of hundreds of unsold books (yes, i know if i self-published i’d do print-on-demand). but, who knows? and how do so many boring bad books get published? especially in the queer literary world?
i don’t know. this weighs on my mind endlessly, but i will stop now. i am going back east soon and will find out if there’s anything left there for me. i am silly & cold! there are many other things i would like to address on this blog and maybe i will, soon. things like: tattoos, new bodies, small cities, old friends. the fact that people sing while riding their bikes here, unabashedly, and i am one of them. the fact that when i am on 7th street and BART comes rumbling by i can sing just as loudly as i want and it doesn’t even matter. no one can hear me.