š« Ciao, subs to the āstack. As you probably didnāt notice, I took last week off.1 Sometimes, a girlās gotta rest! Hopefully, youāll find todayās words extra worthy. Or wordy. Or whatever. Youāre here for some reason! In terms of other housekeeping, this will be my last free essay of 2022! My LAST last essay will rank and review every book I read this year. For paid subscribers only! Speaking of paid subscribersā¦. Iām offering a special discount until the end of the year: 20% off, foxy mamas! Do a good deed. Support your favorite blogstress. š«
In 2022, I ran away from everything I knew and found more of the same, but different. Valuable valuable expensive different sameness. Different Better The Same Expensive Samenessā¢ļø. The Tower foretold an end. The Lovers reopened a door.
Itās amazing how much can change in a year. Itās amazing how much can change in six months. Itās amazing how much can change in a day. Itās amazing what a buck can do. Itās amazeballs how much you can hate a city you thought you would like. Itās amaze. Itās a maze.
Twenty-Twenty-Two was the last name of every day on this calendar, all pleasant and round and alliterative. Too bad to never live through another year with so many twos in it.
362 days of writing. 299 days of bralessness (or thereabouts). 40 days and 40 nights of 1200 calories a day to be thinner for a vacation. 40 days and 40 nights of thinking about food every minute of the day and learning to count and quantify energy and not having enough energy to run a mile. 50 ways of describing snow in Inuit (apocryphal). 1,000 ways of emphasizing how feeble and frail I am (hyperbolic; humorous). 16 days of no Instagram on my phone before returning ravenously.
Making unflinching choices and trying not to retroactively flinch. This is called cringing. What ridiculous words with their inches and inges: flinch and cringe! They betray how they are not such serious reflexes after all.
Becoming more generous for no discernible reason. Chilling out and///or realizing that I was chill all along. Fucking my friends because it strikes me as a nice thing to do. Fucking my friends because if not now, when? Fucking my friends because the polyamorous lesbian coauthors said that maybe I should be asking why I havenāt been fucking my friends this whole time. All you can take with you is that which youāve given away.
Deeming a lot of things spiritually empty, sexless, and devoid of warmth and feeling. Realizing I was more shaped by my Lawrencian thesis than I previously thought. Boofing the timing on literally everything. No patience. No cadence. All body and no soul, in the words of the blind man Richard. Year of the Tiger that felt like the Year of the Dog. I was a little dog, but at least I found my pack.
Tuckering myself out on the hamster wheel because it felt better than sitting still and watching TV. Watching TV and leaving the room without pausing to go wash the dishes instead. Experiencing Austin as if it were a destination on the screen of a treadmill. Dancing with a poor excuse for a cowboy.
What are you eating? Huevos Rancheros. No, what are you reading? Oh. A book I donāt particularly like. Accepting a business card from a man who says ā[his] form of autism gives him a perception of life that can be best described as extrapolative.ā Making a joke in poor taste in LA about how ADHD is the new autism but for women. It would have fucking killed in New York.
November was for blood. July was for sweat. December was for tears.
Waking up with wet cheeks and a sob in my throat after dreaming about a relativeās funeral. Packed too tightly in the pew. Wanting to run away from the comforting pats on my shoulder. Feeling superstitious to mention it (even now). Getting a text from my dad out of the blue. How are you? I was fine. Feeling unlucky from my dream, but determined not to be a scary witch. Casually, I asked: How is everyone? Everyone was fine. Oh, but actually Uncle Tom McNeill passed away last week. This news was a bummer but fine. A wave of real squalor at a realization: one day, I will be responsible for my parentsā eulogies.
Meeting at the cemetery gates to slouch towards Bethlehem Brooklyn. Walking uphill during a conversation that already made it hard to breathe. Indulging in the pleasure of how people will probably miss me when Iām gone. Discussing the mountain of grief that must invisibly counterbalance the holes in the ground. Believe it or not, this was flirtation.
Pretty girl. Funny girl. Freaky girl. Smart girl. Mean girl. Beautiful girl. Treacherous bitch. All things men have called me this year. I told a lie. The last one was self-slung; an entry in my notes app to make myself laugh. Iāve never had much time for genuine self-hatred.
Memories of a mirror passed around during a high school assembly. Instructions: look at your countenance and write down the first thing that comes to mind. Free association re: reflection. A room full of teenage girls groaned. Answers were anonymously shared. Every observation was negative, aside from two neutralsāāmyselfā and āpink lips.ā I wrote the former; the latter belonged to my best friend.
I know Iāll be okay because most of the time I simply see myself when I look in the mirror and on two occasions Iāve been complimented on my lipstick when I wasnāt wearing any.
Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Caddy Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Scarlett Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Scarlett Scarlett Charlotte Scarlett Scarlett Charlotte Charlotte Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Charlotte Charlotte Scarlett Papa Grandma Charlotte Scarlett Charlotte Scarlett Charlotte Scarlett Charlotte Scarlett Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Charlotte Aunt and Uncle Scarlett Charlotte Cutting Fingers Caddy Caddy God Fucking Damnit Charlotte I Am Not Okay Charlotte Charlotte Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Charlotte Charlotte Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Scarlett Charlotte.
5 songs for a new year in the mid-Twenties
āLet Us Die,ā King Princess
š¶ Itās not to say
That I want to live without you.
But I will
If I have to. š¶
āGoodbye Bread,ā Ty Segall
š¶ Hello, Monday.
Goodbye, bread. š¶
āIf the Brakeman Turns My Way,ā Bright Eyes
Shoutout to Evana for introducing me to this song :ā) Itās so beautiful. Paid subscribers to arbiter of distaste can treat themselves to her essay on Bright Eyes.
š¶ Tried to listen to the river but you couldnāt shut your mouth.
Better take a little time to level out. š¶
āMan of the World,ā Fleetwood Mac
š¶ Shall I tell you about my life?
They say Iām a man of the world. š¶
āTogether / Never,ā Oberhofer
Ok full disclosure this is my favorite song. A lazy way to end the year! The version linked above was released before the full Chronovision album and has a really poignant ending where Brad speaks: āItās 4:41 pm. Sunday, July 22nd, 2012. And, um, Iām coming to terms with death.ā
š¶ You have the most wonderful face
I hate the world for feeling this way
I'm sad, but I will never be alone again. š¶
š« Ta! I hope you enjoyed my raw, insecure end to the year. Thank you for a wonderful inaugural eight months! Iāll see all you gorgeous paid subscribers next week, and return to the rest of your inboxes in 2023! This project has driven me nuts and driven me forward. So excited to keep exploring in the new year. š«
If you DID notice, text me and Iāll give you a kiss!
Historical, Hysterical. Momentous, Monumental. Put a bra on. You will thank me in 20 years.