“Are you funny? Or are you funny-funny?” I asked Ming. Yep, we ask the tough questions, at our house.
Later I was setting a boundary about not wanting to pay attention to something and told him, “What do I look like, a hall monitor? A monitor lizard? A komodo dragon? I’m not that kind of dragon.”
He says mind-blowingly weird things at times. I will marvel at the advanced-ness. But I didn’t write any down, yesterday.
I laid out two more poems as memes. “I feel like I’m making an ad,” I told Ming. “This could be a billboard. I feel like a marketer. Feels kind of…dirty.”
Then here’s one I did yesterday also, with a longer poem, which feels risky. Do I trust my audience to keep with me long enough to read this? Micropoems seem more parse-able!
There’s another thing I instagramized, making square–it’s an email I sent to myself when I was suffering really bad from med withdrawal, the other day. Wow, remind me not to do that again.
Funny, the person I email the most is definitely myself. But usually the emails are logistical–I use it as a memo pad or to remind myself of something. This one was self-encouragement. I did look back at it a few times, when I needed help.
During med withdrawal, time definitely seemed to pass differently. I txted my friend who was supporting me through it, and it seemed an impossibly long time was passing that he had not replied. I was like, what the fuck. Then I looked at how long it had been–two hours.
I told Ming, I had been jonesing to hear from my friend, and it had only been two hours! I was jonesing for any relief or comfort or hope–I was made of jones.
Can’t help but think of contact with lumberjacks who get me facts to attract my imagination, and how Bob Dylan did some good art, but I can’t help but think he was an asshole. My first rock concert was Bob Dylan, Santa Barbara Bowl, circa 1994?
Yeah, I went with my first husband, before we were married–I think the concert was my high school graduation present. Highway 61 Revisited was definitely my second-favorite Bob Dylan album, after Another Side of Bob Dylan.
I had been to concerts aplenty, but they were not rock concerts. They were symphony or something. Spectating or performing. I was a bassoonist, ya know.