I can’t concentrate. I have a gym crush and while I’ve done an exceptional job of emotionally abdicating the situation and staying as tethered to my reality as possible, he always manages to crop up. When I got back from Guatemala I decided to buy coffee before heading back home to unpack and I ran into him on the street. It was a surreal experience, he watched me soften for him in the morning light and then we disappeared from each other. I’m at Domino Park right now, I came here to do some writing, and as soon as I arrived I spotted him leaning against the benches.
I’m not sure what to make of the experience. Men are fascinating creatures in the way they navigate romantic situations and attraction. They remind me of myself when I was so much younger. They know how to crawl in and collect the fruit of intimacy before disappearing from the scene. The threat of this is always looming in my mind and it can be difficult to let a situation quietly ripen in the background of my life. I’m still learning to accept life and let it flow on its destined path.
I’m reading Rick Rubin’s book The Creative Act: A Way of Being. It’s a good read and simplifies creativity. The idea that the universe is feeding us the materials we need to build a piece of art is powerful. It makes creation a calm and peaceful experience. I just have to sit by the river and quietly observe the arrival of ideas.
I want to attempt a bigger writing project, but it’s going to take time to hammer out. Everyday I slip a little bit of time into it. So far I’ve had ideas bloom and just as quickly collapse. I have one concept I keep returning to and it’s about a water bug problem I once dealt with. It feels like a horrifying way to enter someone’s reality, but I think there’s something disarming about it as well. You’re no longer in the presence of perfection but rather the blemished working woman. It’s a voice we all carry within ourselves but rarely see reflected back.
a soft death 