the man picking through our trash shouted “damn mama!” when he saw me leave our front door just now lugging our huge laundry bag. he said, “you must have kids!”
today it’s just me and the goth girl at the laundromat, sitting in yellow plastic chairs that could be sold at a vintage store for big bucks if they weren’t so scuffed up. i was happy to see this girl/ woman, a familiar stranger, with her big headphones and cocteau twins sweater. laundromat as punk venue today. and thank goodness, because the “normal” word has so disappointed me recently. last night was the superbowl, the most watched tv program in our country, an event that basically boils down to men bashing each other for four hours, cameras cutting to their wives and girlfriends looking on anxiously. its like we’ve barely evolved from the gladiator games—now men just don’t kill each other while playing their game (intentionally—complications from their traumatic brain injuries often crop up after they retire.) my basic take: football sucks. and everyone should watch the jenny slate netflix special in which she makes fun of football players & their matching outfits.
a man just entered the laundromat and belched loudly and wetly five times in a row.
whatever people are allowed their rote pleasures in this world. im just feeling especially frustrated/ disillusioned because last night israel also bombed the palestinian city of rafah and this morning i saw the literal corpses of children on my instagram feed. these images, juxtaposed with patrick mahomes crying with joy while holding a silver football trophy, didn’t make sense to me. how can we be so devoid of care? i guess i know how—we’re exhausted and in desperate need of easy pleasure, dopamine. its hard to think of others when you’re in pain yourself. of course this is applicable to my own life, something i feel especially today, still tender from an argument/ miscommunication with francis. ive been trying so hard to create a life i like outside of my full time job—writing a book, seeking writing community at events and readings, putting myself out there, TRYING. ive run myself ragged & sometimes neglected my primary relationships. im intentionally shifting this dynamic. im going to do writing differently, and this laundromat project is part of that. no, i will not spend $1500 on a developmental editor for my book (& need to take on extra work/ further harm my health to pay for it). no i will not spend $1500 on airfare, lodging, & food to attend the writing conference that isn’t for me, anyway, that’s aimed at academics and their professional development (im talking about awp). no i will not write every day or abandon my body’s cyclical creative rhythms in order to produce more “product.” i am not a machine. caring for my relationships is writing. tending to my health & rest is writing. writing from the laundromat is writing.
im thinking about carmella in “the hearing trumpet,” writing long letters to strangers whose names she picks out of the phone book because she thinks theyre interesting. this is her main hobby. she never gets responses. im thinking about the phonebooks of my childhood, my primary source for strangers to prank phonecall. how out of all my elementary school friends, i was always the one to make these calls, i was the one with the best accents & ability to not laugh. i remember being five or six, i know i was this young because it was when we lived at our first house. i sat on the floor of my dads small study in the afternoon, light steaming through the partially-drawn blinds in horizontal lines. i was alone. i picked up the phone receiver and dialed random numbers. an old man’s voice answered, who is this?? i didnt say anything and he went ballistic so i hung up. a second later, through the magic of *69 (that landline feature that allowed you to call the last number who called you) he called back. i said “hello” & he lost it, saying he was going to call the police, so i screamed for my dad and he spoke to the man at length, explaining i was just a kid.
a little distracted now because a grown woman is screaming into her cellphone, “MOMMY CAN YOU HEAR ME???????”
thinking about how im going to go home soon & eat leftover lentil bolognese for lunch. thinking about how after i need to get my blood drawn to test my vitamin levels to make sure they’re up to snuff before i try to conceive. thinking lots about how ive been trying to be healthy for this potential baby, and wondering if i can extend the same care to myself.
Loving your laundromat notes, Katie., how they study the cycles within a creative life and possible new paths. Also, The Hearing Trumpet<3