it's felt hard to make anything (even, at times, a good life) in the world they don't live in, don't get to be a part of

of course there are bigger griefs, especially now, but this one is mine, and is omnipresent, and despite changing shape never feels all that much smaller

I'm kind of always (mostly privately) whining about not writing and have assumed, post-parenthood, it was just not having free time, and exhaustion, and parenting occupying all my thinking and creative brain space, but I'm realizing for me it's also grief

Dance in America kills me, what a story!

gah I loved him in Dream Scenario

anyway! just feeling sad and weird and also kind of mad but more in a "I'm not mad, just disappointed" kind of flavor!

this year a residency opportunity fell through, I read a ton of pages and showed up for my writing group, brainstormed with friends, started reading fiction again, but despite doing the "writerly" things, I didn't write and don't feel like a writer

it's not just that; I wrote A TON for work but maybe only 5 pages (tops, total) for myself

what remains of edith finch is on my list!!

hello, hi!