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1. Holy sheeshing fudge crap! You must watch “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt” on Netflix! It’s really good. Which is weird, because it’s a t.v. show. But it is! It just came out this month, and every episode of the first season is available to watch. Thank gosh and his son jeepers we live in 2015 where no one has any patience and we all just want to binge watch 8 month’s worth of work in one sitting!

2. It’s almost spring. I went outside the other day and I wasn’t cold! I heard this weird noise and then I realized that it was a bird chirping! Wow. Spring.

3. This year I paid attention on St. Patrick’s day and I was terrified and embarrassed. Why are all these Americans pretending they like beer?! Also, no, you’re not Irish. Calm down. Also also, good job pulling out the iron to get the wrinkles out of that green shirt you keep in your closet to wear once a year. You yanks!!

4. Once an Irish person (like, a real one) called me a yank and I was like, “Uh-uh! Only my people get to use that word!”

5. Ok, we get it, you read Hemingway and Vonnegut! But like, really, what do you read?

6. Bukowski hated Shakespeare, too.

7. Did people share pictures of themselves in their bathroom mirrors before the internet? How did we all communicate before Facebook?! Remember telephone conversations? Yeah, me too! Weird.

8. It’s almost sidewalk chalk season. Also hopscotch. Also jump rope. Wait, we’re all still 8, right? Just kidding, these activities are ageless. For-all-ages. Let’s get chalky.

9. It’s so hard to motivate yourself when you have no motivation to motivate yourself.

10. Find a goal.

"I was always afraid that someone would find me, And was saddened when no one actually found me"

“I was always afraid that someone would find me,
And was saddened when no one actually found me”

He went to Japan on vacation and brought back this greeting card with a cat on it that sang when you pulled a tab on the side. He recorded a video of himself showing off the card, and his eyes followed the tab as he pulled it, left to right. The video looped automatically and I watched his eyes move: back and forth, back and forth. It looked like he was staring at me, but he was staring at himself, watching himself. His brown eyes are seared into my memory along with the little pink Japanese singing cat. We all had high hopes for that year of our lives. We thought it would go well; that there might be another year after if we were happy. And we tried to be. But the months slowed down as we went, the days stretched out, and the mornings came earlier. The smog in the sky stayed put, blocking out the blue, even in the summer. We were all left to ourselves, by ourselves, recording little moments of time, trying to share them with others. But when we left, there was nothing left of it in us to share. There was no moral to our story. No punch line to the bad joke. Just a sort of gray smog covering strange hangul memories.

 

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I am trapped in a store with a woman who touches everything she walks past. “Look how ugly these are!” She says. “Look at this! Who would wear this? It’s terrible!” “Feel how gross this fabric feels. Plus it’s ugly.” She also tells me how everything is a good deal because it’s on sale. “Look, 40% off! These towels are only $29.99! Originally $600.00! Wow, what a deal. I pretty much have to buy these. They’re on sale!” I want to tell her that it’s psychology, that nothing in this store is on sale even though every single thing is. There are hundreds of bright red SALE signs. She throws $2.00 shirts into her basket, glad to have the chance to pay 200% more. It’s not just her; she stops to talk about the great deals with other shoppers, and they agree. This is normal. People do this all the time. She can’t comprehend why I don’t want the name brand shoes. “You think about it,” she says. “Maybe you can come back next week with me and get them.” “You should see my closet,” she says. “I have way too much stuff.” She stands in the checkout line and scans the tiny shelf filled with more over-priced tiny gizmos and gadgets. “Only five dollars!” She says, snatching up a purple-colored pumice stone. “I love these!” She puts it into her basket, the innocent volcanic child. It came out of a volcano. It was free. It didn’t cost anyone five dollars. It was hot and beautiful and natural and now it’s purple and five dollars and in your basket.

 

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1. Sometimes to have hope is to be a fool.

2. How much longer is “the news” on TV going to be a thing? The internet is way better/more efficient/effective/faster/way better. Yeah?

3. If your Facebook doesn’t say you’re single, and it doesn’t say you’re in a relationship, WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?

4. There’s no way anyone can mess up painting with watercolors. Instant artist. Just add water!

5. My grandpa taught me when I was little how to quickly tell how many days were in each month by using my knuckles. I guess I do have a party trick! But life is sort of like my knuckles, too. Up and down and flat. Moving and falling and staying. Over and over. Searching, growing, laying silently in failure on the ground. Yeah!! Thanks, grandpa.

6. That might have been the best thing ever written. You’re welcome, world.

7. OK here’s an important life question that I’ve been thinking about: Why don’t boys/other people in general just somehow magically know that you want to hang out with them without you having to say something to them?! Isn’t this the modern age? Why don’t we have this technology? SPARRRTAAAA. (Also, I’ve never seen 300.)

8. Have you noticed this, because I have: Everyone’s current favorite movies of all time are all from Netflix! Yeah, I saw Ida, too. I get it. But what else? There must be movies you’ve enjoyed before you got your Netflix account, right? I mean listing those is just sort of telling me what everyone else is watching right now. It doesn’t make you or your movies interesting! We need a new source of information. There must be thousands of movies/great short films we’re just completely missing out on because we’re spending all of our time scrolling through huge lists of movie titles on Netflix, all of which we’ve already read the descriptions of and turned down multiple times weeks ago!

9. Here’s a really great video for you if you haven’t seen it yet. Hank Green, guys! He totally gave me a high five once. (AKA he’s a credible source.)

10. Listen to yourself talk with other people. Are you a kind person? Try to be.

I updated my resume. “What does this space here say about me?” “Should I be risky and use italics?!”

It’s kind of a terrible thing in a sketchy system of filtering and shuffling, but I guess it works. Hopefully it works for me. If not, I’ll go back to regular, non-italic font. It’s cool.

Since I’ve been sitting here, staring at blank spaces on my screen, thinking about what they make me look like as a person, I’ve decided this is just pretty weird altogether. Me, sitting here staring at this light-box of technology. This blinking line that’s waiting for me to type something else. Blink. Blink. 100 years ago there was no blinking line! We’ve created it! What does it all mean?!

This is who I am now. My online persona. Self. (Selfies.) A new, third consciousness, built in and by the internet, this thing that exists that most of us don’t understand.

We exist in this new space. Where else will we find ourselves in the future? In 100 years? What other options will there be for my font besides bold, italic, and underline?!

kityy

Would you rather live a year in complete darkness or a year with only sunshine? Could anything grow in the dark? How long could we survive?

My friend messages me from the other side of the world and asks for my address. There’s a letter for me there. It flew from America to Asia, and now it’s coming back again. Who is it from? Who do I even know in that state? There’s only one person I’ve written a letter to that lives there. Could it be? The sun shines in me.

Letters are like memories. Even though they’re written down, recorded, we forget them. I have no idea what I wrote in that letter. I don’t remember how long it was. I don’t remember what my handwriting looked like on the outside of the envelope.

Possibility. It’s a seed of unknown origin. Limitless. It could grow forever, into anything. Memories that haven’t been made yet. Words that have been written down but not read.

Balance is important. Half day, half night. Darkness is quiet, terrifying, calm. The sun is blinding but it lets us live, grows us, moves our skin. Balance. Humility and pride. Sadness and joy. Sorrow. Love.

My friend doodles tiny colorful monsters on paper. He paints them, creates them, shares them. Sells them for the big evil dollar. Nails them to trees. Talks about sunshine. Paints happiness on his feet. Looks like joy. The definition of.

I don’t know anyone purposefully living in darkness. But there are a lot of people who don’t have rainbows on their shoes. I’m getting older waiting for this letter to come. Another week or two. When I’m waiting, sitting under the mailbox, I watch my friends go by. They walk  past me. Some don’t turn their heads. Some are too far away to see anymore. I wonder why my parents don’t have friends. I wonder why people stop loving each other. It’s not that hard. It’s worse to be alone. It’s harder in the darkness. It’s better to try to keep growing as a person.

I wonder where that slip of paper is. Anticipation. Focus. Mathematics and a brain-powered global positioning system. When? Who? What answers will it have? Did I ask questions? Will anything change? Will there be blinding sunlight in it? Sunglasses shaped like flowers? A thoughtless reply?

I’m thinking about that particular smear of pencil lead on the palm of my writing hand. How I can never paint anything very well at all because I don’t pick up my hand enough. That particular triangle shape of accidental art. But I think I wrote the letter in pen.

Wheels spinning on ground. Planes flying in air, high above us, that we still claim as our own. Not outer space. Travel. Thoughts. Responses. Emotions. Relationships. The final delivery, someone lightly stepping on the brake to insert the letter into my mailbox, months after it was first deposited into one and sent my way. Sent to where I was. Sending to where I am.

It will probably be light out when it arrives. Sun. Shine. Wind. The smell of winter. Cold. Ice on the ground. The feel of it. The corners of such a small, flat thing. Who knows?

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