cygnoir.net

cygnoir.net

keep up and let’s go

Just when I am ready to lose it, scream, drive into a fire hydrant, rob a Target, steal a puppy, mosh where there is no moshpit, chop all my hair off with garden shears, hand a monk a lighter and a can of gas, and then quit my job …

… I remember what’s so fucking special about where I work.

(Dammit.)

The inimitable Jason drove up to lunch with me today at my sushi place, and then I showed off my library a bit. And I recaptured a bit of that wonder I’ve lost, listening to his appreciative noises as we strolled around the place. I am lucky. It is a beautiful campus. It is a good library, and I did help make it a good library.

(Dammit.)

I hear hints of Chicago in Jason’s voice as he talks, and I feel at home around him, because he’s like me, in many ways, and also: once there, now here; once unsettled, now settling. And words; and worlds.

I want to word the world. I want to break my head open and show you what’s inside, the scared little eleven-year-old girl who overcompensated by turning mean and hard and cold and then turned back, went back, softened and unfurled and grew. And grows. And I want to show it to you, but I won’t.

Or I will, if you’re watching. But no footnotes this time. Keep up and let’s go.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.