 Surprise; Inner child; Opportunity.
The Page cards always remind me to be excited, rather than exhausted, by new ideas. And the idea of being excited by emotion and social connection (with the Cups) is a bit foreign to me, as most of the time I would rather be in my room playing video games alone. Honestly, give me that Chilling Adventures of Sabrina gig where you sign away your social life in exchange for ultimate power any day. That would be the ultimate hustle, when Satan realizes that I only gave up saying “Hey” to hot bicep-y guys on Grindr and then accidentally ghosting them to concentrate on my Sims household. I win again, Satan. I’ve been trying to convince myself to get out of the house and go to a gay bar on my impromptu three-day-weekend. The problem is that when I get to the elevator I immediately panic and start to think about all the ways it could go terribly wrong, including but not limited to a sudden launch into nuclear war leading to the last thing I experience on earth being a bunch of gay men losing their mind to “Bounce” by Iggy Azalea. And now I have that song stuck in my head. Was it worth it, self? Was it worth it for the joke? I also almost pulled the courage to go out and meet a Grindr guy except that neither of us had a place to meet. Which wouldn’t be a problem on Long Island, because of the existence of cars, but in NYC if you don’t have an empty apartment to hang out in you will be surrounded by ten other people and five of them are walking slowly on the sidewalk in front of you, linked arm in arm like they’re challenging you to play red rover if they don’t get out of the way fast enough. So… needless to say that was a bust. Or a non-bust, actually. Realistically I’m going to order potato skins and stay in for the night while throwing myself deep into the mind of everyone’s favorite elvish twunk, Link, while teaching myself how to play Smash rather than going out to smash. Also don’t give me shit about Link not being an elf. He’s an elf. He’s ageless, wears green, has long ears, and is a vers bottom. What better description of an elf do you need?
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2018 is dead. Blood everywhere. A nearby furby equipped with a bayonet is the prime suspect. The only evidence (aside from the 2018 DNA all over the aforementioned bayonet) lies in the links below. Can you figure out who killed 2018? EXHIBIT A: The finale to "Before Color" my collection of personal essays. It's the conclusion that wraps up everything that went into the project.
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X of Pentacles; Forward. |
2 of Pentacles;
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Queen of Pentacles;
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EXHIBIT D: A short New Years post. That's all.
EXHIBIT E: The final bit of evidence are in the writing prompts from this week.
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"You crouch down in the dark, dripping cave. You’ve run for too long and your legs don’t feel like they’re yours anymore. The beast is here, you can hear it snarling. You think hard about how you’re going to do this…"
"You stare out into the deep blue that surrounds you. Bubbles escape your mouth and you start to calculate where you go from here."
"It’s your first day of work at your new job. When you go inside, you find that you’re the only person in the office. Going further in, you notice that this isn’t an office at all, and you begin to worry that you’ve been set up."
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"You are ready to begin. Four people stand before you awaiting the gifts that you must imbue. Each one specific and meant to help with their journey."
"The chains that hold him down begin to glow red hot and then, in an instant, they are gone. He blinks a few times before he sees them slithering across the ground towards the door. His exit. His freedom."
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""The ceremony is about to begin. You and three others stand before the master, awaiting the gifts that they will imbue. Each one is specific and meant to help with your journey. Except… yours is… Wait, what? I’m sorry, one more time? How exactly is that supposed to help you? Goddamnit."
"White stripes line the floor, seeming to lead to a giant wooden door. As you walk closer to the door you hear breathing from the other side."
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Nurturing; Financial Security; Influencer.
(Wow, no rest for the pentacles, huh? Three days of them in a row.)
At this point in my life, I aim to be caring and nurturing, particularly at work. Working my first job ever I had the crazy notion that I could move up the ladder with no experience, zero education, and absolutely no practical knowledge of the field at all. Looking back, I was naive. And the only reason I was actually able to do it was because I had a mentor that deeply believed in me. Now, having actually climbed a few positions, I find myself aiming to do the same for my employees.
It’s weird because I never thought I’d be a nurturing person. In high school when we had to do that thing where you care for an egg for a week I ended up losing mine and immediately came down with a mysterious illness, then had to stay home for a week or so until everyone forgot the project was happening, and probably also forgot that I’d ever attended the school to begin with. (I was absent a lot.)
I was bad at being a fake-pet owner as well. I could not figure out how to interact with my tamagotchi at all and then when I moved on to Neopets the four of my pets would be forced to share one crummy omelette from the giant omelette blob in that prehistoric world, otherwise they would go hungry. But it’s not my fault I was spending all our money on big rocks and bottled faeries. I had priorities.
I’d like to think that I’m way more nurturing now, even on a digital level. Though I’m slightly worried about the implications of that when the new Animal Crossing comes out, because last time I remember having anxiety every time I loaded up the game because I didn’t want Gladys to leave the village. I would log on just to convince her not to leave because she was my favorite. Had I not forgotten that my Wii existed I’m pretty sure we eventually would’ve seen the entirety of the Misery plot play out in that game, only with a bunch of animals walking around saying “STRETCH!”
(Wow, no rest for the pentacles, huh? Three days of them in a row.)
At this point in my life, I aim to be caring and nurturing, particularly at work. Working my first job ever I had the crazy notion that I could move up the ladder with no experience, zero education, and absolutely no practical knowledge of the field at all. Looking back, I was naive. And the only reason I was actually able to do it was because I had a mentor that deeply believed in me. Now, having actually climbed a few positions, I find myself aiming to do the same for my employees.
It’s weird because I never thought I’d be a nurturing person. In high school when we had to do that thing where you care for an egg for a week I ended up losing mine and immediately came down with a mysterious illness, then had to stay home for a week or so until everyone forgot the project was happening, and probably also forgot that I’d ever attended the school to begin with. (I was absent a lot.)
I was bad at being a fake-pet owner as well. I could not figure out how to interact with my tamagotchi at all and then when I moved on to Neopets the four of my pets would be forced to share one crummy omelette from the giant omelette blob in that prehistoric world, otherwise they would go hungry. But it’s not my fault I was spending all our money on big rocks and bottled faeries. I had priorities.
I’d like to think that I’m way more nurturing now, even on a digital level. Though I’m slightly worried about the implications of that when the new Animal Crossing comes out, because last time I remember having anxiety every time I loaded up the game because I didn’t want Gladys to leave the village. I would log on just to convince her not to leave because she was my favorite. Had I not forgotten that my Wii existed I’m pretty sure we eventually would’ve seen the entirety of the Misery plot play out in that game, only with a bunch of animals walking around saying “STRETCH!”
Change; Balance; Adaptation.
I think I’ve done a damn good job of adapting to change lately, so thank you for noticing, mysterious force controlling these magical shiny cards. Especially considering I hate change. If you make me be someone other than Link in Super Smash Bros my brain might actually explode. If I can’t go boomerang, arrow, big blue bomb, big blue bomb, big blue bomb, big blue bomb, BIGGEST blue bomb into a kill then I don’t want to play.
I’ve had to move because of circumstances beyond my control too many times while living in the city. Once a year, essentially. I’m currently on my 6th apartment. And if you’ve read “Before Color” then you already know how I feel about moving. If you haven’t read it then first of all you’re a war criminal second of all the tl;dr is that it’s the worst experience for someone that has a major in depression and a minor in hoarding.
Moving that much means a lot of change. It means a new neighborhood, a new 24/7 bodega, new delivery spots, new train schedules, and new roommates. For some it would mean new friends too. But that hasn’t necessarily been the case for me, as when I’m living somewhere I tend to burrow into my room and board up all windows and doors Birdbox style, except instead of a blindfold I’ve focused my eyes on my Rimworld colony and refuse to look at anything else.
But in the midst of all the moving I’ve survived, I’ve grown, and I’ve adapted. And I’ve found little bits of who I want to be and who I will choose to be in the future in each of those new apartments. And that’s very valuable to me. Because everything is malleable, everyone can change, and the world is sand.
I think I’ve done a damn good job of adapting to change lately, so thank you for noticing, mysterious force controlling these magical shiny cards. Especially considering I hate change. If you make me be someone other than Link in Super Smash Bros my brain might actually explode. If I can’t go boomerang, arrow, big blue bomb, big blue bomb, big blue bomb, big blue bomb, BIGGEST blue bomb into a kill then I don’t want to play.
I’ve had to move because of circumstances beyond my control too many times while living in the city. Once a year, essentially. I’m currently on my 6th apartment. And if you’ve read “Before Color” then you already know how I feel about moving. If you haven’t read it then first of all you’re a war criminal second of all the tl;dr is that it’s the worst experience for someone that has a major in depression and a minor in hoarding.
Moving that much means a lot of change. It means a new neighborhood, a new 24/7 bodega, new delivery spots, new train schedules, and new roommates. For some it would mean new friends too. But that hasn’t necessarily been the case for me, as when I’m living somewhere I tend to burrow into my room and board up all windows and doors Birdbox style, except instead of a blindfold I’ve focused my eyes on my Rimworld colony and refuse to look at anything else.
But in the midst of all the moving I’ve survived, I’ve grown, and I’ve adapted. And I’ve found little bits of who I want to be and who I will choose to be in the future in each of those new apartments. And that’s very valuable to me. Because everything is malleable, everyone can change, and the world is sand.
Completion; Fulfillment; Harvest.
Life exists in chapters. And the start and end of a chapter are always equally exciting, but the really important parts happen in the words between. The importance is in the sleeve of blue flowers and the coil of golden lights. The value is in the prints left in the snow and the stack of stones you passed by.
I’ve always had a problem completing projects, so I never felt what it was like to set out towards a goal and actually reach it. In fact, I remember the exact moment in elementary school when I realized it was possible to just not do my homework and get away with it. Figuring that out meant that so much extra time could be devoted to watching Phil of the Future and fantasizing about making out with Raviv Ullman, so my gay little brain was fully invested in this new school strategy. I didn’t fully anticipate that it would lead to both a lifetime of procrastination and a lifetime of boys not being able to measure up to Phil Diffy. But here we are.
I’m going into 2019 with a feeling that I haven’t known since that moment in elementary school. The feeling that I put in every ounce of effort possible, and that I now have a completed project that I’m proud of. But it doesn’t wrap up quite how I wanted, with a sense of finality and ultimate accomplishment. Instead it gives me a feeling that there’s so much more to do and so much further that my limits can be stretched. Because now I look back and think, "I can do better than that." And there’s the want to bring every single talented person I know with me on this journey. There’s also a slight jittery feeling but I’m assuming that’s just from the 4 cups of coffee I’ve downed in the past two hours without expending any of the energy that it’s given me on anything other than scrolling through instagram and Grindr simultaneously, with no plans of accomplishing anything with either one. Partly because Raviv has just set the bar far, far too high.
Sorry, boys that weren’t interested in me anyway.
Life exists in chapters. And the start and end of a chapter are always equally exciting, but the really important parts happen in the words between. The importance is in the sleeve of blue flowers and the coil of golden lights. The value is in the prints left in the snow and the stack of stones you passed by.
I’ve always had a problem completing projects, so I never felt what it was like to set out towards a goal and actually reach it. In fact, I remember the exact moment in elementary school when I realized it was possible to just not do my homework and get away with it. Figuring that out meant that so much extra time could be devoted to watching Phil of the Future and fantasizing about making out with Raviv Ullman, so my gay little brain was fully invested in this new school strategy. I didn’t fully anticipate that it would lead to both a lifetime of procrastination and a lifetime of boys not being able to measure up to Phil Diffy. But here we are.
I’m going into 2019 with a feeling that I haven’t known since that moment in elementary school. The feeling that I put in every ounce of effort possible, and that I now have a completed project that I’m proud of. But it doesn’t wrap up quite how I wanted, with a sense of finality and ultimate accomplishment. Instead it gives me a feeling that there’s so much more to do and so much further that my limits can be stretched. Because now I look back and think, "I can do better than that." And there’s the want to bring every single talented person I know with me on this journey. There’s also a slight jittery feeling but I’m assuming that’s just from the 4 cups of coffee I’ve downed in the past two hours without expending any of the energy that it’s given me on anything other than scrolling through instagram and Grindr simultaneously, with no plans of accomplishing anything with either one. Partly because Raviv has just set the bar far, far too high.
Sorry, boys that weren’t interested in me anyway.
2018 has been devoured by the eater of time, whose eldritch horror would devastate the world if seen by the naked eye, so instead he adopts the visage of Anderson Cooper as the ball drops and moves us forward into the New Year. Some of us are working on New Years resolutions, some of us are starting new jobs, and some of us just had our first collection of personal essays finish getting posted on their website. So, what’s next?
The simple answer is: What’s next is working on that resolution, showing up and killing your first day at work, and posting your next collection of personal essays. But in the words of my favorite biblical prophet, Gia Gunn, “What you WANNA do is not necessarily what you’re GONNA do.”
My resolution is a simple and personal one this year. It’s about gaining consistency in my social life. Which I knocked out of the park going into the New Year by consistently sitting at home alone listening to Kacey Musgraves during every holiday in 2018. And, on the writing front, while “Before Color” is fully out, I’ve barely been able to start my second collection of personal essays, which will be called "Raspberry." Part of that is because I’m afraid to open back up the darker parts of my life that that chapter touches on.
But last year I decided I would be consistent when it came to writing, trusting myself, and putting my work out into the world. And... I did it! So that’s what I’m going to continue to do even though Raspberry isn't done. So at least on this website “What’s Next” is more of What Was. You’ll still get posts every Monday, sometimes Wednesday, and Friday (some of which will be Very Bad Poems), Trish’s Dishes every Tuesday, Prompts every day, and a wrap-up at the end of the week. There just won’t be a new full-length series of connected personal essays for a little while, mostly because I prefer to have quality over quantity. But when it does come out? Prepare to be... somewhere between impressed and not paying attention at all.
The simple answer is: What’s next is working on that resolution, showing up and killing your first day at work, and posting your next collection of personal essays. But in the words of my favorite biblical prophet, Gia Gunn, “What you WANNA do is not necessarily what you’re GONNA do.”
My resolution is a simple and personal one this year. It’s about gaining consistency in my social life. Which I knocked out of the park going into the New Year by consistently sitting at home alone listening to Kacey Musgraves during every holiday in 2018. And, on the writing front, while “Before Color” is fully out, I’ve barely been able to start my second collection of personal essays, which will be called "Raspberry." Part of that is because I’m afraid to open back up the darker parts of my life that that chapter touches on.
But last year I decided I would be consistent when it came to writing, trusting myself, and putting my work out into the world. And... I did it! So that’s what I’m going to continue to do even though Raspberry isn't done. So at least on this website “What’s Next” is more of What Was. You’ll still get posts every Monday, sometimes Wednesday, and Friday (some of which will be Very Bad Poems), Trish’s Dishes every Tuesday, Prompts every day, and a wrap-up at the end of the week. There just won’t be a new full-length series of connected personal essays for a little while, mostly because I prefer to have quality over quantity. But when it does come out? Prepare to be... somewhere between impressed and not paying attention at all.
Anxiety comes in a lot of different forms. And each one has informed every decision I’ve ever made in life. For a long time I listened to my anxiety like directions on a page, keeping myself from the world. It wasn’t until I was out of high school that I began to follow the mantra I live by now. Which is to say yes to social occasions. Because either you’ll have a great time, or you’ll have a great story. And either way you win. Unless you’re attending a party at a high profile music studio and start having an anxiety attack halfway through and need to go hide in the bathroom until you’re good, and then you trip over a fire extinguisher on your way out and everyone is asking if you’re okay to drive yourself home when you’re actually the only sober one there and also you don’t even fucking drive.
Sometimes anxiety feels like a trap. Like you’re snowed in, in a phonebooth with no service and a wolf pacing nearby. Sometimes it feels like that until you’re halfway through, when you come to your senses and, seeing clearer now, realize that you are the wolf. That you are the one that paced and waited and attacked. Your prints in the snow shaming your lack of self-awareness.
Sometimes anxiety feels like a missing voice, forcing you to pack up and leave without saying goodbye. To give a friend your copy of a game because you’re unable to tell him that you lost his. The numbness that strikes your hand as you’re about to turn the doorknob, because you heard a footstep on the other side. The feeling that your “let’s hang out” will come up on their phone and be left on read, when that is all that could pull you out of this pit.
But sometimes anxiety can be banished. Sometimes you’ll meet in the park with your friend and idol, Valerie, armed with a violin and a voice much stronger in ink than in air. And she’s tiny but what she sees and what she says is bigger than anything you think you can reach. And that friend will strike a spark in you when she says that she learns from you. It will reignite the fire held by the green in your eyes. Because if the most creative person that you know is inspired by what you do, then you have succeeded. And no wolf in the snow, or mess on the floor, or twenty foot door will ever be able to lie to you about who you are again.
“I’m sorry. Just walk through the door.”
Sometimes anxiety feels like a trap. Like you’re snowed in, in a phonebooth with no service and a wolf pacing nearby. Sometimes it feels like that until you’re halfway through, when you come to your senses and, seeing clearer now, realize that you are the wolf. That you are the one that paced and waited and attacked. Your prints in the snow shaming your lack of self-awareness.
Sometimes anxiety feels like a missing voice, forcing you to pack up and leave without saying goodbye. To give a friend your copy of a game because you’re unable to tell him that you lost his. The numbness that strikes your hand as you’re about to turn the doorknob, because you heard a footstep on the other side. The feeling that your “let’s hang out” will come up on their phone and be left on read, when that is all that could pull you out of this pit.
But sometimes anxiety can be banished. Sometimes you’ll meet in the park with your friend and idol, Valerie, armed with a violin and a voice much stronger in ink than in air. And she’s tiny but what she sees and what she says is bigger than anything you think you can reach. And that friend will strike a spark in you when she says that she learns from you. It will reignite the fire held by the green in your eyes. Because if the most creative person that you know is inspired by what you do, then you have succeeded. And no wolf in the snow, or mess on the floor, or twenty foot door will ever be able to lie to you about who you are again.
“I’m sorry. Just walk through the door.”
I just want to say, you know how in every thriller/apocalypse movie there's that one character that has the news playing in the background warning that the entire world is falling apart and then they just turn it off and go back to playing sudoku? That's absolutely me. If you think I've absorbed any dystopian thing that's happened in the past 2 years and haven't fully just been having an out of body experience this whole time, then you're underestimating me. Or overestimating me. Not sure which.
Let's start this week's recap by checking out Trish's latest post on Trish's Dishes. She had a delightful holiday episode where you learn a little bit about Christmas, a little bit about Fettuccine Alfredo, and a little bit about the dark rites needed in order to properly prepare for the Endless Harvest which will bring about the destruction of all mankind. Fun!
On this side of things we're only two days away from the thrilling finale of "Before Color" where I'll probably punch a shark or run blindfolded through a forest with my two kids or something. I don't know. We'll figure it out. But I did release two new episodes and one semi-poem this week! Read about my reconnection with my past in "Coffee," my decision that I'm enough in "Doors," and how the Rugrats made me fear death in "Fear PT. 2."
I also got my first patron on patreon, which is super exciting and prompted me to make this page thanking anyone who subscribes:
And then last but not least we have this week's writing prompts.
| "Crack! The whip lashes out towards the lion in the ring. The lion roars and bursts into a wondrous flame. Your date smirks, eyes glued ahead and lurched forward, more enveloped than just impressed. Money is no object for you, but these seats cost a fortune." "The blood is rushing to your head. Your feet are strung up on a hook as you hang upside down in the meat locker. You think about the monster that put you here and your heart begins to race." "You crouch down in the dark, dripping cave. You’ve run for too long and your legs don’t feel like they’re yours anymore. The beast is here, you can hear it snarling. You think hard about how you’re going to do this…" | "Before you is a silver dish with a lid, the contents waiting to be revealed. There are 20 others at the table as well, a dish before them. On each dish are two names: The name of the person at the table that must kill you, and the name of the person that you must kill. " "You lock your seatbelt and nod to the pilot. They nod back, as they prepare the vessel for lift off. In a few moments you’ll be in space, and that is where the mission starts." | "Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The person interrogating you has been out of the room for some time. Tick. Tock. Time is all you can think about, looking around and seeing the clocks that litter the walls. You’ve messed with forces you knew you shouldn’t have. Tick. Tock. Tick… The door opens." "Before you is a mask, shaped in an odd way and made of thick oak. You know what this is for, and the thought both intrigues and terrifies you. Particularly because it is now yours." |
When I was 5 I was walking back inside from recess when I realized that the grandpa from the rugrats was going to die soon, and then immediately after realized that death is inevitable and is coming for all of us. To be fair, this was around the time that I also “realized” that the government was using top secret caged Pokémon to control the weather, so not all of my theories were spot on. But that was the first time I’d ever thought about death in a serious way (and only the third time I’d convinced myself that Pokémon were real) so I was shaken pretty hard.
One thing I will give my fear of death is that it totally turned my fear of the supernatural into appreciation. Because in my mind it was silly to be scared of dying if I was just gonna become a spooky ghost after and get to haunt people for a living. Which sounds kind of like a sweet gig, and would also give me a reason to put my ability to sneak up on people back on my resume. The only bad thing would be the possibility of an exorcism, which would totally suck. Especially because they always seem to bring a priest along while doing those and I’m a healer main so it’ll just end up being this awkward power struggle the whole time. It’d honestly just be better for everyone if you brought someone more focused on DPS, like a dentist or a gym teacher.
In high school my fear of death, much like my gayness, came out in full force. And one of the boys I was friends with at the time tried to calm me down by suggesting that maybe what happens when we die is exactly what happened on LOST. But that just made things even worse, because I’m super not prepared to survive on a deserted island. If we didn’t find the hatch within the first 7 days of me being dead I would’ve put my own torch out at tribal council and walked out on Jeff Probst before the episode was even over. And then Matthew Fox would come up to me all, “WE HAVE TO GO BACK RYAN” and I’d make out with him for a little bit before I’d inevitably remember that he and I are too different to ever make it work, and I’d have to leave him. Plus once the government gets Kyogre to throw a storm at us we’d be done anyway, because we spent all of our time on the island starting and stopping relationships and none of our time actually planning an escape. Not very responsible, Matthew Fox. I expected more from you.
I finally broke out of my intense fear of death when I grew up and moved to the city. Which is ironic because you’d think I would be way more terrified of serial killers while living with roommates, but almost none of them have actively tried to kill me yet. Which is admittedly super cool of them considering some of the craigslist ads I saw at the same time as theirs were advertising an initiation into a secret brotherhood. Which sounds cool and all but I just know there’s a hidden membership fee at some point and I’m not about it. Unless your secret brotherhood is about recapturing the Pokémon unwillingly being used for government labor, I’m not interested in paying. And if it is then fine, but let me build up some pinap berries first because I’m honestly SOOOOO close to a magikarp evolution.
One thing I will give my fear of death is that it totally turned my fear of the supernatural into appreciation. Because in my mind it was silly to be scared of dying if I was just gonna become a spooky ghost after and get to haunt people for a living. Which sounds kind of like a sweet gig, and would also give me a reason to put my ability to sneak up on people back on my resume. The only bad thing would be the possibility of an exorcism, which would totally suck. Especially because they always seem to bring a priest along while doing those and I’m a healer main so it’ll just end up being this awkward power struggle the whole time. It’d honestly just be better for everyone if you brought someone more focused on DPS, like a dentist or a gym teacher.
In high school my fear of death, much like my gayness, came out in full force. And one of the boys I was friends with at the time tried to calm me down by suggesting that maybe what happens when we die is exactly what happened on LOST. But that just made things even worse, because I’m super not prepared to survive on a deserted island. If we didn’t find the hatch within the first 7 days of me being dead I would’ve put my own torch out at tribal council and walked out on Jeff Probst before the episode was even over. And then Matthew Fox would come up to me all, “WE HAVE TO GO BACK RYAN” and I’d make out with him for a little bit before I’d inevitably remember that he and I are too different to ever make it work, and I’d have to leave him. Plus once the government gets Kyogre to throw a storm at us we’d be done anyway, because we spent all of our time on the island starting and stopping relationships and none of our time actually planning an escape. Not very responsible, Matthew Fox. I expected more from you.
I finally broke out of my intense fear of death when I grew up and moved to the city. Which is ironic because you’d think I would be way more terrified of serial killers while living with roommates, but almost none of them have actively tried to kill me yet. Which is admittedly super cool of them considering some of the craigslist ads I saw at the same time as theirs were advertising an initiation into a secret brotherhood. Which sounds cool and all but I just know there’s a hidden membership fee at some point and I’m not about it. Unless your secret brotherhood is about recapturing the Pokémon unwillingly being used for government labor, I’m not interested in paying. And if it is then fine, but let me build up some pinap berries first because I’m honestly SOOOOO close to a magikarp evolution.
What if I just really spoke? Without jokes, just speaking one on one. Or one on none, or one on one hundred. Depends on the SEO, I guess. I don’t even truly know what SEO is or how it works, that was just a lame attempt at a joke.
I’m speaking cause I find myself asking, “what is my voice?” And why do I feel the need to justify why I’m speaking?
When I was seeing this guy named Connor he told me that there are two kinds of people: those that walk through doors and those that walk around them. Now, me personally, I vibrate up through the ceiling because I’ve had 7 cups of coffee and my atoms are holding on for dear life as I transform into Shadowcat from the X-Men, but he said it to tell me that I walk around doors. Which is to say that I enter a room already apologizing for taking up space. And that is at the core of everything I do and don’t do. Every joke I make is an apology for having taken up your time. Every edit, every sentence cut, is me saying that you could be doing something better. Because I don’t believe in me. Because I’m sorry for me. And what I can’t bring to the table.
So… what is my voice? Am I the 5 second edited joke? Am I the painting before it receives its colors? Am I the character breaking down on stage? Am I the insider text to a friend? Am I an apology for myself wrapped in lead and code? I don’t know.
And when I find my voice, can I finally say to myself,
“I’m sorry.
Just walk through the door.”
I’m speaking cause I find myself asking, “what is my voice?” And why do I feel the need to justify why I’m speaking?
When I was seeing this guy named Connor he told me that there are two kinds of people: those that walk through doors and those that walk around them. Now, me personally, I vibrate up through the ceiling because I’ve had 7 cups of coffee and my atoms are holding on for dear life as I transform into Shadowcat from the X-Men, but he said it to tell me that I walk around doors. Which is to say that I enter a room already apologizing for taking up space. And that is at the core of everything I do and don’t do. Every joke I make is an apology for having taken up your time. Every edit, every sentence cut, is me saying that you could be doing something better. Because I don’t believe in me. Because I’m sorry for me. And what I can’t bring to the table.
So… what is my voice? Am I the 5 second edited joke? Am I the painting before it receives its colors? Am I the character breaking down on stage? Am I the insider text to a friend? Am I an apology for myself wrapped in lead and code? I don’t know.
And when I find my voice, can I finally say to myself,
“I’m sorry.
Just walk through the door.”
Ryan C. Robert
Ryan C. Robert is the writer of multiple comedy blogs, most of which are satirical and self-deprecating. He writes about his life in his personal essay series "Before Color," parodies cooking blogs in "Trish's Dishes" and posts writing prompts every single day.
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365 Terrible Writing Prompts
Blogging Isn't Dead
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Season 1
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