this woman's work

7.24.26

On our morning walk, a man stood in the middle of the sidewalk reading. I’m nosy, so I looked over his shoulder as we passed. To my surprise, the book contained massive dog portraits and no words at all. His dog sat at his feet. I love witnessing a harmless obsession, love seeing how humans pass the time.

Today was a self-guided study day. My favorite! I talk more about this in today’s episode of Wild Geese (or you can just look at the screenshot below for more info):

This book felt serendipitous. It’s exhilarating to pick something up on a whim and feel like it’s speaking directly to you. I love seeing the way a journaling practice can look different based on the mediums you’re playing with. The illustrations are precious & Julie Delporte’s questions mirror my own one moment and completely diverge the next.

On one page, the author mentions the book Voices from Chernobyl & says something about how the women telling their stories in the wake of the disaster impacted her.

Chernobyl is fascinating to me. Some dark part of me wants to learn everything I possibly can about freak accidents and disasters. As a kid, the Titanic movie gave me two things: my sexual awakening and a perverse obsession with shipwrecks.

So I checked Voices from Chernobyl out from the library, seeing the way the author mentioned it as a recommendation. This felt like a sharp departure from the graphic novel, yet the graphic novel led me there. I like how we can take in stories that seem so far from the one we want to tell & they can still inform what we make in some small way.

Banzo got his head stuck in the handle of the paper bag we were using for recycling. I’m reading one moment and the next, he’s moving at a speed I’ve never seen before, running into furniture and walls. I can’t see what’s wrong, can’t see the handle around his neck. For some reason, my mind goes to “he forgot how to open his mouth and release his grip on the bag.” In my mind, he was having a medical event in which his brain stopped working properly. My heart immediately went into my ass. In a matter of 10 seconds, I convinced myself he was dying.

I guess it makes sense that death is on my mind with the material I’m reading. An instinct, both protective and frantic, came over me. I finally get him to slow down for long enough to lift the bag from his neck and pick him up. Usually, he hates being held and he’ll push away immediately. This time, he stayed and practically clung to me in a hug of mutual distress. If you have a curious cat, cut the handles off your paper bags (the ones with the more intense, rope-like handles)! If we weren’t home to lift it off his head, he might have strangled himself.

Had a plan for a date night in Prospect Park but a good friend broke the news that their company is going under & she’ll have to go back to France after 5 years here. She was SO close to being able to stay. We grab pizza and ice cream and flowers and sit in her living room, unsure of what to say. We decide on horror stories about men because that seems like a safe topic for now. We make plans to visit each other around the world, highlight all the fun things she can do while on unemployment. None of it makes this easier to stomach.

7.25.26

I’m having a hard time writing today. Something I haven’t really come up against much with diary writing. I think it’s because I like to write in little snippets throughout the day instead of one long reflection session at the end of the day. Sometimes a snippet turns into a long reflection but I don’t love the pressure of one reflection time. I start to overthink what parts of the day to write about, what’s important to remember, blablabla.

Tonight, I said yes to too many plans. By midnight, I had 5% on my phone and I was full of resentment towards no one in particular. Maybe towards myself for overextending & saying yes to too many plans. The blisters on my feet had multiplied over the course of the night.

For hours during the day, I sat with Lizzie and Becca eating sushi and gabbing while Becca ran her fingers through my hair. She is so insanely good at it, I tell her she should start a business. I would pay serious money to have someone rub my head for hours. I’m grateful I have loved ones that do it for free.

Lizzie & I went to a comedy show where internet famous comedians let their inner theater kid shine. Afterwards, we sat at an east village bar & no one looked like they were over 22. NYC has some stark age segregation going on.

7.26.26

Got carsick on a ride to New Jersey. It was a pool day sponsored by that feeling of saliva pooling in the back of your throat, threatening to come out on the highway.

The pool was very 1950’s suburbia. What’s the “uncanny valley” feeling equivalent when you’re looking at a place, not a face? It’s just a few degrees away from feeling like a real place at all. This is what I’m thinking about while I drift in and out of an afternoon nap with one arm in the sun, the other under an umbrella.

On the way back from the pool, J’s mom is announcing what’s for dinner and she says “& potatoes of course, for our potato girl.” In this family, you only have to say you like something once.

I’m not really a believer in love languages. I think it’s too often used as a prescriptive way to categorize & justify behavior & we all dabble in all the love languages at different moments. But it’s fun, learning someone’s favorite acts of affection. It’s no small thing to put potatoes on a plate just because you know it’s someone’s favorite.

7.29.26

Widows Bay!!!! Started watching last night, can’t stop thinking about it today. I’m dreaming of starting a Patreon & doing little “digital gardening with me” videos when I find a show/movie/essay I love. Because I wouldn’t be beholden to an algorithm there, I could TRULY truly just make whatever I want. That’s exciting to me.

Had a call with a Youtube guy who used to work for Ali Abdaal. He told me not to start a Patreon. Told me it’s only worth it for people with over a million subscribers. Ugh. Whatever, fuck it. I’m gonna do it anyways.

I’m feeling equal parts anxiety and excitement over the venture. Anxious about creating more content & bringing down the quality of my output as a result. Excited about the idea of being able to create in a container that doesn’t make me play by an algorithm’s rules.

Maybe I’ll be making a mistake by trying it out. Maybe I’ll regret it. But if I regret it, that’s fine. Regret is a completely normal part of the human experience. And I’ll never know unless I try.

OH my god. I don’t know what just happened. Got on the train home from the upper west side after hanging out with my old roommates for the night. Put my head down after Times Square because I knew I was still quite far from home. Didn’t bother to look at the signs or listen to the announcements until at LEAST 30 minutes later when I looked up to see we had ended up at 116th Street. What in the fuck!! This train switched from a downtown to an uptown train and I didn’t know until I was further from home than when I started!!

The train back downtown was 20 minutes away and it was midnight at this point so I said fuck it and called an expensive uber. Cried from frustration in the backseat while listening to Annika Bennet with the windows down. My annoyance and despair slipped off a little when we drove over a bridge overlooking the skyline. Sometimes huge inconveniences wake me up to the incredible place I live. Incredible and annoying and! and! and!

8.3.26

J’s friend Ian came to visit and crashed on our couch over the weekend. He has a knack for asking great questions & he genuinely engages with everyone as if they’re the most interesting person he has ever met. We sunk many hours into long conversations on the couch, passing a jar of jelly beans back and forth. He used to live in NYC so we didn’t have to play tour guide. I didn’t write much because it’s hard to have anything left to say, or the energy to say it, after a weekend of non-stop conversation.

On Saturday night, we went to dinner with some of Ian’s old friends and stood on the sidewalk chatting for an hour after paying the check. His friends are sweet and we made our iphones do that kissing thing, so I suspect they are our friends now too.

One of his friends is pregnant. She’s due in a month and she’s still talking about the interactive theater production they’re planning to put on a few months post-partum. I’m filled with a bit of hope seeing pregnancy & creative vision exist in the same body. I often convince myself that if I had a baby or a fetus to worry about, I’d lose the ability to focus on anything else ever again.

On Sunday, we volunteered at Food Not Bombs, a mutual aid group that serves free meals every week. The group is non-hierarchical so it takes a while to spot a problem that needs to be solved and step in. It’s unlike a lot of volunteer opportunities where someone is appointed to tell you what to do. This is both freeing and nerve-wracking. I find it forces me to be a bit more assertive than usual.

One of the volunteers was a Wild Geese listener who had just moved to the city last week. So fucking cool of her to be brand new to the city and already contributing in this way.

Afterwards, we went to a bar in Bed-Stuy to meet a few friends. It was so loud and crowded and hot. I wanted to leave as soon as I stepped through the door.

In the car on the way home, I was completely silent. It reminded me of a friend from high school who was usually the loudest, funniest person in the room but he would often fall completely silent for long stretches of time. When we asked him if he was okay, he’d always say “yeah, I’m just on battery conserving mode right now.” & ten minutes later, he’d be back with full force. I often do the same thing but I do not come back full force. Once my battery is drained, I must go home immediately.