How to be idle and blessed

There was a time early last semester when I would sleep under trees. With my bag of books as my pillow, I would rest on the grass and stare at the sky, and sometimes I would drift off into an uneasy sleep, sometimes I would be wide awake, and sometimes only my cell phone alarm could revive me.

Those days, though often boring and frustrating in real-time, live on in my memory as fantasy days – imaginary golden sunshine afternoons, beautiful incomparable forever again unattainable rest. Mary Oliver soothed me. I slept and slept, with no one next to me.

Reflections on lit mag work+riot grrrl+Ani Difranco

Riot Grrrl is not a product for the media to sell. I am opposed to mainstream media coverage, although some riot grrls may argue with me. The media has made us into a fad so that we can easily be put in the back of people’s closets with the macrame and parachute pants when we aren’t “the next big thing” anymore. Hopefully some girls/women will see through the fad image and catch the important stuff. It’s funny how some people try to write off true movements like feminism, veganism, ecology, etc., as faddish…I guess it’s scary to recognize new ideas/eras that threaten your way of life.

At around nine years old, besides writing a book and becoming a world-famous novelist and etc etc, all I wanted was to publish a magazine. I would visit all the suggested websites on my library’s list for children. These early Geocities and Angelfire sites, with their cheery graphics and midi players, were cute. I would leave notes on their guestbooks.

Several websites on my list were about grrl power and zines and the power of producing your own work. As an adult, I can see how this is radical. It wasn’t radical to me, as a child, at the time. Yes, I was a girl, and yes, I wanted to hold my words in my hands so that everyone could read what I had to say. So what?

Un-everything.

I hadn’t written about this before because there seemed to be nothing to say. And maybe there still isn’t anything to say. It’s over, it’s done; there are no links, connections, remaining threads between us, and she’s no longer present even in my peripheral vision.

I don’t feel badly about it. I don’t have any regrets. But today, as I was watching a trashy teen drama, I reflected on how sometimes we feel like we’re losing something we never had (I wanted what those girls have). This nostalgia for a fantasy-past isn’t a bad thing and isn’t even out-of-the-ordinary. It’s just uncomfortable. Unfortunate. Un-everything.