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I finished reading Ottessa Moshfegh’s MY YEAR OF REST AND RELAXATION a few days ago, and the lingering feeling is that of envy: Envy for the heroine’s clear-cut goal to sleep, envy for her (material and metaphorical) privilege to hibernate and self-sabotage and self-destruct. In many ways, and despite that envy, this was a consoling read: I am not alone in, at times, drastically wishing the world away.
Signature potato-quality flip-through, featuring my July diaries. I’ve previously mentioned how cleanly bisected my July was into keen, joyous contentment and into dead-eyed walking banana peel, and both halves caused their fair share of challenges re: writing discipline. Archiving happiness in retrospect, struggling to remember every moment of brightness—then the challenge to get up from bed and even flip open a notebook with its expanses of demanding space. (August, so far, is a continuation of the latter. Teeth are grit.)
Out of it. Snippets of last week.
July was firmly and cleanly bisected into two weeks of unalloyed joy and two weeks of feeling like a potato that has grown sprouts. But I wouldn’t ever trade The State of Being Potato for all that welcome, heart-consoling happiness. On to August we go!
About last week. (A desperate measure, of sorts, to rekindle my fondness for the TN format: the Blue edition. A change of scenery, so to speak.) (I can’t seem to get the muted navy blue of the leather, but the last pic’s best effort.)
Very carefully dipping my toes back into assembling collages: Exercises in texture, then color.
I’ve long been a fan of Yuko Higuchi, but only from afar—until I lucked out on this beautiful collection of their art at a local bookstore. It’s marvelous, the art, the vision, how different it is, how confident in that singularness. _______ (I’m still hoping the Fates will conspire to let me own the Higuchi washi tape, but the last time something was shipped from Malaysia [an online shop there still has the tapes in stock], well, it was five months ago and I still haven’t received it.)
(Redacted.) (Found the audacity to cut up an anthology of old love letters, and here we are.)
Have been having a hard time lately, with my noggin and with art-making. Or: With art-making because of my noggin. Trying to go easy on myself whenever anhedonia kicks in. So in the meantime: Flora-gazing.
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