notes & things | 5/25/2025
A cousin of mine recently posted some throwback photos of their wedding a decade ago and I laughed, pointing out to J that I remembered one of the first text conversations we had was on the way to and at that wedding (well, before I drank too much wine and got sloshed with my mom and other cousins.) As we confirm the final details in the wedding and have passed the 30 day countdown, it was strange to think that a decade ago, we hadn't even had our first date yet. I wasn't even intending to be on the app we met on, having gotten out of a long term thing the previous fall and single completely for the first time in more than a decade. I had, however, unwisely picked up with an ex-situationship that was bad news sometime in the spring. A then-friend urged me to update and reactivate my profile on the bus home one evening, so I did. A few days later I was lying in bed and encountered J's profile. We occasionally argue over who messaged who first and I honestly don't even remember, but I suspect it was me given my usual MO on dating apps. (people give them a lot of crap, but my experiences were overall good and I am certain we never would have met otherwise--we were always working and our circles. Chicago is big, and even both being in the arts, our trajectories were completely separate.)
A lot has happened in that decade. For the first few years, we saw each other once a week tops. Me working nights and him basically working all the time put a dent in leisure in general for both of us. About two to three years in, I was taking with a friend and said "If I am ever in a long term relationship again..." and she corrected me that I was. He always, and still, seems too good to be true. I struggled at first with not feeling like things were always slipping out from under me. From the lack of drama and questioning and the adrenaline fear that it could all end. I just always thought most relationships were fraught in one way or another, some more manageable, others untenable. They made good fodder for poems, and I had my share of fun, but usually they ended, sometimes spectacularly badly, some with barely a whimper. Now that the dress has been chosen, the rings brought, the menu planned, it still occasionally seems surprising to even me that I am getting married at all.
I am trying to balance all that planning with regular freelance work and creative things, which is proving rough with the news still growing more horrific by the hour and concentration a continually elusive beast. I rearranged my weeks to do more press stuff on other days and leave the weekends, unless we have plans to work around, for writing my own poems and art. I still do some daily writing first or last thing of the day, but also work in larger chunks, which is helping the memoir project along much better than dipping my toe in every once in a while. After coffee and turnovers this morning, J went off to play video games in the bedroom and I started readying some submissions from the first of the Iphigenia pieces that are polished enough to send out. It's a weird time, when many journals are folding and others are closing up spring reading periods, but I found a couple of sound possibilities I had never sent work to before.
Yesterday, I made some reels for the new book, which launched rather silently into the sea last week , and due to freelance deadlines and general chaos, didn't get much wind in its sails just yet. This week, my goal is to get the last of the responses out for the next series of chaps as I finish up the last few from the prior season. Rejections have all gone out, so it's thankfully mostly just good news going out this week, but I am bracing for the logistics of publishing agreements and details. I am also stuck on a few layouts I am waiting to add to the queue as soon as I get author copies out for several new books. But chiseling away slowly is making a difference.
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