A memory prompt written for “Creative Clusterfuck,” a memoir-focused writing seminar taught by the legendary Molly Guy.
I force myself to be happy a few hours a week. I know that if I only have to put on a brave face within these set parameters, that it’s much easier to do. My breakdown is this: 1-2 hours to record my podcast, then I get to go back to my solitude and can edit in my lonesome. 3 hours for my improv class to reach my maximum star potential and also for the purpose of being around other bodies. And a few extra hours give or take for the plans I make asking random people to get lunch or dinner or happy hour but never anything more. I’m never invited anywhere by “real” “friends” and I spend most nights laying in my bed in the dark with my window open while my neighbors below clink beers in a backyard illuminated by string lights while grilling and listening to Bon Iver.
I call my mom a dozen times a day because I realize I haven’t spoken to anyone. She knows what I’ve ate, watched, thought, that I really like this matching corduroy set for fall and I might actually order it today, I’m thinking about bleaching my hair again, I’d really like to have an intimate wedding because I dont know who I’ll even invite to those “big moments” in my life, I’m worried Will is depressed too, should I have boxed mac and cheese for the third time this week, no I haven’t taken my dress for my cousin’s wedding to the tailor yet I know I need to please stop reminding me every time we talk because we just talked an hour ago and I still hadn’t then, no I don’t want to go for a run even though I begged you to buy me new sneakers because I convinced you exercising would make me less sad and at the time I believed it.