do you have any pages?

for our meeting next week?

Every year Spring’s fleetingness makes me sad. The bright petals are like a surge of relief, reprieve from the cold months, but they will soon be gone and then we’ll enter the season of perpetual sweating. I tell myself: this is what’s special about Spring. If it wasn’t over so fast, it wouldn’t hold the same meaning.

After my last post many of you noted my mention of a Solstice Bob. Reactions were mixed—I received some encouraging texts (see below), while my little brother implored me to reconsider, citing photographs of my Covid era haircut.

My days are heavy with the juxtaposition of Spring and what’s happening in the world at large. I read the news coming from the White House and feel hopeless. Then I watch the wind move through the budding gingko tree out my living room window. I see photographs from Gaza and El Salvador, then I go for a walk and find myself surrounded by pink petals. I feel grief, fear, and the sun on my face.

I’m restless, disheartened, confused, and I want to do something drastic. So I made an appointment: June 20th, 11:45am MST, transformation haircut.

What gives me comfort is reading about how others are navigating this juxtaposition. Holding space for the beautiful mundanity of idle moments, how we fill the cracks that emerge as Time keeps moving us forward. As headlines continue to depress and/or activate our nervous systems. Like this from Emma Bowers & this from Sky Fusco.

On Tuesday morning I woke before 7:00 to cramps that I thought were because of a full bladder but were actually my period. I took two Advil, got back in bed, and dreamed intense, unsettling things. Children screaming because they were close to death. Blood. A fervent knowing that something was horribly wrong. After the dying children, I was alone on a ship. Huge waves and no land in sight, surrounded by blue whales trying to flip my boat with their massive tails. Then I was trapped in my bed with a single vantage point that never changed, no matter how hard I tried to roll over. These dreams were broken up every 9 minutes by my alarm clock. The cramps weren’t as bad as they sometimes are, and I focused on practicing my deep breathing for when I give birth someday.

I’m still behind on my self-imposed deadlines. That’s fine, I extended them. Progress is not always linear, and I’m counting any marks on pages as headway right now (grocery lists, birthday cards, recording dreams, notes in margins, rambling journal entries, texts? emails?).

Happy Spring, Friends.

I’ll leave you with a few of the tabs that are open on my browser right now:

This clip from Fleabag, Dona Ann McAdams’s website (who wants to go see her nyc exhibit with me?), “The Five Stages of Fascism” by Robert Paxton, this scene from Frances Ha, Dropbox links to the 8 rolls of film I dropped off earlier this week, Dasia Sade’s Tragic Optimist’s Guide to Surviving Capitalistic Nihilism (ty to Emma for this rec), MFA Thesis Guidelines 2025-2026, & the following Google searches: “de la cruz acne treatment sulfur mask”, “heartworn highways film”, “Maile Meloy books”, “how big is a blue whale”, “can you ship depop sale in a priority box”.