Every time I'm late to an appointment I feel like the worst person in the world

And other incomplete contemplations found on receipts, napkins, streamers, and any other random surface I can find

What I listened to while sifting through the remnants of versions of myself

thought of the day: There is something so satisfying about needing to write so badly that you have no choice but to scrawl messily along the back of a CVS receipt for your $100 birth control prescription.

Credit: Pinterest

10.10.24 - written from the comfort of my bed

I’m thinking about moving to Paris or Barcelona or Guatemala or Mexico City or Colorado or Los Angeles. I’m thinking about having really long hair. I’m thinking about dying it red.

10.17.24 - written, in the back of a book, at my ex-physical therapist’s office

Sometimes, I have these intense moments of complete clarity For about two-and-a-half minutes, I can visualize the next five years of life. From the organization of my sock drawer to the light that streams through my window to the irritatingly fond sound of my squeaky hardwood floors. Everything can be intentional, even the color of my toothbrush.

… six hours and three location changes later…

Today, I was at war with my body. I woke up at 7:38am, made a cup of lemon and ginger tea, read my book, “Close Range: Wyoming Stories,” and went back to sleep. When I woke up I felt depression (or as I like to call it, “The Big D”) clawing its way up the back of my throat after weighing my heart down. I told a friend it felt like a bullet went through my heart, and then got scared that the statement was way too hyperbolic. I tried to get out of bed and stretch before PT, but the effort — of pulling back the covers and putting my feet on the ground and washing my face and reminding myself to breathe — felt herculean. Thinking back on this now, there are really only one reference running through my head: “Cranes in the Sky” by Solange because, yes I tried to read it away and yes I tried to sleep it away and yes I tried to keep myself busy (but I never ran my credit card below…).

When I feel the black sludge of Depression spreading from the tips of my toes to the follicles of my scalp, my brain hyper-fixates on one statement — “I can’t do it.” I can’t make it through another 60 or 70 years of feeling this way and having to tell myself to “remain objective” and think about how “the simple act of wanting to be better is enough.” I wonder if some people are born more equipped to handle life than others. Everything takes so much out of me. After one date, I need about two weeks to recover. I’m just trying to remind myself that this feeling is not a terminal diagnosis.

9.30.24 - written while sitting on an iron garden chair outside of Salter House on Atlantic Avenue

Today, I wore a little red dress, and it was the first time I was aware of the womanly transformation of my body. It has gone from a thing whose uses were purely functional into something that sways and seduces and is, at times, unruly. It is always a bit jarring to remember I exist in the body of a woman. I think about myself as something incorporeal, only to be confronted with legs and breasts and a belly button and bones. I have only recently begun to believe that living in New York is what has prevented me from indulging in my femininity. The hard, concrete sidewalks and densely compacted apartment buildings leave little space for sensuality and languidness — break to write a different, unfinished thread about how, in the winter, I wish to turn inside of myself and find an empty room with no echo — I am constantly on guard and aware of the slope of my shoulders when I walk and the pressure of my feet hitting the ground and and and…

9.30.24 - written in the middle of folding laundry

Don’t forget to journal about

• what makes a good life

• pouring into myself

• celibacy

• taking what you can and moving on / “Let Go, Let God”

• how to take up space

• dreams about failing a class

• hedonism / “just do it!”

• deliberate touch

9.11.24 - I can’t remember where I was when I wrote this oops

Poems I want to live inside of

• Oranges - Gary Soto

• Sunrise - Louise Gluck

• Phillip’s Birthday - Mary Oliver

• June - Kenneth Steven

• The Light Continues - Linda Gregg

• I like my body when it is with yours - ee cummings

8.15.24 - written, in my journal, while sitting on my Grandma’s ancient couch, in Barbados

My happiness is coming. I have to believe that this waiting and impatience and frustration and anger and sadness is for something. I have to remind myself of two things:

1. There is a plan for me. I just have to trust it. I have to pour into myself.

2. I want certain things because my future self has them. It’s just a matter of getting there.

My happiness is coming. My happiness is already here.

8.17.24 - written on my Grandma’s patio, still in Barbados

I love how kind I am and how I always show up for the people in my life, or at least try to. This was a thought that randomly came to me after, the previous day, I had read a tweet about how “lover girls” need to be with “lover boys” and how kind people always have a way of finding one another. I’ve always described myself as “nice,” but I think the better word is “kind.” It sounds nicer in my mouth.

….a couple hours later, in the same location…

I want to consume people and places. I am not really made to work, just kind of travel the world aimlessly, make money from random freelance gigs, and ask people about their dreams.

8.21.24 - cannot remember if I was back in NYC or not, if I was this was written down by Pier 6

I need someone with an endless thirst for thoughts. I don’t understand people who don’t ask questions or have no curiosity about someone’s life. I cannot spend time around people who are not hungry for the interiority of others.

9.1.24 - written from my mess of a bed

I know it’s not Sunday, but God? “I’m sorry” and “thank you.” Thank you for everything you have given me and sorry if I am unable to properly wield my gifts.

Sometimes I am so tired of being myself, but I would never know how to be someone else. I don’t believe it would solve anything. Neil Gaiman said “wherever you go, you take yourself with you.” Neil ate that.

9.8.24 - cannot remember where I was at this point, probably talking to trees somewhere

Damn, I was down bad last week.

*author’s note: me, real life Jasmine, chuckled when I saw the difference one week made*

Vulnerability rocks.

Lots of love,

Jasmine