From one year out, I say: That’s okay, friends! The freak-outs will continue every time you embark on a new project, but the pieces will slowly come together! Hang in there! Those that didn’t/still don’t know — and I’m in that category — are living much more interesting lives.
Here are things I would like to be: a critic, a radio host, an actress, an arts and culture journalist, a writer of creative nonfiction, a producer of documentary film, a media scholar, a festival programmer, an audio documentarian, a playwright, a mom, a lover, a friend, someone with health insurance and a social life …
Totally doable, right?
(Any hot grad school tips would be appreciated …)
Things happen when you drink too much mescal.
One night, with not enough food in my belly,
he kept on buying. I’m a girl who’ll fall
damn near in love with gratitude and, well, he
was hot and generous and so the least
that I could do was let him kiss me, hard
and soft and any way you want it, beast
and beauty, lime and salt—sweet Bacchus’ pards—
and when his friend showed up I felt so warm
and generous I let him kiss me too.
His buddy asked me if it was the worm
inside that makes me do the things I do.
I wasn’t sure which worm he meant, the one
I ate? The one that eats at me alone?