When I can’t quite build a thought out into something solid enough for this blog, I will often post it to Instagram with the tag #LilliputianLog. The last weeks have seen a few of those posts so I thought I’d share them and the content here for those who aren’t on the other platform.
I don’t have any gigs or income-producing possibilities on my calendar for the whole month of December and I don’t know how long it’s been since something like that has happened, or if it’s ever happened. It isn’t always easy to tell because of how social media works but I work really hard. Like, really really hard. Like, all the time.
I often think back to when a friend said “when was your last real vacation, where you weren’t hustling at all?” and I asked if prison counted.
Of course even that wouldn’t have been a true answer. Don’t take these quarantine eyebrows as a sample, but I can thread a nice arch with a hemline thread. I can embroider your sheets if you provide the staples and the string. Need a poem about anniversaries spent separated by bars? I got you if you got a candy bar.
The December rent is paid and the pantries are full, and though I can’t actually afford to just stop working anyway, I also can’t seem to get the panic to settle in.
I don’t know what this means. Am I just too old for all my bustle? Just tired? Will it hit me on December 1st where I’ll then inundate y’all with all the different ways I sing for my supper, and ask you to help me find someone looking for a song*? Will I risk my just barely stable health and get a job around people during a global pandemic? Will I panic-sell a kidney?
I guess we’ll see!
In the meantime I’m just gonna smile with all my dino-teeth and be happy that the worry isn’t wearing me down.
In 2016, one of my nieces saw me in a stars&stripes outfit I had picked out for promoting Sack Nasty. She put on her 4th of July tutu outfit and said “You look like the President. So do I!” I looked across the room at her mom and mine, and even her still-so-young older sister, and they just shook their heads. Like “Don’t explain that there’s never been a president or VP who’s been anything like us. Don’t explain, yet.”
So we just spun and played a game. Made laws. Pretended to decorate the White House lawn with rangoli.
I still remember how imaginary it felt. Quite literally less possible than the “pretend we’re pillows” game which was another favorite of hers at the time.
So yes, I have very complicated feelings about this executive team — especially when it comes to lots of things I care deeply about. The load of my day-to-day organizing work isn’t lightening at all.
But today, I’m thinking about dreams, and possibility, and my nieces.
And I am so very full of joy.
Some other Lilliputian Logs: