008 Upside Down Beach, Greasy Books, Bug Bites

summer is best at coming and going

To Jared,

I wrote this upside down — as if I even have the authority to make that statement. But what else is there to be absorbed in besides the self? everything else? I suppose a cartographer might provide decent consultation on this topic so if you know any, would you mind politely asking how they could possibly define an ocean's shore? If you zoom way in, where precisely does the land stop and the sea begin? Also please ask, and what gives you the right? — be sure your tone is more scientific than confrontational.

Sometimes I forget I’ve been holding the entire universe together. It hasn't always felt beautiful, but for 26 years without fail I have held together the universe without so much as one rip in the seam between me and everything else.

From,

Ida

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Daniel,

I don't feel much like writing today. My hands are tired but I think it's just my brain in disguise — it has a sneaky way of blaming other stuff for exhaustion which seems so unnecessary. Why is it more embarrassing to have a tired brain than tired hands?...

I've been thinking about when you gave me The Goldfinch. It was August at the time and my heart hurt from grieving youth in a very dramatic post-undergrad way. I read it at my parents' place on the lake — mostly in the sun, by (or on) the water, but sometimes right in the grass and other times in my little nook of a bed, a queen tucked into the wall. When tired of the sun I'd head straight up to those afternoon sheets carefully and carelessly. Maybe I'd rinse off the sunscreen, sweat, and lake water, the cherry juice I wiped on my stomach at lunch, but maybe I would not. Both flavors of nap are a distinct pleasure, to me.

The walls in there are beaded with many imperfections and a haphazard paint job — perfection of paint, nails, and crumbs taking less responsibility for anyone's happiness on the lake. I'd go so far to say that extensive uniformity might cause chaos. So forgive me for the way I treated your book. I never wiped my hands while eating chips, or dried them after a swim. I absolutely did not use a bookmark but, with my regards to Donna Tartt, not many of the 700 pages had to be dog-eared anyway. Good Reads might like to hear about the promise of that statistic (avg dog ears per page count) but I try to keep business out of my outbox unless absolutely necessary.

I'm getting distracted. It was a very good book. Maybe I'll send you The Secret History if you haven't read it and then we could have a full circle moment. I'll try to get it out in time for the sunscreen/afternoon-nap/sun chips season as it is also one not to be put down and deserves the ample time that dog days can offer.

Bye,

Ireland

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To Jane, 

I was just taking a shower, window open, thunderstorm leaking into the house, I was listening to Miles Davis, I still am, and having de jevu from everywhere decent I've ever been. Earlier I read a book aloud to Jared. The door was open letting a hush of rain inside. We were lying on the rug.

You know how people say I've sat down to write this letter so many times? Well I've sat down to write this letter so many times. Not in a dramatic I'm in love with you way (although I am in fact in love with you, obviously), just in a I can't figure how to get the inside stuff out while keeping myself in tact way. It makes me think I should seek professional help, and in that respect it is not unique. The sun sets each day and each day, like our star, I have nothing left to give. But nonetheless here I am trying again.

I have six bug bites on my stomach and six on my back. That makes twelve. This text may be painful for both of us but I'll keep going if you don't mind...

Don't worry too much about me though, I'm still dancing in the rain, blowing kisses to strangers, taking calls with my head off the end of the bed, and sticking my tongue out at small children. I'm still making scrambled eggs better than anybody else, and taking a load off worse than most. I am reading a lot.

Please let me know how the change of season has been in the city. I'll drop by in October and then move to Brooklyn in January and like many Manhattan defectors that have come before, crossing the East River will surely solve all of my problems.

The rain has now stopped, and I'm going to go investigate why the sky is orange.

Talk soon,

Ireland