The Parasite (abridged)
Dear Holly,
My body continues to disappoint me. I disappointingly obtained a parasite. The parasite sucked my blood and left me bumps that I thought were my fault. Thought I would stop being so itchy if I just stopped scratching.
Today I perform the final treatment to permanently clear the eggs from my head. My dignity is left, bruised, along with my other protective membranes.
I feel distant from the world - from other humans - from art - from the Earth itself. I can't even go outside anymore, or I am wracked with expulsion and down my face streams viscous fluid. I can't bike. I stay inside when I am invited to the bar. Scout asked me how it felt to have allergies and I told her it felt cloudy.
My mom and I decided that my largest character flaws are my addiction to intensity and my critical nature. Ultimately both these qualities make me a better writer.
I am biding my time, I am miserable with all this scrolling, I am sitting tight, waiting patient for Vermont in July. I feel a listless and lasting discontentment. Who am I really truly connected to in this whole city of New York?
Why do I even live here? It all feels very fruitless sometimes. Wouldn't I be happier in a little town in the middle of nowhere with moss and dilapidated concrete? I could have light and room... I am trapped under the monstrous beast of money. I have no direction, no purpose, no one, I am so lost... Okay, not entirely but can't I just say things I don't mean...
I am trying to read a book called The Dancer from the Dance which is a well-styled piece but it really cannot hook me. I'm more than halfway so I must persevere to the end, review it on Goodreads. Edward is the only one who ever likes my reviews. Once I am done I will allow myself to sink my teeth into My Brilliant Friend.
I want a hook, I want to be sunk into. I want to live in the moment and look away from my phone. I want to touch grass, to like a book, to not sneeze, to feel something powerful and unquestionable for someone, to run, to be alive, but I can't go outside! Okay, tonight I will go - maybe to the Tiktok girl's release show and definitely to the tooth fairy prom show. I should go somewhere beautiful and smoke weed this afternoon, I will try. Right now I can almost breathe.
Oh God, I want bare feet and white linen, I want to go dancing by the shore. I want a job that will pay for me to go to Mexico. I want any job, really. I want to be useful, I want one of those practical skills that is vital and undeniable. I want to be an expert in something. I want to be consumed by purpose - I want to work so hard, then I want to be consumed by dancing. I want to know why I'm doing what I'm doing and feel certain of it. I wish you lived here so I could go outside of my house and find you.
You know I've been trapped inside too long cuz I'm like where am I going? What am I doing? What do I want? What is going on?
Tomorrow I will go on set with Rich and Rick's gay production company and someone will make use of me. I did the final lice treatment in my hair and some strands came out. I will leave my house and brave the sneeze in search of something worth writing about.
I want a flash of inspiration, utter degradation.
Something very compelling in how a vampire has to ask for permission to come inside.
How many times have I said "want" in this email? Maybe they're onto something with Buddhism.
No. Book of Longing forever.
How clear and broken it is to say I want you.
I might not have graduated onto the mid-adult feelings yet, but I know grief, and longing, and striving, and poverty, and ambition.
Okay, here's to growth, here's to getting back up, here's to fucking writing and making. Here's to clean clothes and clean home and Earth signs and Water signs and the things that we can grow.
Here's to anthems.
We have cold fights and warm forgiveness. Quicksand. Night Vision.
I am utterly cliché. I am a brilliant genius. I am as old as time.
Love you. Write me words. XXOO
