The Spectrum

Dear Queens,

Now don't get me wrong, pain is relative. The amount of pain we're holding, sure it's on a spectrum. But you can't minimize it to me, and you know I won't let you. You can never minimize yourself to me, because you are all I know and we are everything.

What I am trying to say here, is that each time we find ourselves in crisis, I notice how we get out of it. We are always getting better at getting out of it. Each time we are falling, there's this little window, this little ledge that we can grab and then we are back. But we are not just back. We are better. We have all of our experiences added up and we are growing.

Today I got my first suicide note in the mail. From a stranger. He asked me to do some things for him, and told me not to worry about him, because by the time I got his letter, he would be gone. What could I do? I called Bret. He checked the website. Told me he didn't make it out. Told me the guy had been relocated to Graterford, probably some special needs mental health unit. I tried to take some comfort in that, but the problem is I know that it means nothing. I know that Secure Special Needs Unit means nothing and sometimes it means worse than nothing.

I wrote a letter to his brother cause he asked me to, then I wrote the guy back. And then I went downstairs to the photocopy machine and made a copy of my response. I wrote on the top of my letter "Sample Response to Suicide Note" so the next time someone says the words, "I just got a suicide note, like, I'm not sure how to respond", I will walk over to the file cabinet, and I will pull out my letter, and I will say, "here is what I did. Here is all I could think to do at the time but try to bring yourself to it, okay? Are you going to sign your name? If you don't think you can follow up with this person, try giving the letter to someone else or put it back in the mailbox. What do you think you should do? Do you have any ideas?"

It's hard to know. It's hard to know what to do when a stranger writes you a suicide note, and it feels insane to put my response in a file cabinet. Absolutely insane. As if we have a text book here. As if we have a process for this. But maybe the practice, the practice is what makes it all possible. For us to fall and then come back. We're getting so good at practicing falling and then coming back that it's impossible for me not to believe.

Love,
A

Career Dreams

I just posted a post-it note on my wall that looks as follows:

career dreams
coro fellow app
sept
this american life
internship

Where we stand with the Bang Saga:

I just got new bangs. Ocean said, "Amanda do you know your bangs are crooked? You could use a comb to straighten them out." And I said, "I don't think I have a comb." And Ocean said, "We have three combs and Ray is always wanting to get rid of one." And Jude said, "Why don't you two fight? I want to be entertained." And Ray said, "Look at that little bird." And Oshy said, "Nice subject change Ray." And O'Ryan said, "I want there to be a post-rock band that plays all of my favorite rock duet ballads." And I said, "Just you wait. Maybe it will happen." And O'Ryan said, "Maybe I could be the front man for that band." And I said, "Maybe I could be the back man. Whatever that means." And O'Ryan said, "Amanda. With bangs like that, you could do anything."

The laughing shoulders

On my way to math tutoring, I was resting at a stop light next to a small bus. A group of youngish, male ish people were crowding and laughing towards the back of the bus. One boy said something to me out the window that sounded like, "You dropped your *******?" I looked down and around at the word "dropped" before realizing that the boy had told me I had dropped my "pocket." When I looked back up, the talker was not meeting my face, but the other boys were. I started to smile and laugh, and then I began laughing real dramatically with my shoulders so they would know that we were sharing it and that we were on the same side.

I'm remembering my other out the bus window experiences. One time I was walking Klemmons the Dog and a kid yelled out, "What kind of dog is that!?" And I said, "Hmmmdaknow?" And he said, "Whose dog is that?!" And I said, "Bret's!"

I think the people on the inside know that they are mostly untouchable because the light is gonna turn green and they will never see me again. Same for people in cars. There was one bad day in Lawrenceville where I got two negative hits right after the other, one being a smallish angryish 8 year old giving me the finger with a very straight face.

I smiled and waved.

The worst bus story I know is when my mom was puke sick on the delivery route and she had to puke out the van door, and the bus kids were all pointing and laughing at her. It didn't seem fair. She had no strength to retaliate. She was sick like 1 time every 5 years, and it just had to be a day she was next to the bus.

Where I'm At

Recovering from a doubters fall into "this can never be possible." I always believed we were going to win. And then this happened, and this happened, and I am clawing myself back up conversation by conversation.

O'Fries is in the kitchen talking about wheatpasting, and I'm telling him the story of Ben going to the DMV where the kid found out who his Dad was from his birth certificate reprint. Yeah. He was in the office, and he called his mom and said, "Mom. This is (insert his full name). Who the hell is (insert newly discovered dad's name here)?" And it was funny because some guy in the line overheard him and said, "Oh yeah. I know that guy. He's my neighbor." And, "you look just like him."

Excuse me for a moment Bret is calling. He's choking out words cause Saundra's nephew just got shot and that makes two loves within the past few months. He asks, "How does she keep going?"

I have a suspicion and I write it to Emily in a letter. No one laughs at god in a war.

O'Fries is out, and I'm looking for an excuse to smoke a cigarette, which I fear is suicidal because they are fixing the gas line up the street. I start thinking about Sherman Alexie and The Absolutely True Diary of a part time Indian and how the 14 year old character who lives on the Spokane Indian Reservation has attended 42 funerals. Can you feel the difference?

I can only win when everyone is valuable and right now the numbers are not adding up. Queens please rise. I need to hear you laugh and say you are well.

The Singing Bridge

Yesterday I was walking to work with a bag containing 1 small cake and one 50' roll of 5/8" backer rod and I thought, "ah yes, this is my life."

How do you Like me NOW?

Today I was thinking of many things. One thing, was the relationship between drivers and cyclists. Things like, how that relationship is informed and how it grows or deteriorates.

Today I took this little one way street and came out on this bigger street, and when I came out on that street, there was a line of cars waiting for the red light. So I kind of maneuvered around the butt of this car and pulled up behind it, and I noticed that the person's sunglasses were sitting on the roof of his car. So I sidled his window and made a knocking motion, trying not to startle or threaten, and I said, "Are these your glassses sir?" And he responded, "Oh Thank You."

I think he knew I had found them on the roof. But I am wondering if his relationship as a driver to a cyclist has now changed.