I wish we had gone with somebody else’s project idea… not because I don’t like doing this one, but because I guess I feel an added weight with this given that it stemmed from some of my usual dissociative nonsense. I don’t want my classmates to be let down if they don’t find joy in this project, and while I know everybody was invited to speak up… I think back to my time as a subject matter expert in a fertility pharmacy, I was one of 3 people in my position, with 40-60 below us at any given time, and one direct supervisor above us. She would always end meetings with something along the lines of “Does anybody have any questions? I take silence as you all know what’s going on.” A couple of months into my role, I finally had to tell her “Taking silence as a good thing in this situation is an absolute mistake, everything is changing around our techs, and none of them have a clue. I don’t have a clue. I just don’t even know what to ask. I don’t think they do either.” This went over so well that I’d almost set the world record for the quickest demotion in history until she realized I was right. So, I guess I just hope everyone is on board with this for real…
I’m struggling to come up with a piece, because, well, I don’t know what it means to grow. I think growth is only recognized in hindsight and it’s easy to mistake with plain old change. Because change can be lateral or regressive, it’s hard for me to separate what fits in my eyes and what doesn’t. Man, I hate me right now haha.
Alright, alright, no more self-depreciation for a minute. I want to answer some of the other questions for the week and see if maybe that will help me come up with something to write about. Title… I think the title has to happen organically, the same way that the idea did. I like the idea of a title that reflects growth in it, growth, or time. One can’t exist without the other. I’d love for the title to just come from somebody’s piece, a line that sticks out to all of us, that reflects the collective. I know that some people would probably be quick to want to go the Amazon/ebook route with this or something, and I’ll do it if that’s what the group wants, but I’d almost rather it just be its own website or something. Selfishly, I can’t help but feel that this wouldn’t be a “right fit.” for my first publication credit, but I’ll do it if that’s what the group wants. I’m only hard on myself when it comes to that sort of thing and can be persuaded to shift formats easily enough.
I think that the jobs I’m probably the most equipped to handle are the authors/bio page and or the editorial statement for the anthology. I know that these are probably the jobs that everyone wants, but I’ve taken enough art classes to know I’m better at writing than I am at working with visual mediums. Based on this blog, I imagine a few of you annoyed, because I’d certainly be saying “He can’t even come up with an idea for a story for the concept birthed from his bullshit and he wants to be in control of the editorial statement.” (Birthed from my Bullshit will now be the name of my memoir). While I understand that sentiment, the wavering I display comes from the fact that I tend to walk a mental tightrope. I try to negotiate my way to a balance that I can accept and live with while always poised to fall. If there is one thing I’m certain of though, it’s that I can negotiate an editorial statement that adequately reflects us.
With that, I know I need to write something on “growing through displacement.” By my definition, I am homeless. I have a roof, a room, an excellent roommate, and now my roommate’s ridiculous dog. But, I don’t belong here, or anywhere else, and I’ve spent years searching for what that missing piece is that would make me stay or make me fit. One of my best friends, Little Michelle, is much younger than me, but also much wiser. She found her home in a husband and 3 beautiful children, where they live doesn’t matter, that bond matters, and I don’t allow myself anywhere close to that. Even acknowledging that clown as my friend feels weird. She tells me I need to settle down, I tell her I hate the idea of doing anything with the word settle in it. She tells me she wants me to be here next summer for her son’s birthday. I tell her I’ll try.
And I want to run. I walk into a room looking for an exit door. Hell, I leave the room almost every class without ever climbing out of my seat. I turn escape artistry into an art form, it’s such a good magicians trick that I’m not even sure where I go. So, I think the piece I need to work on for this project is one where I decide to stay, a piece blurring the line between fiction and reality, another negotiated tightrope walk.