Snapshots from a Birthday Month [Part I]
from Axe Man to a 5th floor walk-up and back again
Axe Man said Don’t start doubting yourself half-way through.
And I said You know what? I came here to have a good time. Not to be called out in such a fashion.
That’s not true.
What I really said was probably something along the lines of Wow, this turned into a life lesson fast.
*
For the first time in a while, I haven’t been completely averse to celebrating my birthday this year. Usually, not wanting to celebrate my birthday is almost a game I play—a '“how long can I put off any acknowledgment of it” type of game. No one wins this game.
The real issue this year was that I couldn’t seem to make a decision about what that meant. I kept trying to conjure up ideas of a large get together. I talked it through with various people. I talked it through with my therapist, of course. During that session I can tell you, for sure, I was a perfect example of why I don’t want to be a therapist. She would offer a perfectly good and achievable suggestion and I would have a reason for why that didn’t seem right. I shot down literally every suggestion she threw my way. I was annoyed with me so I can only imagine what was going through her head. Well, I mean, she’s a good therapist so probably whatever was going through her head was a lot tamer than what was going through my head.
*
Collaging has been my latest craft obsession. I cut up all the marketing materials I get and old magazines, and assemble little snapshots of what is in my head at the moment. Somehow, I always end up covered in glue. Not even some sort of liquid glue. Glue stick glue. Now that’s talent.
*
Tables full of glorious junk. Whiffs of dust covered porcelain and dust covered ideas. Pastries and a cuppa (x2). A very proud heart.
*
Monday was the second day of daylight savings. Monday was a gorgeous day. I had only slept four hours and, while normally that would stop me from doing anything, it was too gorgeous. So, I went ahead with my plan—a substantial and leisurely walk to a coffee shop and a little bit of work.
For the stroll down towards the East River, I put on Hadestown. Immediately, I was choked up. I thought, “Why am I crying already?”
Well, Samantha Jean, you are probably crying because you’ll always be just a little bit of that wide-eyed, dreamy high school theatre kid.
When I arrived at Kinship, it was pretty full. Ten a.m. on a beautiful Monday morning and all. I procured my matcha and a croissant and took my laptop to a table outside. It was bright. It wasn’t impossible to see my laptop but it was hard. In the sunshine, my eyes preferred I keep my sunglasses on. But my computer demanded I take them off if I wanted to actually see the screen and get work done.
Luckily, this dilemma doesn’t last long. Within about five minutes someone left and I scrambled back inside. And just as I went in, another group was also getting ready to leave.
A better spot in the coffeeshop. Less squinting. More fresh coffee smells.
*
Someone on my block has a motorcycle that, I’m convinced, he doesn’t actually know how to use. He loves to turn it on for long periods of time and rev it obnoxiously. Then, he drives away loudly. Last week, he insisted on just driving it around the block for hours. I thought I was going to lose my mind.
New York is its own sort of insanity.
*
Google maps said it would take 30 minutes to get to Greenpoint (Brooklyn).
Only 30 minutes?? I thought. Yeah fucking right.
*
I haven’t been getting enough done. I’ve been out and about a ton and yet, it feels like I haven’t been getting enough done. Beyond a certain levity of spirit, there’s very little physical evidence of any productivity. That is…not good. I mean, it’s not NOT good. It’s just not particularly conducive to doing things I need to do. Imperative things. Like figuring out how to make money.
*
We snappin’.
*
An excerpt:
ONE
So they trip, okay.
They trip and knock their front teeth out.
Blood everywhere.
TWO
Blood and guts?
ONE
No…
…what? No.
I said they knock their teeth out.
TWO
Just trying to get the full scope.
Wanted to make sure they didn’t accidentally
I don’t know
impale themselves
on a knife that fell
out of one of these
overturned garbage cans
that you never / picked up.
ONE
THEY KNOCK THEIR TEETH OUT.
And all of a sudden they’re suing me
because it’s my sidewalk.
It’s not my graffiti
but it is my sidewalk.
They sue me and I lose everything.
The business.
Everything.
TWO
Seems logical.
ONE
Then I’ll have to live in one of these trash cans.
TWO
Is that when you finally turn them over?
ONE
IT’S NOT MY JOB.
TWO
See? Grumpy.
ONE
You aren’t listening.
TWO
No no, I hear you.
When you are grumpy
you get like two levels louder.
ONE
(quietly)
I do not.
*
Axe throwing requires that you think less about it than you…think…you should. When I started thinking less, I got better. But then I thought about not thinking about it too much and got worse again. And then, we had ten minutes left and I popped two balloons in a row. So, the exquisite pressure of time I guess.
*
The wonderful thing about having a newsletter is there is a record of the last three years of my birthday. Before I sat down to write today, I took a quick look back through the entries. Turns out, it’s the same thing every year: coming out of a depressive episode, aversion to the day, indecision about whether I should do anything or not, boredom that it’s the same thing every year. I’m not even going to link the previous birthday editions because you get it, you’ve been here.
This year, there was a change. I did make a decision—a decision to do what I normally do on and around my birthday which is just smaller activities with people. I like it this way. More time to chat, specifically tailored activities with specific friends.
There is plenty of time for bigger things, parties, whatever. My 40th is only a couple of years away.
*
Girrrrrrrlllllllll, it’s my birthday.
*
MoMA called my name on my birthday this year. I have a membership to The Met so I go at least a couple of times a year but I hadn’t been to the Museum of Modern Art since before the pandemic. They remodeled!
It was a nice day in the museum but I did make a mistake. I didn’t follow my own advice. My advice is always to start at the top of a museum and work your way down. Well, I started on the 2nd floor. By the time I got to art that I connected with more, art on the top two floors, I was dragging. I had underestimated how big MoMA was. I kept telling myself C’mon. It’s your birthday and you paid good money to be here. Keep on going. And then I told myself Okay, if you leave now, you should have a couple of hours before writers group to sit down.
I went to the gift shop and bought postcards, obviously. Then I left.
*
An antique postcard. A leather bound journal. The Complete Haiku of Matsuo Bashō translated, annotated, and with an introduction by Andrew Fitzsimmons. Croissants. Cash. A couple of birthday cards. Numerous lovely texts.
*
We do have something else for you for your birthday.
Oh no, what are you going to do to me?
*
He’s revving that damn motorcycle again.
*
If there is a tall skellie, I will take a picture and I will text it to a very specific person.
You know this skeleton has a way with an axe.
*
On Thursday, I saw opening night of Lysistrata Jones at Marymount Manhattan College with a good friend. It was really fun and funny; we had a great time. But it was more than that. It was a little dose of magic.
I had forgotten what it felt like to sit in an audience so excited to support the cast and crew of a production that the air was electric. From the first moment, it was triumphant. They all had so much reverie for their friends, support pouring from their veins.
At intermission, when I went to the bathroom, I overheard such loving praise. That voice! And she can act. AND dance. She’s got it all really.
I went back to my seat smiling.
*
I am picking up BBQ and I ordered a butt ton of meat and carbs with cheese sauce on it. I don’t know if I could be happier.
*
It’s never not a little painful when I have to waste a subway swipe. That’s money that I don’t love to waste since I don’t, you know, have much of it. But the trains back from MoMA were a nightmare and I didn’t really have a choice.
I left the subway station at 5th Avenue and 53rd Street and walked to Grand Central to catch the 7. From the 7, I got on the N. Any stop along the N is a good 20 minute walk from home and I was already tired. But, being that far off my normal path did put me directly on the path to a bakery I rarely pass by. And, it put a piece of red velvet cheesecake directly into my hands.
*
Getting to Greenpoint did take only 30 minutes.
*
I did not have multiple hours to rest before writers group.
*
A walk through MoMA. A walk across Midtown East. A walk from lower Astoria to upper Astoria. A walk from upper Astoria to near Astoria Park. A walk from Upper Astoria to Socrates Sculpture Garden. A jaunt up five flights of stairs to commune with other artists. A walk to a BBQ place on 30th.
*
Yesterday was a gray day. Yesterday was a pleasant-ish day in terms of temperature. So, I went out for a long walk. At the mid-point, I stopped for matcha at a coffee place near my previous Astoria apartment that is named something new now. I sat for about a half an hour and started writing in my idea book about today’s newsletter. I listened to Lady Gaga’s new album. The sound of it is nostalgic, it reminds me of college.
Most days, I still can’t believe I’m not 18 years old, leaving cryptic away messages on AIM and running around a campus that will both help me grow in exciting and fulfilling ways and hurt me like a sore on the inside of your cheek that you can’t stop accidentally biting.
Close your eyes and recall your origin story. Every superhero has an origin story. Often, it is from a time when they almost succumbed to an antagonist, a force of evil, a nemesis who brought them to their knees.
And then they snapped.
That snap is the sound of a giant within being born.
-Mona Eltahawy
100 Days of Creative Resistance
I’m very different now. My friends are too. I’ve mostly kept the best people from then with me. And boy, I’m glad we’re not 18 years old anymore.
*
H Mart had my favorite kind of melon bars today. So I guess that’s how I can be happier.
*
More to come.
Foreshadowing for a baking project I’m not sure worked out.
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