if I don’t get to live forever it will be such a drag ! I’ve woken this morning with a headache and the rare urge to take to the page…inspiration dies and then she rises from the dead. I should not have watched that video about necrophilia by the way ! but I guess everything exists and youtube will lead you to where you didn’t want to go, but then again there you are. hi!
April was quite the slog for moi I must admit and as we near the end of May it is summer to me I have decided. I am savoring (I can’t read that word without picturing a pinky beef tenderloin by the way) long walks through the park, reading in bed, drawing baths, listening to deranged podcast after deranged podcast, going to trader joe’s and buying spicy honey— is it such a sin to take things slow?
I grew up in Houston, Texas where the temperature rarely drops below a cool 95 degrees and the asphalt can singe the skin right off the sole of your foot if you don’t hop across the Target parking lot quick enough. In New York it’s still cool. I haven’t had a true meltdown since May 1st which is actually really good for me. I’ve upped my medication and do feel a slight shift.
In April I don’t think I did the newsletter because I was not doing well ! It can be so scary to feel so low, to cry every time after you masturbate. I watched a porn where two women fuck each other outside and one of them looks to camera and says “pussy tastes so much better outside!” I believe it! I’ve never tasted it, but my mind (and legs—hold for raucous applause) remain open. I thought this was the year I’d have a threesome but its turning into the year that sex started feeling so much like something else.
I am being myself lately. If I looked in the mirror right now I would know that it was me. I wore a halter top last week. I use the DryBar app to schedule my blowouts. Time tastes like money.
Last weekend, I went to my 9th college reunion (yes we go every year, yes it is deranged) and felt very little. In my youth I’d return to campus and inevitably sob at the shade of slate blue roof— was it always at that angle? We had sex on the roof of Cuyler. Or was it the Lewis Center? Pyne? The McCarter? We were drunk and sun-baked. I licked you salty. Is there anything quite like having sex when you’re 20 and not at all in love? I had no thoughts, lots of needs. I’ve had great sex since. I’m in love! Thank god I don’t believe in soul mates. How would I get through my whole life?
I started the process of freezing my eggs on Monday. The whole thing is a bit too sci-fi for my tastes, but I’m a 30 year old career-obsessed whore with a hormone disorder who is not even close to prepared for motherhood. Once I put these little egglets in their freezer I can relax for the next 5 years and focus on what really matters—being the first person without abs in a Marvel movie!
On day 1 of my cycle I woke at a cool 6:30am to have my blood taken uptown. That afternoon I got a call asking me to pay $9000. My credit card does this wonderful thing where I can only spend $10,000 per month because that is…more than I would like to spend in a month, but here we are. I did a whole song and dance while I fumbled through multiple cards in my wallet til I appeased the patient woman on the phone.
After I paid half the fee, I was allowed to speak with the nurse who said I’d been approved to start the medications that evening. I walked to a pharmacy right next to that apartment complex where they shot Only Murders in the Building. I never finished that program, but enjoyed the beginning! Steve Martin is a central figure in my life. Father of the Bride was very formative for me.
I gave my name at the counter and was presented with a comically large bag of medicine. Is it medicine if you’re not sick? The pharmacist asked me for $4000. I gave it to him as though I was buying a diet coke and micellar water (my CVS order). I’m glad my other card went through. I am too scared to login to my bank’s website.
Inside the large bag were lots of needles and juices waiting. After I gave the pharmacist $4000 for the needles and juices, I walked home, but not before stopping at Trader Joes! If you want to know what a panic attack feels like, walk into a Trader Joes at 6pm. I am never quite as self-conscious as I am when gliding through a Trader Joe’s. I always look at the dips too long. I have broken the code. I am blocking the bin full of frozen peas and soup dumplings. Hi I’m at Trader Joe’s and I am cosmically in the way. Excuse me! Why don’t they sell pepperoncinis?
I went home that evening and watched the instructional videos about how to put the needles and juices inside of me so that I can meet my eggs. I can’t wait to meet my eggs!!! I felt casual about the process until I saw how long the needles are. Anyways…I am lucky enough to have the funds to do it. It is really quite a racket being a modern woman who doesn’t really know what she wants…
It is now day 3 of my egg salad journey. In high school we convinced my friend that egg salad wasn’t made of eggs it was simply named after a woman named Mrs. Eggner. This morning I put the egg juice in my belly and went to get my blood drawn uptown. I don’t want to brag but I have very thin veins so it usually takes them a few tries—though I find if I get my ass up early enough to eat breakfast and drink water that the veins are more likely to make themselves available for the occasion.
I’m not supposed to drink alcohol or exercise during the process as the meds are dehydrating and if I jump and twist around my big swollen ovaries could pop! I think that’s why. So here I am…writing to you from a velvet couch at the coffee shop wondering who I’ll give my eggs to if I die an untimely death. Would you like them? Keep me posted!
In poetry news, I went to a lovely event last week where I finally got to meet two of my favorite poets in person after years of admiring their work online— Richie Hoffman and Alex Dimitrov (Click the links to read some of their beautiful poems).
It was a great New York night I do have to say. Wine and chatter at the kind of loft no one I know will ever be able to afford followed by a sprint through the rain, martinis, gossip. I ended the evening with a cool stroll home punctuated by picking which bodega freezer held the right pint of hagan daaz. (It was the small one on the corner) Sometimes life is so lucky.
At the event, I also met the wonderful poet Tayi Tibble who was in town from New Zealand. She came to read at Club Cumming later that week and then we got what she called “a big American sandwich” you can read her work here.
Beyond that I busied myself watching Conversations with Friends. I remember liking the book so much, but didn’t think the show was as good. That being said, I did devour all 12 episodes with much alacrity. My takeaways are that Jemima Kirke is so perfect to me and affairs never work. I disliked the main character, which is allowed. The actress gave a wonderful performance. It seemed she could blush on cue! I don’t think I’ve ever blushed. Does that encapsulate my personality or muddy it? Who is still reading this? I’ve kind of been going on…
A few poems before I go:
GETTING MY STEPS IN: A POEM
In Los Angeles from the roadside
the ATM looks like an ear
No one should walk here
& they don’t
my skort isn’t doing the work
my thighs rub together in new & exciting ways
I’m myself in the morning & the evening
but never in between. have you noticed the trees
go purple this time of year?
Do you bury your keys
when you swim at the beach?
I THOUGHT I WAS DONE WITH THIS KIND OF THING
In Austin over CarPlay
we fight til the fever breaks
I don’t even remember
what happened to me, it’s so cliche
how shame is, which is
just like
everyone says
on TikTok a girl with blush on her nose
tells me the word celebrity is about to mean something
different, something special again
Should I have three weddings or none?
Love Poem #2
At the tropical academy of
Why Does My Hair Look So Bad
you tell me it’s sexy
when I embrace the way I am
did someone pay you to be so perfect
It’s as though you’ve studied
all the ways a man should be and can be
and when you upset me
It’s almost pleasant
a reminder that we’re two people—
the kind who let each other down
& make up lovely later
One More For the Girlies
I’m sitting in Soho House with Mitra
she says everyone here
looks like Lorne Michales
the reviews are in!
we both have a coffee
that comes with a little cookie
I didn’t think I’d like
but here I am
swallowing the little thing whole
This week is all about having this song on repeat:
As for another rec, I really enjoyed reading this essay collection (which was recommended to moi by my best friend with the best taste in books Amy Solomon)
That’s all for now. Thanks for reading. As always, this newsletter is free, but if you subscribe, 100% of proceeds go towards The Loveland Foundation, which helps fund therapy for Black women and girls.
Love,
Catherine
very much appreciate hearing all the details of freezing eggs, it's been written in my notebook for a year now, like, .."should i do this? everyone is doing this. I'd like to do this. How could I do this?"
ily