First of all, I want to assure you all (Dad) that I’m doing really well. It’s important to remember that mollylaich.com is kind of a horror story on purpose. The new testament sucks because good news is boring. Here’s an example of what I think is a bad story: “Molly made vegan pancakes and they were delicious and the dog ate all of them.” Here’s that story a little better: “Molly made vegan pancakes and they were really bad. She has no pets.” Actually never mind, the first story is better. Forget this.
The point is, I’m fine. Seattle winter is temperate as fuck, and I’m into the drizzle since I’m so goth. My roommates are awesome. I got a really cool rubber shark at the thrift store the other day. It’s not even that everything is going to be okay. Things are totally okay right now.
Still, there is this curse that needs lifting, and the only way I know of to lift a curse is with sober repentance. Starting this evening I’m going on a 10-day vipassana meditation retreat in Onalaska. I said I was going this summer and then I went to Texas instead, but this time I mean it. I’ve been twice before, in 2010 and 2008. People become very grave when I talk to them about it. The simple act of sitting on a mat in a room doesn’t seem like it should be a dreadful thing, but we all feel dread about it anyway. It’s more than just being bored, right?
I feel exhilarated. It’s good to do insane things now and again. I hate having to talk to people sometimes; I’m psyched I don’t have to talk to anybody for 10 days. It will be nice to be fed. Remember what Whitman said about death? He said that to die is different than what anyone supposed, and luckier. I’m not afraid; do not be afraid for me.
It’s inconvenient, for certain. I was in the middle of things. Had some collaborative art projects going. Had to delay the start time of a job. I’ll miss all your tweets about what I’m missing at AWP in Boston. You know. things. Important things. I wish I could hire someone to check the seattle craigslist dog section for me every day. Wish I could find someone to print out copies of my resume and then throw them in the garbage over and over. Wish I had a maid who could not write for me. You get the idea.
My story Nobody Tell Sandy She’s Dead is live today at Snake Oil Cure. The title is also the message.
Thanks for reading my blog. I know this is a one way conversation most of the time, but I feel like we’re friends, and I love you. Talk to you when I get back.