gotta say I am intensely curious about the story behind the "mobile pedicure 50+" posters everywhere in my neighbourhood
After dinner I walked down to the water. I've been walking a lot, just walking and thinking or maybe not thinking at all. I promised my therapist and many of the people who love me that I'd spend at least two weeks after I handed in the draft doing as little writing as possible, and if I can hold out another few hours I will technically have reached that goal. But I should know by now that it's never the way you think it's going to be. Other times in my life after I have hit big milestones in big projects I have felt a chaotic rush of pent-up feeling, sensory overload, big crashing waves. Or at least that's what I think I remember. This time feels different. Not pleasant or unpleasant, just quiet. There is a blank that feels not unlike depression, sure, but also I am just trying to pay attention to the world as it is instead of trying to arrange what I see into an order that fits my thesis. Not in some enlightened way. It's just that a book holds you firmly, fixed, inside a set of familiar themes, and finishing means you get to surface.
On my way down I read all the signs: lost cats too sad to look at, looking for a companion black lives matter mr wood staining sanding finishing keep your rent disco 3000 found parrot ACAB etc. etc. etc. At the edge of the water I saw some of the ducks with the iridescent purple under their wings and beyond them the pale orange sunset melting into gradient and the geese gliding around like big stupid blimps. To the left of me there were two guys, talking. It was difficult to discern their relationship to each other. They were standing a few feet apart, more than appropriate distance, and one of them had his back to the water so he could just watch the other guy talk. The speaking one was telling a story about his complicated relationship with animals. I had this one friend, he said, she said her dog was really harsh and hostile around people, she kept warning me that he might bark a lot, she said he only ever is really comfortable around her. But when I went to her house the dog started following me around, and she was so confused. She just kept saying he never does this, he never does this, over and over again. My other friends, too, like they have three cats, and all the cats run to the door the second I knock. Anyone else who comes to the door they run away and hide, but not with me. Sometimes I wonder if it's my deodorant or something. The listening guy gave a little chuckle. Well anyway, the speaking guy said, so that's the story of my life. On the walk back I passed by the tennis courts, which had been full when I had come down but had emptied out as the light filtered away. I was thinking about this conversation I'd had with Carlo and David about the virus like maybe a month or twelve years ago, where we were all marvelling at how shockingly adaptable we'd found ourselves to be. If we woke up tomorrow and the sky was red we'd freak out about it for maybe a week or two and then it'd just be like normal, going out and instagramming the red sky, David said. I was thinking about a particular lie I have often told myself at points of potential transformation, which is that it is difficult for me to change, perhaps too difficult to even try. I was thinking about why I have given myself permission to think this way for so much of my life, and as I was doing this I was kind of idly looking at the tennis courts and then a man came rollerblading in from the edges of my peripheral vision, moving towards the centre of the frame. The wheels on his rollerblades lit up and they were flashing red. He had headphones in and he was holding a backpack and as he moved into the makeshift stage of the tennis court he started swirling and switching around, using the backpack as a kind of counterweight. He was dancing with it, like really dancing, figure eights, elegant ducking and weaving, spinning circles around the whole space. No one else around me seemed to notice this dude or care, which made me wonder both about everybody else and myself, like was this so normal everyone else had already seen it before or were people just trying to give him space to do his thing or what. I stood there watching for a very long time and then I walked home through my old neighbourhood into the one where I live now, and that was the first time in just under two weeks I felt the feeling that compels me to write these letters. I almost made it. Don't tell my therapist.
All this to say: this newsletter is not gone, because I need it too much. I am just hanging back for a little while longer. In the meantime, if you live in Toronto, please call the mayor and voice your support for defunding the Toronto Police Force. The next council meeting is at the end of the month and they need to keep hearing from us, over and over again, until it happens. Here is a list of councillors and their contact information, and here is a really helpful and comprehensive resource that makes it incredibly easy to understand what to say, who to say it to, and how. They'll even mail a physical letter to your councillor for you! (My grandmother, who worked in politics, always says that if you are looking to make your elected officials listen to you an email is better than nothing, a letter is better than an email, and a phone call is always, always best - and that saying it in your own words, as much as possible, makes you harder to ignore.) I also made this document of talking points I used when calling my councillor that you can look at if you'd like. That's all for now. Talk to you soon.