who rights wrongs where others cling?

we read the book dreaming in cuban for contemporary literature. it was swell.

one of the papers we have to write for this semester is supposed to be a parody or appropriation of one of the primary texts, and i chose the letters the matriarch of the family, celia, wrote to the spanish man, gustavo, who left her. i don’t think she ever sent them.. it was more like a journal that she kept on her life. though when her first grandchild pilar was born, she quit writing them.

i can relate to celia’s lost love. and not knowing when to let go… i doubt i will ever let go. i’d be crushed to pieces. i enjoyed writing the letters. i addressed them to nameless, because i’m paranoid and superstitious about names. name something, and it becomes real. i would say it like a prayer, and i’m not the praying type, but i’d be afraid of the power of that kind of prayer, and that’s crazy. i avoid saying his name because i’m terrified of it. i don’t know what of, if it is the intimacy or commitment to a doomed cause or just the idea of announcing it in that way and then having him die or be forever out of reach somehow. the universe would snuff him out like a candle if it knew the depths of my obsession. yeah, ’cause the universe cares, sarah. the universe is watching me, plotting my misery.

i had my mom proofread them, and she said it didn’t even seem like me writing them, which was the goal, though i very much felt i was truly writing them to nameless.


oh, and back to reality: today there was a fire in the store. a pop machine, before the store opened. i noticed the smell, and then some smoke coming out of it, and then michelle went to unplug it and call 911, and she saw flames. then the smoke reeeallly started coming out in black waves. and that’s when we exited the building, lulz. i couldn’t stop coughing… three fire trucks showed up, the whole cavalry of paramedics and cops and what have you. it was fun, in a stupid way.

the building is still standing. there will be smoke damage though, naturally. i don’t even know if i work tomorrow now. after the smoke had cleared out, michelle let me go back in to grab my stuff, and quick finish up CO processing, et cetera. the whole place smelled like burnt plastic. lovely.



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