leprechauns peeing in the snow: a memoir

I’m going to start writing and see where this goes. I try this technique with talking but it doesn’t always work.

This is Tasha, by the way. I’m “fiction”–meaning my concentration’s in fiction here in the MFA program, but also that I’m a figment of your imagination. But since most fiction is semi-autobiographical, I guess I’m partially real. Like a leprechaun. (Think about it.)

Blogging tends to take energy away from other projects, but today’s very cold and I’m mildly sick, and I drank all the coffee I could possibly drink and I still can’t think properly, so blogging seems like a good investment.

At the last second, I might not post this.

I locked myself out of my own bathroom last night, and after unsuccessfully trying to jimmy it open with a clothes hanger, and realizing the only tools I possess are a hammer, a corkscrew, and an eyelash curler, I called my landlord. Luckily, he arrived before I had to resort to peeing in the snow in the alley behind my apartment. All in all, the evening was a success.

Also, I’ve been thinking of inspirational things I could say to young people. So far, all I’ve got is: “Drop out of high school.” I would also tell them to get their GEDs, of course. All I’m saying is that at some point after sophomore year, high school is a huge waste of time for a very many people.

I’ve recently heard a few people talk about how they occasionally fantasize about receiving prestigious awards for their work. I sometimes think about what I would say if I am ever asked to address the graduating class of my old high school. I think it’d be like bad stand-up, in which I talk about acne and try not to swear. Or maybe I’d tell them to run for their lives. Or that they should have dropped out two years ago, and that they’ll all have heartburn someday, every one of them. And they’ll find themselves relying on optimism more than they thought they would—and this isn’t a bad thing.

It’s interesting that while there’s a good deal of nonfiction in fiction, there’s also quite a bit of fiction in nonfiction.

Alyson Hagy requested a photo of my ferrets.

Squizzy and Ted playing, performing a war dance, about to make love? (I have no non-blurry photos of Squizzy.)
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