BREAKING NEWS: Writer Has Existential Crisis

I am not sure what this post is about, other than bless my heart, this writer has an existential crisis. I am looking at my friend. He is a drinking a Stella from the victory room, because he has submitted his post for the day. He wonders aloud why he has not seen me in the victory room, with the booze and ice cream, which I like and he knows it. I do not get booze or ice cream because I am not yet victorious today.

I am writing from Inkhaven, the writer’s program where we write one blog post each day for 30 days. Am I happy about this? Yes. It is nice. Are my blog posts high quality no.

I am sitting here while people keep walking by me and socializing. They smile at me. They are carrying books. The sharp-thinking researcher comes by. My table is filling rapidly. My solitude is ending. Someone makes a comment about my Chipotle, which I plan to eat most days this month.

I tell people stories when they ask about questions. They say that some of these stories would make good posts. I do not know if this is true or not. I do not know what is true. The more I write the less I trust myself. but I hope to trust myself more, through the writing.

My friends keep talking around me. They are talking about bear fat, which I tried yesterday and found delicious. You are supposed to eat it on bread, with honey, and luxurious salt flakes of the brand I have tried and validated before in the past called Maldon. I told everyone how delicious it is yesterday in case they have missed the memo. I do not like missing memos and do not want people to miss the memo about the bear fat.

There is a dog here, who was very nice to me. I told somebody a story of a dog, once, that I met. A man had taken me to a fundraiser in Manhattan. I stood outside the door, overstimulated by the crowd. A well-dressed woman in her 30s approaches me with a small dog in a purse. She looks like some kind of Moroccan Princess. Or Pakistani. Perhaps Lebanese. She hands me this purse with the dog. “Hold this.” She walks away.

If good writing is about exploring mysteries that really matter, this is a mystery that I had not yet sorted out. This woman had perfect brown curls and perfect makeup. Her clothes were not the kind one can buy from a usual store. The dog was cute. I got to bond with this dog for an entire 40 minutes.

Strangers approached me asking if they could pet the dog. I said okay, if they were gentle. The dog seemed like it was having a good time. Sweet dog. They ask me the dog’s name. I say I do not know. They ask me how is this possible. I say this is not my dog. They ask me why I am holding a dog. I say I do not know. A brown haired princess gave it to me to hold, but I am not even sure about this.

I do not know why somebody told me this story should be a blog post. I think about this story and I realize that I have no explanation for it. Perhaps somebody had given this woman the dog to hold, and she did not want to hold it. I do not know where she went, when she had left, and when she came back, she took the dog and vanished again.

She did not say thank you.

A word of advice I had gotten at this retreat was not to ignore that which I do not understand. The space between understanding and not understanding creates curiosity, and curiosity creates the energy for writing.

I am hearing people talk about watching people watching people who are writing.

One of these people went to Chipotle with me.

On the walk, he pointed out that there were so many nicer restaurants we were passing on the way to our destination.

I said I did not notice them. I was thinking about our destination, and about a new idea a friend had incepted to me over text.