by Megan Boyle
6:00AM: woke. ate amount of ambien.
2:00PM: woke. ate 30mg adderall.
8:18PM: drove to UPS, mailed package for matthew donahoo and returned broken phone. fed cats, sat at table. sent a long emotional email to juliet, who had emailed the interview she’s transcribed from our skype video sessions. she had said she voted on ‘novel + vice things’ on poll and that the liveblog has become a ‘big hentai monster’ and i should stop, and i agreed. going to shower now. averse to my negative rant about [omitted].
10:10pm: driving to Sam’s to hang out and smoke crack. Am somewhere near queens, maybe. Looking for 70th st. Have recalibrated route several times. Feel bombarded with information from street signs. Feel micromanaged by gmaps. Listening to ‘drinks after work’ by Toby Keith on repeat. Just got whiff of someone’s cigarette from car next to me at traffic light. I don’t know what Sam’s job is. What if I never ask. Doesn’t seem to matter. Toying with idea of never knowing what Sam does for a living. Passed green sign that said ‘triboro bridge has been renamed RFK bridge’ and thought ‘great sign, great, tax dollars at work, thank you’ on autopilot, like, warming up for conversation.
AUGUST 27, 2013
did not update.
AUGUST 28, 2013
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AUGUST 29, 2013
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AUGUST 30, 2013
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AUGUST 31, 2013
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SEPTEMBER 1, 2013
8:58PM: drinking miller high life. sitting in bed. trying used e-cigarette cartridges to see if they’re empty. watching ‘into the abyss.’ waiting for sam to arrive. just returned from pickles & pies. walked behind a man using what i thought was a wheelchair, but was an elaborate walker device. there was a mattress with a ‘pillow-top’ label on the corner of 117th and rockaway beach blvd. smelled awful when i passed. it was there last night too. people in clown wigs, on bikes, gathered on the corner by pickles & pies. saw a lot of people but the street felt quiet. foggy. eerily foggy. fireworks exploded in the sky while i walked to apartment building. for the first time since my interview with the apartment ‘committee that screens potential tenants,’ i saw the three dogs in the window of the house with the screened-in porch. the dogs were standing almost motionlessly, staring in the same direction. somewhere there is a picture of this. didn’t take another picture tonight.
walked behind a smallish man carrying two plastic bags. from a distance he looked close to my age. imagined he lived in my building. maybe he worked in the city. he was someone like me, maybe, we had each been keeping our existences secret this entire time. the dogs barked at him. when i passed, one dog walked away, the middle dog continued barking, and the third dog and i made eye contact. slowed my pace so the plastic bag man wouldn’t feel obligated to hold the door for me. tried to remember what i had imagined would happen when i’d move here. beach parties. something. i probably didn’t know then either.
used apartment key to open the building door. through the glass, watched the plastic bag man join maybe two others, waiting for the elevator. one of the others was the ex-MTA employee in a wheelchair, who i told i’d bring smoothies, and had believed i would, the night of colin’s ‘welcome to the building’ dinner. heard the familiar click of the door’s weight closing behind me. approached group closely enough to recognize plastic bag man: the ‘fancy food student’ from the dinner. made eye contact with MTA wheelchair man as he reversed into the elevator. we said ‘hi’ quietly, kind of sorrowfully, overlapping the word at intervals suggesting neither of us meant for the greeting to be heard. focused eyes on one of the plastic bags. remembered they both lived on the fourth floor. i didn’t get on the elevator.
For their consultation, wisdom, and support—without which this book wouldn’t exist—I would like to thank Giancarlo DiTrapano, Adam Robinson, Nicole Caputo, Zachary German, Jordan Castro, Nicolette Polek, Sam Cooke, Simone Campbell-Scott, and Pamela Sue Dutton Boyle.
Megan Boyle was born October 15, 1985 at 4:14PM.
She lives in Baltimore, Maryland.