My Own Devices
Page 21
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It is very late by the time the van leaves the club at the end of the night. Sometimes the ride to the hotel is jubilant with loud music and passed snacks and sore voices. Sometimes it is quiet and tired, with foreheads resting against cold windows and phones illuminating downturned faces as we track our progress, a herd of blue dots gliding toward the Days Inn or the Ramada or La Quinta. We pile into two rooms—maybe three, depending on the evening’s guarantee.
In the darkness of the hotel room, the breathing of your crewmates is the only indicator of who is still awake and who has already gone under. Eventually, sobriety returns to your own sleeping body, like a boomerang that can find you in any bed in any city and sets about straightening the angles of your dreams. Most nights your body senses that the others are nearby and it keeps itself contained so there is room for whomever might be dreaming there beside you.
Thank You
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Before I rented my apartment in New York, several people were kind enough to let me stay in theirs, to think and write awhile. Thank you to Amanda Palmer, Michael Gutwaks (sorry about the wineglass), Amanda Zantal-Wiener (sorry about the wineglass), and Kaylan Sliney (sorry about the coffee cup).
Decision makers at the University of Minnesota’s Center for Magnetic Resonance Research agreed to let a heartbroken rapper into their world-class research lab. I am outrageously grateful to Cheryl Olman, PhD; Andrea Grant, ScD; Philip Burton, Jeromy Thotland, PhD; Patrick Bolan, PhD; Essa Yacoub, PhD; Alexander McKinney, IV, MD; Dr. Kamil Ugurbil; Dr. Zeke McKinney; and to the generous clinician Penijean Gracefire, LMHC.
Many thanks to the people in my life who agreed to let me write about them, including my parents, Maxie, Amanda Palmer, Lin-Manuel Miranda, Jaclyn Mothupi, Andy Thompson, Aby Wolf, friend and colleague Becky Hoffmann, Linda Frankenstein, Leslie Wander, Ben Burwell, and all of Doomtree (Ander Other, Cecil Otter, Lazerbeak, Mike Mictlan, Paper Tiger, P.O.S, and Sims). To Sean McPherson, Dustin Kiel, and Joey Van Phillips, thanks for our many months spent cruising around on busted bench seats.
A bunch of people read these essays when they were still sort of confusing and misspelled. Thank you to Brian Bieber (it’s nearly impossible to overstate how much your comments improved this collection), John Jodzio, Sylvia Burgos-Toftness (aka “Mom”), Robert Wander (“Dadman”), Alexa Stevenson, Eric Lorberer, Steve Marsh, Andrew Sims, and Catherine Burgos.
Thanks to my agent, Sam Stoloff, for the vote of confidence and the sound guidance; to my editor, Maya Ziv, who took a risk on me and encouraged me to take risks in my writing; to Christine Ball for the creativity and the muscle; and to Dutton for the chance at bat.
Special thanks to X for letting me tell my side of our story. If you’re reading this on the road, I hope tonight’s show slays.
About the Author
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Dessa is a singer, rapper, writer, and speaker. She tours internationally, performing her own songs and stories, sometimes in velvet-lined theaters, sometimes in grimy basement clubs. She splits her time between Manhattan, Minneapolis, and a tour van cruising at six miles per hour above the posted limit.
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