it used to be so fun; I don’t like the next line

in that song, which, upon further listening,

jumped out to me as simple and dull and

rather depressing, if I’m being honest.





it seems to me that there have been numerous little inescapable harms

and, if I am being charitable with myself, I have

been under the impression that I did not have time

to process them. they go deep enough, in fact, that

I find myself struggling to write about the subject at large,

even in broad strokes, nevermind the specific infractions,

which seem very slight, almost as though I should have

no reaction at all to them, laughed off and put away with ease.





for one, the matter of Kevin, who asked very early in the process how much progress

I’d made, how long I thought it would take. who has, to my knowledge,

never tried to complete an artistic project of this scope, who,

to my knowledge, may not be much of an artist as such,

not a creative, not so perfectionistic and meticulous.

I should not make assumptions.





really, whose infraction is it. what harm has he really done in asking one

question that is, for all intents and purposes, fairly reasonable. am I simply

diverting my anger over the fact that, like the song says, it used to be so fun,

and now it is not, and placing him in its wake?





and so it is the same old story. just like I had put in the script.

it has to be good.

it has to be well received.

no, it has to be Important.

it has to be Famous.

it has to make waves.

it has to inspire awe.





you’re hurting her.

can’t you see that you’re hurting her?

well, above every golden boy is a dark and terrible mother.

he knows that, when people look at it, they will only see the flaws in it.

just as she would.

just as he does.





oh, honey.

what is he to do when he is genuinely unsatisfied with it?

if he feels it underwritten? hasty? clearly rushed?

when he does see some obvious holes in his creation that

cannot be covered up by his otherwise extreme scrupulousness?

holes that any layman will see, will notice, will comment about as if

he cannot see it himself. holes that would be too costly to go back and fix

now. oh, a hole he has dug for himself. it’s hard to feel excited for it

when you don’t feel it’s actually that good. and when you know people

will see it. it’s hard not to trudge to the finish line. ah, we found it.





and now it circles back to Kevin, and why it feels such a slight.

because I worry my writing is rushed. and the worst part is that

his section is none the wiser. it is Brian’s that is so impacted.

and it is rushed because he asked how long it would take.

and I responded with panic, having involved him. because I

felt so terribly afraid of displeasing him, by taking too long. and now

look. it’s nearly May. we’ve done it anyway, and it’s made all the worse

by my earlier hastiness. how ironic and terrible.





but, oh, perhaps we can have fun despite it. it’s a mistake, and a

lesson learned. it will not be as excellent as I had hoped. room for

improvement, to take into my next endeavor. celebrate and emphasize the

good parts. appreciate the totality of what I’ve done. get lost in the process,

because there are still so many ways to make it good, even if it is

not exactly what I want. I forgive you,

I forgive you,

I forgive you.

I do not care if they are unforgiving.

I forgive you.

You are okay in my eyes.

You are loveable.

I’m delighted with this thing that has sprung from you,

and my, oh my, your work ethic!

Commendable little soldier you are.





Do you remember why you began in the first place?

That bursting feeling in your chest,

that broad, arching storyline left in the past,

untold, but you can tell it.

And I trust you to tell it,

even if it isn’t perfect.

It’s a great story,

and you’re a storyteller.





NOT FOR PUBLIC CONSUMPTION