lousy with your contempt, with what the majestic cannot find

I'll be honest, I'm not in a great place, neglected little blog, so I'm gonna try to write about it. Nothing like talking about yourself to cheer up on a shitty Tuesday. There is productive, spontaneous girl-crying, where you get it all out and feel silly and a little empty and then go make yourself some refried beans, and then there is the kind that leaves you simultaneously churning, bitter, confused, fuming, grieving and chewing on it all night. Maybe I'm getting my period.

I used to get told a lot at grad school when I wrote personal essays that when I'd get really close to something genuine, I'd dart off and try to say something funny, or lacquer over it with some pointless description of like, a muddy civil war battleside creek in the dead heat of August. That's why I always liked writing poetry about my dumb, actual emotions. I didn't self-censor, and I wasn't afraid of being that girl. I could just say it fucking outright: I'm so, so, so, angry. I wasn't a great poet, by the way. So, so. So.

Tonight, I was running in the graveyard. I had finished my little 5k and was doing a cool down walk back on the far end. There's this giant empty field, literally enough field for thousands of unsold grave plots for people who will be born after I die. I saw something stir up in a this little clutch of cedars, so I stopped. Standing at the edge of the field, closest to me, were two spike bucks. They were perfect twins, beautifully muscled, and red as clay--two-year-olds going by their antlers.

I immediately sat down. That sounds stupid, but deer--a lot of animals, actually--can't tell people for being people if they are crouched or on all fours. They think it's some mystery animal and they don't know what to do. You can get very close to them that way if you like. I wasn't looking to get very close, but they were so splendid, you know? They were gorgeous, and I had a bad day and a long weekend and gotten a lot of really bad news and always did everything wrong, so I wanted to just sit there and watch some fucking stupid eye-wateringly-gorgeous deer. One of them saw me and flagged his tail, but he didn't run, he just looked at me. Deer are quite stupid, actually. He didn't know what I was.

His brother was up by the cedars and he saw the flag, and looked my way. They were both staring me down, looking right into my eyes. I just held my knees and watched. I thought, you're an adolescent, you're going to lose interest before I do. I was covered in mosquitoes but see above paragraphs re: I don't give a fuck. Sure enough, after about five minutes, the closer one bent his head and started to graze.

But! The one by the cedars had started trotting toward me. Not like... meandering-deer-grazing and walking, but purposeful, head-lowered, intent walking toward me. His brother noticed, and started too. They were getting close. I started thinking about how close we are to rut, or deer-go-crazy season, and I imagined how bad it would look if I got hooved to death by these two gorgeous hormonal bucks. My parents would blame themselves for being so lackadaisical about wildlife. It would be a good, horrifying story for my friends, and maybe a little funny to my enemies, those who had always rooted for my downfall.

I don't know. I think they just wanted to see what I was. They stopped so close that I could see the specific variation in color in their fur. Then they cut sideways and started regular deer browsing/walking back west across the field. That was it. I went back to the house and sat down and started writing this.