I'm writing a novel

A Poem by Christine

To whom it may concern: I want to make it well known that before I sat down to write these first few lines, I smoked a bowl, went to my dining hall, consumed impossible amounts of gnocchi in what I surmise to be Prego Tomato Sauce thinned out with water and soggy vegetables, and then somehow came back to my s****y dorm room inspired, as if I had just done something important which I had to tell other people about before they did anything else with their time. I don’t want to be that kind of writer. The shittiest types of writers are the ones who know how to make you feel. I don’t want to make you feel anything. Just don’t try to understand me, either.

Literally just now I tweeted about how hilarious it would be if I ever wrote a book because who the f**k would take that seriously. And then I thought it would be a shame if people ever did take me seriously. What’s even more appalling is that I can use a word like “tweeted” and still think of myself as credible (for the record, I’m arrogant enough to think I am).

There’s a lot of professional pressure that would go along with being a professional under pressure and honestly it makes me want to smoke more weed and eat more gnocchi in s****y tomato sauce just to get away from the hypocrisy because too many people don’t give a s**t about what they do anyway.

Existentially, I feel like I am above the professional world in the most pretentious and unattractive sense. It’s okay for me to think I’m great, but for another person to think I’m great in the way I think I’m great seems to make my own greatness unimportant. Because ultimately, my sense of greatness means nothing to the universe and everything to me. But I’m justified to think that nothing can mean everything because the conditions we have to work with are so boring that it is a goddamn miracle if you can find anyone who you think could be a little bit more interesting than you had originally assumed. I'm not even suggesting that someone out there is that interesting; I'm suggesting that even thinking there's a possibility of potential interest is rare enough, never mind if it's real or not.

Being alone is one of the best ways to be noticed without ever really being noticed. I’m okay with being remembered as the kid you always saw but never talked to. I’ll admit that I’m a coward to a certain extent for wearing loneliness the same way I wear my brother’s flannel shirts; comfortably. I’ll admit that the idea of being noticed makes me more nauseous than a bad hangover. And I’ll most emphatically admit that when you noticed me in my solitude and actually took an interest in it, I didn't feel sick. You might have been the most significant random accident to ever happen to me.

Here’s a crazy thought: suppose I do write a book about you. Suppose I actually get famous from writing about the stupid insignificant way you happened to me. Suppose I get paid for the inspiration your rejection ignited. I could be the next Adele.

For the record, I never want to be famous. Allowing myself to hold your hand in public was enough.