I’ve been spending too much time sifting through furniture posts on craigslist. I thought it would be a smart approach to furnishing my home to look for used pieces–reduce the amount of crap made in the world by not buying new stuff, and potentially save some money. I haven’t bought anything yet. I lack the motivation inspired by discovering something I simply can’t live without (yet have managed to live without for this long).

Tonight I suddenly remembered how I once used craigslist for a purpose completely different than buying/selling property. I used craigslist to broadcast.

It started with a passing appreciation for the “best of craigslist” posts. Then I thought it would be so clever or possibly so romantic (or at minimum, “cute”) to write notes to my then-boyfriend via the missed connections or w4m sections. Then we broke up and I used it to write notes of heartbreak, spite, confusion, and loneliness. Then I wrote some true missed connections posts (I must have started dating). Then I wrote some personal ads just for the sake of reading a bunch of responses. Upon reflection now, more than five years since the last of these, all of it was simple attention seeking.

Honestly, most of what I wrote was total crap. But the emotions behind some of the posts are so overt, I’m made uncomfortable reading them many years later. Only a significant amount of pain could persist for as much as eleven years.

One of the most amusing to me is a somewhat aimless personal ad I posted in 2013, when I was unwittingly taking early steps toward an adult life. I had just started a job that would lead to a career path. I was on a collision course with past irresponsibilities that would result in an expensive lesson in accountability. I would soon be in the best shape of my life. A trusted acquaintance would attempt to rape me. I would feel the happiest I’d ever been as a single woman. A beloved friend would abandon me because of unreconciled hurt feelings and poor communication habits (on both sides). I would make great decisions and terrible decisions.

Growing up is this hideous mix of great accomplishments and shattering defeats. They do not balance out. They just mold you into the deformed grown-up you’re sort of fated to become. It’s all very rotten.

Here’s the best/worst part: I’ve managed to not fulfill this list, despite investing myself substantially in a relationship since writing this (my partner did not meet the criteria below and the relationship has ended). Enjoy this embarrassing gem I posted to “women seeking men” on craigslist in July 2013:

I’m finally ready to ask for help

I’ve been single for a while now. I spent the last year traveling and have always found long-distance relationships both inconvenient and unsatisfying. I balk at accountability and hoard my independence. I’m not completely horrible: I love to take care of my partner and am always generous. But I’m stubborn and willful and I don’t like to ask for help.

Yesterday a bulky man in a beard slammed into me during a tag play at home plate. It’s softball, and there’s a slide rule, but he was either not coordinated enough to slide or he’s an asshole. I took a forearm to the face, thought my nose was broken, and had to wait for my brain to settle back in my head and my eyes to focus. I played the rest of the game–and the second one after that–but softball with a concussion is just not as much fun. Turns out neither is the rest of life.

So I’m ready to ask for help. I’d really like somebody who will ask me kindly how I am feeling without it seeming intrusive, suspicious or fussy. I’d like somebody who will bring me a cold glass of water and two Tylenol and just set them down in front of me without judgement. I’d like somebody who will make sure I don’t die of a brain aneurysm in my sleep–but in a non-accusatory way. I’d like someone who has my best interests at heart, without being pedantic.

I’d also like somebody who will find the humor in a concussion and will come up with clever–but not hurtful–jokes about brain damage. Somebody who will make post-concussion plans with me for bike rides, hikes, sailing and swimming in the lake. Somebody who will go camping with me for days and won’t care that I don’t shower because he smells worse. Somebody who reads–for fun. Somebody who will smile with great pleasure when we disagree because it’s an interesting and informative discussion and not intimidating or frustrating argument. Somebody who doesn’t have to win and enjoys my success as much as his own. Somebody who is unconditionally encouraging and supportive, without being condescending or saccharine. Somebody who laughs with his whole body.

It would be great if this somebody also:
Likes baseball movies, pony movies and Back to the Future
Knows how to swim (this is pretty important)
Enjoys traveling and not the vacation type, but rather adventure
Reads, for fun
Likes to attempt new challenges like learning to play a new sport, instrument or to speak another language
Likes animals–specifically dogs and horses
Will go to the opera with me (if not because he’s a fan of opera then because he likes to see me dressed up)
Will eat at taco trucks without fear
Loves family

Chase is my friend. His mom looks like Kristen Wiig. He doesn’t think so.

I’ve been bringing it up for a long time now. Years. I bring it up whenever I can.

At this point, I think Chase is a bit annoyed, actually, by my insistence on the uncanny resemblance. In response to his annoyance, I’ve really committed to agitating on the topic.

Recently, Chase baked an elaborate cake for his mother’s birthday. While I do generally love baking, baked goods, and Chase’s food posts, I watched the progression of his step-by-step Instagram stories coverage of the cake-baking process with anticipation: there would, eventually, be a photograph of his mother with the cake. There must be payoff, right? Then I would, with great delight, fire off a response: “Happy birthday to Kristen Wiig!” (or something equally bland that would still make me laugh).

This all happened as expected. But when the photo of his mom, looking quite lovely in the glow of birthday candlelight, popped up, my roommate, who was looking over my shoulder, said, “Wait, is that Kristen Wiig?”

Imagine my utter joy at having a second, independent and reinforcing opinion!  Here is the google chat exchange that followed (for ease of reading, I’ve consolidated and italicized my writing bits:

Me: I really need to tell you that my roommate saw me watching some of your instastories

Chase: ha!

Me: and she said “IS THAT KRISTEN WIIG”

Me: I’m not kidding

Chase: shut up

Me: no joke

Me: it was the pic of your mom with the birthday cake

Me: so I said yes

Me: I said that you made a birthday cake for Kristen Wiig

Chase: hahahaha

Chase: oh my

Chase: what an alternate reality

Me: I’m going to just start writing short stories about it

Chase woke up one day and discovered that his mother was actually a very famous comedian.

She was still motherly, but often her communication or interactions with him were primarily for the performance value or at his expense.

He couldn’t deny that she was outrageously talented, but a small measure of bitterness was creeping in as Chase had always considered himself to be the funny one in the family.

Not one to be outshone, and certainly not by his mother, Chase set about writing jokes.

What he would realize–and quickly–was that Kristen Wiig, now “Mom,” was strongest in her physical humor and impersonations.

Chase: Somehow she gave birth to him at age 10

Chase simply didn’t have that skillset. Perhaps because the genetic ties between the two were now in question.  Perhaps because he had always taken pride in his composure and subtle physical humor, with the exception of facial expressions, which he delighted in exaggerating.

But regardless of the emerging envy, Chase found himself confronted with a very uncomfortable and previously unfamiliar psychological experience.

He had, until discovering that she was now his mother, thought Kristen Wiig was actually pretty hot.

Chase: I never saw a dime of that bridesmaids money

Now, our hero Chase is a real thinker.  A very analytical guy.  He’s quick too.

So many thoughts crowded Chase’s head as he considered what might actually be happening to him.

Is this a joke?

Is Kristen Wiig in on it?  How self-aware is she?  Should he test her?  Will she still know all the things his mother knew?

Had they traded bodies?  Had the two persons simply merged?

Had his mother always been Kristen Wiig?

He’d never actually seen both of the women in the same room at the same time.

Chase realized he didn’t actually know what his mother had been up to once he graduated high school and left home for college in the big city.

He hadn’t given much thought to how she spent her time when it wasn’t in service of his growth and development.

Chase: You’re ridiculously pleasant

Me: it’s a whole different kind of fan fiction

Me: I think there’s really something here

Me: OH WAIT UNTIL THE MOVIE

Me: Kristen Wiig, playing herself, playing your mom

Chase: In a role of a lifetime

Me: I really think this Kristen Wiig as your mother story could be the next “Being John Malkovich,” don’t you think?!

Chase: Ha! It could be

 

In writing this, I just realized I don’t know (or can’t remember) Chase’s mother’s real name.

My youngest sister challenged me to write more in 2019. It was a pointed challenge. I write for my job, I don’t write for myself. I used to love writing. I suppose I still love it. I just don’t do it.

Her only stipulation was that I write for 30 minutes every week. That doesn’t seem like very much, but it’s proven difficult. Here I am in March, and this is really the first intentional effort I’ve made to put some words down. It’s past time to start.

Creativity is a fussy pet. I can often be an absent-minded caregiver.

Recently two things happened that reinvigorated my creativity and love for writing.

1. My friend baked a cake for his mother’s birthday and broadcast the process on Instagram
2. A colleague at work sent out an email newsletter with an unforgivably stupid typo

The first event inspired pure ridiculousness. I’ll post what I wrote next, together with some background. It was fun, it was irreverent. It was for the single purpose of hassling my friend, possibly making him laugh. I probably got more out of it.

The second event was very different. I used writing to respond to and take back control of a problem that was beyond my repair. Writing, as a form of creative problem solving, can change perspective, emotion, comprehension… and I needed that so I wouldn’t dwell, so I wouldn’t sit in frustration.  I’ll be sure to post more on this as well.

The thing is, each of these instances provoked something in me that I responded to with writing as a part of me. It’s been a long time since writing manifested from my personality– like a function of my character–instead of my using it as just a tool or a skill acquired.

So, more of that. More of silliness, more of problem solving, more of self care. More of all of it. I’m intrigued and eager to discover how writing can serve me and the people I care about in different ways.