SHORT:
When I had sinus surgery, my anesthesiologist told me that he only does anesthesiology part-time & the rest of the time he writes books about Bob Dylan :)
MEDIUM:
My birthstone is a pearl. I only know this because my grandma gave me a ring with one for my 16th birthday. My mom used to have me wear it at family parties. I’d shake people’s hands and try not to get the metal caught in my hair as I tucked wisps behind my ears.
I have a negative, full-body reaction when I think of pearls and stones and gems and shiny things. Gatsby-ass shit has never appealed to me. The 20’s actually seemed so horrible.
I like looking at the ring though. It reminds me that I have something inside worth mining. That if you cracked me open, there’d be a little white sphere. Fine and inestimable.
LONG:
I often feel like a hollow little shell– all structure, no filling. All form and no content. In his writing, Emmanuel Kant associates form with maleness and matter with femininity. The only time I’ve felt both/neither was on Thayer street in the dead of winter.
It was snowing. Nobody was outside and there was enough snow to cover the footprints of anyone who braved the weather hours earlier. I made my way up the street and could make out her silhouette in the distance. Dancing in place to keep warm. I was crying because of the wind. Nose runny and red.
When she saw me, she lit up. Reached out. Held me. Kissed my forehead. We were all hats, gloves, and scarves, with just our eyes and mouths peaking out– small heat. I could’ve stayed there forever. I mean it. I think that was the only time I felt truly, 100 percent loved, protected, and seen. I didn’t feel male in form or feminine in matter, I just felt bundled.
We eventually ducked into a coffee shop down the road, and the moment ripped. I went back to chattering and cursing the East Coast weather. She laughed and talked to a teammate.
Later that week, this kid William had a huge fight with one of our professors. The professor told him that he needed to queer his writing– that his work was too shallow and straight. William lost it. It was 15 minutes of insults back and forth. Boom. Bang. Zing. Like watching a mix of ping pong and wrestling.
The professor launched into a lecture on intellectualism, internationalism, and masculinity. He explained that, to be American and conventionally masculine, you have to embrace anti-intellectualism. To be European– particularly French– and perceived as masculine, you have to demonstrate extreme intellectual prowess. In America, intellectualism feminizes. Athleticism, sex, and sociality masculinize. To take a simple 80’s high school movie mentality, if you prefer the girls and the gym over the classroom, you’re more of a man. But in Europe? It’s about your brain.
I told the girl about the discussion and she said: “Good thing we’re not men.” Like it didn’t apply to us. Or matter.
It did. And does. The girl and I spent 7 months performing toxic masculinity and anti-intellectualism. We did it while eating and watching TV and working out. We did it while railing against men and paradoxically referencing ivory-tower texts. We were two little boygirls who inherited a boatload of female trauma and masculine anger. It’s why I couldn’t look at myself with the lights on, and why she could but would often get mad about what she saw.
The first night we slept together, I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror, fully-lit for the first time in months. Matted hair and a sweat-painted forehead. Furrowed. I couldn’t turn the lights off because she was in the next room watching. She could see me through the slit in the door. I let her watch me see myself.
EXTRA:
When I was 10 I wrote a poem about a desert tortoise. It’s still one of my favorite things that I’ve written. In the poem, he sinks into sand and watches the sunset: “Day and night dance through the atmosphere… I am content, for I am the one every animal looks up to, I am old one.”
I was a genius when I was 10. I am dumber now.
Here’s the full poem if you’re interested. My mom keeps it in a drawer in her office.
Relatedly, one time I was walking down the street wearing my big green backpack and this guy screamed “Aw hell yeah! Little turtle bitch!”
I still think that’s one of the funniest things ever.
Did you enjoy this? Did you hate this? Should I learn to love the 20’s? Should I never mention Kant again? Are you surprised that I’m so cute and sappy? Have you read my anesthesiologist’s book on Bob Dylan?
Let me know! I truly want to hear all your thoughts!
-Meg
Social- @megspope @mpopetweets
Venmo- @mpope-venmo-26
Website- meganpopework.com
Donate to The Audre Lorde Project
Song Of The Week: Tie between “On The Floor” by Perfume Genius & “Pink Flamingo” by Ms. White (but honestly, listen to her entire album, you won’t regret it)
Thought Of The Week: Whenever Trump and Pence talk about swine flu I'm like.... we get it, you’re pigs.
Project Of The Week: Make a dentist appointment.