it is so very different. and yet also eerily similar.
especially the way the story presses against your brain.
all of the voices within it, like a choir with an orchestra, but you don’t quite have the music.
so it’s just voices and that weirdly lovely chaos of noise when the orchestra is warming up.
time is like an accordion. sometimes it stretches, sometimes it’s all squeezed up.
i wrote a version of that in a post a thousand lifetimes ago and made my students read it in spring 2020, when we’d all moved online and i didn’t know what to teach them beyond, apparently, the fact that time is weird and the moments fold back on one another and we try to navigate them as best we can.
that’s the summation of all of my work: time is weird.
when i die, they’ll write: “single lady writer dies, thought time was an accordion.”
you’re welcome.
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an alarming life 
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