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This was also the winter I began experiencing intermittent but uncontrollable hysterical laughter, and flopped on the couch with my friends, my abs ached and my throat went dry from the effort of my amusement.My shopping lists from the coldest months show these consistent repetitions: 2 lbs. dried porcinis, potatoes, sweet potatoes, garbonzo beans (15 oz. I didn’t buy limes until the first day of April; $4.69/lb.

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I say the music I listen to is mostly the kind my parents did, that I always have spare light-bulbs, laundry quarters, and a variety of shelf-stable grains on hand now, that I make a point of “listening to my body” — although in practice this has mostly meant making other people listen to me talking about it, a daily enumeration of muscles and joints that feel better or worse, an assessment of my appetite and what specific cravings might indicate, a declaration that I require more sleep, a lap swim, or additional protein.Other notes from the couple years following that: • “That patience and tact you have is a real gift.” • “During the interactive classes, much of the burden to keep discussion going was placed on the students.” • “You should read some Tolstoy, both for the marriage stuff and party planning tips (bears).” • “A quiet campaign of avoidance.” • “Nostalgie de la boue!Just learned this term.” • “The explanation of secrecy as an illusory form of control makes so much sense.” • “You didn’t tell me there was an aquarium.” • “It seemed like each encounter fueled the next, it seemed like everything was working...” But then there are the notes of a realer life, running mileages recorded, subway directions copied down, hours worked, appointments noted, addresses to write on envelopes when I got to the post office.“We’ll never hear this album and not think of this time,” someone said, and it seemed true, certain tracks inextricable from solitary hood-up walks home as early dusk bore down, others forever linked to an afternoon when we convened at Olivia’s for a specific but forgotten reason and accidentally stayed all night.It seemed too cold to walk home, on that and many other days, although our houses were all less than a block away and it wasn’t like the temperature would stop dropping as midnight turned to one to two.Another note was something a professor said, and the context is not recorded, but I underlined it for emphasis: “One doesn’t want to cannibalize one’s own past too much.” I had done that for a long time, been a slave to the how-it-happened of life, and of my life, but now I thought I was mostly done with that.

People sometimes used to ask me if it wasn’t hard to record my own recent past so closely, which I see now was not a question but actually a warning.

And maybe it was because I could never satisfactorily answer it as the former that I also could not heed it as the latter.

A document on my desktop, entitled “Some Recent Theories”: • A theory on people whose intelligence is predicated on proper nouns and not original thought • A theory that women who are more critical of men as a group have more successful relationships with men individually • A theory that we all have one friend who embodies the part of ourselves we will never permit ourselves to be—someone louder or stranger or more aggressive, someone bolder or more measured or maybe just diplomatic.

x 2), 6 large red onions, butter, bananas, a pomelo? but I needed to believe in summer after a winter when it seemed to not climb above zero for days on end, not above freezing for weeks.

Still, I managed okay: I sealed off my windows, until my view of the outside world was filtered through layers of rippling plastic, and my spirits were good enough to formulate a joke about a sext for a polar winter such as this one: “I’m not wearing any long underwear.” Selected notes from recent months: • “Trusting yourself is another form of work.” • “A book is its only explanation.” • “Teachers should only ask questions they don’t know the answers to.” • “A restless essay.” • “An essay that’s mired in grad school.” • “Insists on its own obscurity.” • “Defying meaning is a one-trick pony.” • “Secrecy and privacy are chosen forms of isolation.” There’s a bit — of my own invention — about how Iowa has made me the woman I was always meant to be.

The two kinds of trivia I am bound to remember are the ages people were when they made works of art, and achievements people have had while incarcerated.