Report: Boyfriend Texting Drafts of Satire Headlines Again

Everyday I wrestle with my boyfriend’s conviction to wake up at 6 a.m. and workout. I wake up at 7:30 a.m. and sit in solemn silence, staring out my window from the 22nd floor of Harnwell. I pick up my phone to a beautiful assortment of texts from him. A multitude of thoughts, including “drafts” of “satire headlines”. I shudder, yet feel the kindness.

Boyfriend texted: “Wow, woke king! This white guy takes to a minority today!” Shortly after, the text was followed by another one that said “Talked* :/” Wow. Poetry.

Last year I would write to him in my journal. As a way to create a locale in which text can be possible. It was a thought exercise, a therapeutic effort, and a writing practice. I didn’t know who I was writing to or who I was or what writing was. 

Every time I want to have a real conversation I become caught up in the signifying maze of sarcasm. I become encumbered by the multivalency of language. I do so much to avoid being a fool. And it is through this process that I inevitably become a fool.

Every time I want to say like two real things it takes me around 20 minutes, deep breaths, and a lot of false starts to say even one word. Why am I so scared of embarrassing myself? In front of whom am I embarrassing myself?

Boyfriend texted another draft of the satire headline, revised. Soon, he added: XD. 

At least there is someone in the world with a plain and steadfast conviction in language. Last night next to him I dreamed of getting off a plane. All night we remained together as time passed. In spiritual abstraction no one cared about my visa.