Gmail Drafts

I was inspired by this post to sift through my 194 gmail drafts. Here are a few:

1. Dated Wednesday October 17, 2007:

"I told everything about myself in Speak, Memory, and it was not a very pleasant portrait. I appear as a precious person in that book. All that chess and those butterflies. Not very interesting." (A quote from Vladimir Nabokov that I stored away for myself to reread. Today is the first day I saw it since then.)


2. From over a year ago, addressed to a boy I was dating at the time:

"I got off at the Broadway/Nassau subway station this morning and was greeted by the most pungent smell of shit, literal shit. The floor was covered in at least an inch of brown liquid that oozed from an ajar bathroom door. (This surprised me, because I didn't realize people actually used those bathrooms, let alone took shits in them.) I was forced to walk through it because there was no other way to go, and my point is that my feet probably smell too. So, at least for today, you are not alone in your foot odor ailment."


3. From over two years ago. I transcribed three voicemails left on my phone from a man I used to share a bed with. The plan was to send them to my friends, but I never got around to it:

May 20th:

Hey Karen, it’s ________. I just read your email…if you could call it an email…I don’t know what you modern people call it or what some people call it or what futuristic bone-splitting evangelists call it. I assume that robots don’t eat vegetables, but that’s none of my business. I read your email regardless and it made me sad, kind of, or well, I guess pretty prominently sad and relevantly sad. I was hoping to talk to you as I do every time I punch the button that says your name in front of it, but oh well. My state is a lot less interesting than your state. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t make you laugh a little bit… but apparently the satellite service gave me the choice to elongate my voice to you, which is still pretty funny, but I just feel really funny and confusing at this point. But call me… and straddle…something of mine soon. I’m going to call you later tonight with something in my mouth…it could be a toothbrush or a toothpick or a shark’s tooth or a fang or a vampire’s butt or a witch’s ass, who knows….I miss you and I’m tired of missing you, so talk to you soon.

May 21st:

Hi. It’s me. You should call me back…now or later, presumably something in between. Um, I’m not going to say my name because it would be kind of obvious or maybe it’s not as blatant as it seems. Call me. Call this person that’s talking to you. Which you probably won’t have any idea who it could be. [long, melodramatic sigh.] All right, I’ll see you soon somewhere…or later. Bye.

May 22nd:

Hi Karen. Usually I say Hello or…traditional sensibility tells us not to say the name of the person you’re calling…but Karen, Hi. Anyways…

Yeah, you should call me. I just spent a lot of money on this fashion magazine that I thought was in English…but it’s in Italian. The pictures are pretty…pretty - pretty, pretty, pretty and handsome. All the men are really cute and the girls are really pretty and their dresses are great and their shoes are really perfect and it made me think of you. And I want to draw mustaches on their ankles. Be happy sometime and call me. And call me when you’re at that point because I’m not happy at all. I don’t mean to drag you…I don’t mean to strap hooks to your suspenders but I miss you. And I really like you a lot. So do something about your voice and your fingers and make them find me somehow, if they can.


4. From sometime in the past:

"I just wanted you to know that I did like you, and I was liking getting to know you more too. I kind of took it as a sign that you didn't feel the same way when you stopped communicating and making plans to hang out. But I do remember you telling me you wanted to date, so I was a bit confused. Either way, I just wanted you to know how I felt.

And also, you probably have herpes now."


5. From almost two years ago. I don't recall ever writing this down, but I do remember that cat and the step on which I sat:

"I'm sitting on a single concrete stair in front of a closed coffee shop on a darkened street. It's 8pm on a Friday night. There is a dull cone of light seeping from the lamp post a few sidewalk squares down and a faint neon hum from the whiskey bar two blocks away. A feral cat limps over to where I sit; he circles quickly and lies down on the pavement next to the stair. I'm smoking a cigarette and I watch the smoke make patterns in front of my face, exhaling slowly at first and then blowing a quick stream of smoke to stir it all together, making my own fleeting night art.

It's almost winter. I have a coat on and it's cold, so it might as well be winter. There is no one to tell me it's not winter. Every one would agree that winter has definitely arrived. Even though it is too soon for winter. But things arrive too soon all the time -- packages from FedEx, periods, the wrong job, ejaculate. Winter showed up, arm wrestled autumn, and won. It's only the very beginning of November.

A couple walks by, hand-in-hand, boy and girl. I find the boy very attractive and watch him intently as they pass. But since I am below them, very near the ground, they don't notice my stare. Once they are past me I watch the girl's back. I wonder if she knows that I think her boyfriend is attractive. Maybe they are in a rough patch and he is too doting and she is beginning to question her attraction to him. Maybe if she knew that I thought he was attractive it would rekindle something between them. She would remember what it was that drew her to him in the first place. I consider what it would be like to tell her I am attracted to her boyfriend. I can't think of any way to word it without expecting her to get defensive or jealous. It would be too awkward also. But what if I ran up to them, right then, startling the cat and setting him off in the other direction where he would dart through a small, makeshift hole in a fence, and tapped the girlfriend on the shoulder? "Excuse me." I'd say, looking at only her, obviously afraid to make eye contact with the beautiful boy seconds before I'm to admit to my attraction. "Your boyfriend is very handsome. I just thought you should know." Then I would immediately run away, searching for the hole through which the cat just effortlessly jumped through, so that I may too quickly disappear into the dark.

I look up the street towards the couple. They round a corner, now arm-in-arm, and all that's left for me to look at is the long sharp corner of a tall gray apartment building."