Alanna: So, as I was listening to your message, I dropped a charm with no chain into—you know how every girl has that big bag of shit where every pocket is full of random ass stuff? Well, it fell into that bag. So, I’m rooting through, listening to you, and then, right as you said you got your orgasm back, I found the charm!
Anyway . . . .
Glad you got your girl back. Bummer when she goes. Did you use porn? Not ideal or pretty. Sometimes it helps. I feel like you told me that before, about needing to picture someone you didn’t actually desire to get off—it was Professor Gibbons! Throwback. That strange little music man. But you know, you genuinely loved whenever he said “modulate.” I will never forget the look on your face when he told us that in Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” there’s a “truck driver modulation.” Anyway, I wonder—maybe there’s a part of you that’s anxious about being really vulnerable—the way we are when we’re having sex or orgasming—with people that you are attracted to. So instead—even on your own—you’re more comfortable being vulnerable with the idea of someone you don’t care about. Yep, that’s my know-nothing, psychology school of Alanna opinion.
Pandemic life in New York is . . . yeah, exactly that. I feel bad complaining because it’s nowhere near as strict as Ireland. Which is probably why the death rate here is crazy high. But, if we had Ireland’s level of restrictions, I probably would have killed Phil by now. I’m kind of picking fights with him, and then, just being in a bad mood. It’s weird, he’ll be like, Are you happy? You just seem really unhappy. And I’m so quick to be like, no, no I’m totally happy, even if it’s not fully true. Not because of him or our relationship . . . I think I’ve just been extra moody lately. This week it really has come in waves. Sounds like you’re kind of struggling with that as well.
Anyway, my love. I’ll stop complaining. But I hope you’re sleeping well on the other side of the pond.
Zoe: Hello, from the other side! God, I know you love Adele, but jaysus I can’t stand her.
I’m sorry to hear about the frustrations with Phil. Go easy on yourself though please, everyone is struggling right now. I wonder how much of my funk is hormonal. I don’t like to attribute too much to hormones because then I feel like I’m just their subject, like one of those weird deep sea creatures, siphonophores, don’t really know how you say that word, but they’re these creatures like jellyfish that are really organism colonies. In this case, the hormones are the creature and I am the drifting, gas-filled sack. Anyway I’ve just woken up. And it’s still lockdown. And I’m still alone in my house. Maybe today I’ll get some words on the page.
Yesterday evening, my lockdown brain snagged on this thought: What if the great heartbreak of my life is that I’m never heartbroken? Like, I never love someone enough to feel that. The great relationship of my twenties or even that huge, first teenage love. That didn’t happen for me. I think the closest thing I’ve felt to big love was with Paul, but we never got a real shot. It’s hard when you’re friends. We had all these . . . big professions of feelings, you know, but there was always something—one of us was going traveling, he had a girlfriend. And for a while there, I was really interested in radical self-sufficiency. I don’t know, I was reading a lot of Rebecca Solnit. Oh well. Did I ever stop needing my friends? Needing you? And how can I know I’ve chosen whole independence if I’ve never properly lived the alternative?
I won’t say it’s a question of what’s wrong with me, but I do wonder what’s different about me that’s led to this difference? All I can conclude is a fear—a guardedness. That vulnerability inability that you nailed so quickly. For me, so subconscious I’m not even aware of it. But an ocean away, and you can see me better than I can.
I never thought of myself as a person who is afraid. But maybe I am afraid of men, in a way. Did you ever see me like that?
And how do I confront a fear if I can’t articulate its reason?
Zoe: PS—Thank you for weathering my monologuing. When I talk about feeling lonely, I feel so narcissistic. I don’t know if we have a neutral way to talk about loneliness? You mention it and it’s as if people are afraid they’ll catch it, like it’s more contagious than feckin’ COVID! It’s mad looking at the US—it’s like they don’t think people can die from this thing!
Sorry, last thing, but, do you know there are people out there who consider it a conspiracy that Taylor Swift might be gay? Or bi? Whatever. The group who thinks she is gay call themselves Gaylors, and do you know what the anti-conspiracist conspirators call themselves? Hetlors. Like Hitler but hetero.
Alanna: Oh my god, I cackled at the Gaylors thing. I mean, I assume Taylor is . . . whatever sexual, and my Jewish ass is certainly never going to be with the Hetlors.
And I don’t think your messages are narcissistic. They are—they’re answers to the perennial question: What are you going through? So, I love hearing your monologues, as you call them, and I always want to hear them. [LAUGHS]
To your fear question, I never perceived you as being, like, afraid to be in a relationship. Maybe you’ve been hesitant because you lead a very independent life and you enjoy things like reading and writing, which require isolation and being alone for stretches of time. Like, you’ve said you want a meaningful relationship but I guess you’ve never pursued it heavily. I’ve put a lot of effort into it. Like even in periods when I shouldn’t have been putting any effort into it. I think that’s the only reason relationships have been a bigger part of my life. Weirdly, though, I think I am afraid of men. There are very few people who I’ve crossed a certain level of intimacy with. Sexual intimacy I can usually do pretty well. It’s the truly opening up on all the levels.
Anyway, I’m running out the door so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon! Love you!
Alanna: Oh, really quickly. I was thinking yesterday, I wish we could be, like, solitude camels? You know, like store up all the contentment of doing your thing in your alone time and then when your life is crazed by whatever, you could just draw a little of that feeling out. Maybe I wish we could do that with lots of emotions. Joy, happiness. But isn’t that what I get from talking to you?
The solitude one feels different, though. Because even though I’d like to bottle it, in a lockdown situation, solitude is scary. Anyway, just a dumb thought. Talk to you soon!
Zoe: Hallo! So, I’m off to the café for a takeaway coffee, the fucking social highlight of my days. The baristas here are my new best pals. They’re so much cooler than I was in my twenties. I was listening to them chatting the other day and one girl says, Wait, you are queer, aren’t you? And the other was like, Yeah. It struck me because . . . it was so casual, in a small city in the west of Catholic Ireland, it was totally expected. And, well, there are these looks sometimes between me and one of the baristas and I know if she was a man I’d think it was a “moment.”
It’s probably the time we’re in. She’s making more of an effort to connect with customers from behind a mask and I’m just that fucking lonely. I just read this great essay by Elif Batuman—she wrote The Idiot, which I loved, which was a very autobiographical novel about a loooong fruitless crush on a guy. But the essay was about finding love later in life—she’s in her forties now, and with a woman. She talks about how she’d been asking herself questions for years about the discomfort she felt when she was trying to love or be with men—even the kinds of noises she made during sex. And when she started dating a woman, all that “normal” behaviour felt fake and weird and unnecessary. A story like that makes me wonder about myself. But I feel I would know. And yes, conditioning, learned expressions of the “right” feelings. But, for instance—and no offence—I’ve never wanted to sleep with you and we’re as close as can be. Like, what if this is like saying, I’m so single and lonely, I must be gay. That’s fucked. I know it’s a spectrum, so I guess we’re all on it, but. I don’t know.
Anyway. Oh, I meant to say. Thanks for reassuring me about the fear thing the other day. And it’s interesting—I never would have perceived that you have trouble opening up on deeper levels. Or feel that you do.
Alanna: Hey. Oh wait. Oh shit. Sorry, hold on.
I am so sorry, my phone was connected to my headphones and the mic on those sucks. Anyway. Uh, no offence taken about never wanting to sleep with me. The feeling is mutual. But I also don’t think I’m your litmus test for your sexuality. I’m just one person, girl, so I’m very curious about these “moments” you’re having with the girl at the café. You know, I’ve had a number of really close female friendships that were short-lived but intense and I had this, like, reverence for them. Now I look back and I’m like, oh, maybe that was a crush. Actually, now that I’m saying this out loud, there’s this one girl from that kayaking trip I took the year after I had cancer. I was immediately drawn to her and immediately thought, oh, if I was into girls, I’d be into this girl. I saw her last time I was in LA. I thought, she’s really pretty and we just have this fun vibe, it feels like flirting. Maybe it is, I don’t know, but we rarely get to see each other, and she has a fiancé so it’s not a thing. But it was nice to get these slight butterflies that were—I don’t know, when was the last time I got butterflies around a guy? But I think I’m very comfortable flirting with men because that’s what I’m used to.
Um, have you watched “I May Destroy You?” It’s amazing. Fucking obsessed with Michaela Cole. It’s about assault, and men, and sex, but really, it’s about everything. Me and Phil watched like four episodes last night. Unfortunately, we also got into a huge argument afterwards. I don’t know, I was just kind of . . . off after the content of the show and when he said why, I said I was just really moved by the show and then he got all quiet and was obviously annoyed, so I was like, are you okay? And he was like, how could you ever think I would do something like that to you? And I said, I don’t think you’d ever try to hurt me, it’s just a thought-provoking show. And then of course it devolves into yelling. Except, normally I keep my cool, but this time I was the one yelling, yelling, this is fucking dumb. After a while he goes, why are you even with me? And I always hate it when he says that because I think it shows low self-esteem on his end . . . and because I’m not fully confident in my answer to that question. Which I know is a problem. Plus, he’s picking up on it. But I just want to be like, please don’t do this. And it will be fine. So, we are fine now, but it was a whole thing.
Zoe: So, if I sound like I’m rushing, I am because, even though I had loads of time this morning, I am running late to work. Not that anyone will know. I’m late to package a bunch of online orders alone in a shop for minimum wage.
Em, “I May Destroy You” sounds brilliant, I’ll have to watch. I never understand why guys don’t internalize those stories more. Like do they never feel afraid watching them? Not fearful like a woman, but afraid of what can be inside even quote unquote good men? And I’m sorry you became the screaming person—which, I only mean I know you’ll be hard on yourself. Don’t be. If I were you, I’d be at my limit. So, I . . . I’m glad the two of you are fine.
D’ya know what—it’s actually possible I induced this rush, because it feels good, or like life, to be rushing.
Oh! Guess who I ran into on my walk the other day? Paul. I’d seen on social he was back in Ireland but I hadn’t reached out. We ended up chatting for ages, just sitting by the canal with our coffees! He told me he’d had a mental breakdown on a Monday and he was back in Ireland on a Thursday. And right before everything locked down—lucky. He’s in therapy and considering SSRIs—they don’t prescribe as easily here. But as candid as he was, he didn’t mention his relationship, or rather, the breakup that I guess happened. I didn’t push it but—
As you know, in the past, there’s always been this charge between us. This time, things felt mellow but there was a lot of recognition and, I don’t know, a gentleness that was palpable. The problem for me is, he’s the ultimate meeting point of fantasy and reality. Since college, one of us has always had feelings when it’s not right for the other—he’s professed, I’ve professed—but regardless, we’ve never dated, so everything we’ve felt has been both imagined and confirmed.
I was so proud of myself for not pining—I’d shed the old feelings. I was expecting to hear he was engaged and be happy for him. So this is like . . . I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Maybe it’s the strange pause the world is in, but this feels like an opening. A chance. Our chance.
I feel very calm. Even when I was with him. At the same time, he’s back in my head like a little kernel, and my head is like, what if what if what if.
God. Me talking to you about Paul confusion. This is feeling 22.
Zoe: Sorry, one more thing. I just read House of Mirth. A classic I’ve been meaning to get to for ages. Alanna, read it. It’s not happy, but. It’s tragic without being apologetic or moralising. It’s about a young woman who won’t settle and it’s about longing and it’s about perceptions of culture and it’s about money—which we don’t talk about enough. It’s insane how relevant it all still is.
Alanna: Hello, Zo. So nice to listen to your sweet voice. And I can listen to it whenever I want. And I love that I can hear seagulls in the background and imagine I’m in Galway with you.
I just got in, it’s so hot, I’m exhausted and just lying on the couch unable to move. But I can move my mouth. [LAUGHS] It’s funny, a year ago if I was tired like this I would have been so afraid the cancer was coming back. Today, I’m like, no it’s just 90 fucking degrees in New York City. That’s growth, right?
Um, that’s very exciting to hear about Paul. We haven’t stayed in touch. Honestly, we were never close. That drunken make out was a total accident that I still feel bad about. You were our connection. Interesting about his breakdown. Um, how do you feel about that? Wait, do you know he’s had a breakup? Cause it’s a bit of a red flag to me that he didn’t mention it at all. But I don’t mean to be a downer. I love that this . . . this could be it. You guys might finally get your shot.
Break down. Breakup. I guess breakups are the uplifting breakages?
I love listening to your messages. They make me happy.
So I have this medical bill for an oestradiol test that I really don’t want to pay for because I don’t think I should have to, but the thought of putting in the effort to get my insurance to cover it is so daunting. I know you probably don’t have this problem in Ireland, which makes me really jealous. Like, the test is only covered if you got it because you previously had low oestradiol. But how would you know if you have low oestradiol unless you have the test?
Um, what else, what else? I got into this big fight with Phil last night over the stupidest thing. We’re waiting for “Lovecraft” to become available, so we put on this cooking show where Selena Gomez makes a dish with some celebrity chef and Phil starts ripping into Selena Gomez, like, why did they choose her for this, blah blah blah, and I was like, why does he have such strong opinions about Selena fucking Gomez? Who cares? So I said, maybe we can be a little bit less negative tonight.
And then he shuts down, and I can tell he’s annoyed, and finally I’m like, what’s wrong? And he just gets going, he’s like, you want to change me, and I just kind of said, do we really need to have an argument about this? But it becomes this huge thing about ex-girlfriends and co-workers who said he had too many opinions or he was too negative. I kinda said, all these people from all your different walks of life have told you this, has it not occurred to you that maybe there’s some truth to it? And he’s like, I would expect you to see me for who I really am.
Which I get, but, I ended up saying, if you show me something, you can’t get mad that I’m not seeing something other than the thing you’re showing me. I think I said it like that. And he was just like, I’m gonna go. And he left. But on the way out he—we’ve never said “I love you,” which I always thought was kind of telling because, eight months. But he goes, I fucking love you and it’s maddening. And he just walks out.
Saying it like that. I don’t know if the word is . . . manipulative? I guess I appreciate him telling me the extent of his feelings . . . .
“A-pree-SEE-ate.” I get that from you.
We’re supposed to go to the mountains for a few days the week after next and honestly I don’t know if we’ll make it. If we’d been dating during normal times, I’m not sure I would have stayed in this thing.
I’m sorry I’ve been talking for so long and done a woefully inadequate job responding to anything in your message. But I love you and talk to you soon.
Zoe: Good morning, Alannalove! Love to wake up to your voice.
But I am so sorry about fucking Phil. When you were wondering what the word was, I was thinking, manipulative, manipulative, and then you said “manipulative.” That he would say I love you for the first time in . . . anger. Using that like some sort of trump card. A terrible, “gotcha.” Is that even really saying, I love you? I don’t know, I’m so sorry.
The other day, I was reading about dialects for this other thing, and naturally ended up down a linguistics rabbit hole. But apparently, any language that comes from the proto or “mother” language is called a daughter language, and the related daughters are called “sisters.” Very appropriate that the terms are feminine.
But anyway, there are tons of dialectical breakdowns based on inflection, accent, vocabulary, and phrasing blends and stuff. I was thinking, maybe on a micro, micro, micro level, based on your individual experiences and the people you encounter, the phrases and inflections you assimilate, maybe everyone is technically speaking their own dialect. Like, you and Phil could literally be speaking a different dialect, and I guess a relationship should build a dialect. Not sure that’s really going to make you feel better. Sorry. If nothing else, maybe some arguing is necessary emotional stimulation? Like, a resistance that forces us to interrogate our feelings? I feel like, we look for creative or intellectual stimulation from our partners. Maybe arguing is part of how we get the emotional? Although, in other relationships, with you, I never feel the need to fight to dissect something . . . .
Ooh—can you hear your seagulls? My window is open. Since lockdown they are feral. Ballistic, attacking all the trash! Don’t know if I told you, but I went rollerblading in a car park that closed during lockdown. I was up on the top deck, it’s open air, and when I got up there, it was covered in seagull shit. It was like, you know in “The Lion King” when the cubs go into the hyena den and it’s full of the detritus of hyena depravity—it was like that. There were bones and feathers and big bird shits and it was like I’d found the seagull lair up high in this airy space with a beautiful harbour view. They’d taken over like, and I could tell—as you would say—they were pissed that I was trespassing. There was this one guy who just stood there and gave me that [LAUGHING] bird side-eye, which I guess birds are always giving you because their eyes are on the side of their head. Sorry. Sorry. I don’t know why I find that so funny. [COUGHING] Jaysus, might need a COVID test. Or this is just the manic laughter of someone who spends too much time alone.
Less time recently, though! I’ve been seeing a good bit of Paul. Funny you mention a trip —I was thinking of suggesting we do one. It probably seems a little out there but we’ve known each other for so long, and they’ve finally lifted the 5K restriction, and COVID changes the dating norms. If that’s what we’re doing. I don’t even know. I would’ve told you if we’d kissed, we haven’t. I think we know what we feel, could feel, for each other. But it’s growing from such an old feeling that it’s taking time to find new form. I feel like being in a neutral place might help. This town has too many memories from college days. And nights. Nights we’re all happy to forget.
I better get up. I had one of those scary wakings. Do you remember, in college, I used to wake gasping, like I was waking because I’d stopped breathing. I thought it was sleep apnea but it seemed to go away, then, so I never did anything about it. Hasn’t happened in ages.
But seriously, fuck Phil. I love you and it’s glorious.
Alanna: Okay, wow, I had no memory of the dance scene in “A Knight’s Tale” until you sent me that clip, but you’re right, Heath is unbelievably captivating and charismatic and it will never not be heartbreaking what happened to him.
And as a dance scene, that one has all the goods—how do all these people, medieval people, know the same fake dance to David Bowie’s “Golden Years”? Amazing. It sent me down this rabbit hole of great, unexpected dance scenes in movies. They might be my favourite kind of scene. Like, “Ex Machina”? Or “Beetlejuice”? Honestly, if I was a writer, I’d put a dance scene in every piece I wrote, like a little signature. You can take that hot tip. I expect to see my name in your acknowledgements.
Um, I also went down the rabbit hole of dance movies in general. Oh my god, “Center Stage”? Cooper Nielsen? Best fake name ever. I remember you hated “The Last Dance” because it is bad dancing and completely unrealistic, but I love it. And I was cackling remembering your impression of Julia Stiles in her audition in Save the Last Dance. Her mean-mugging is truly preposterous. And yes, it’s another bad movie about breakdancing by white people.
She’s great in “10 Things I Hate About You,” though. Another Heath movie. That movie is probably the best of like, contemporary movies based on classic literature—isn’t it Taming of the Shrew? I mean, “Bridget Jones” and “Pride and Predj,” they’re up there, but.
Anyway, plenty of time to watch all these since I did the thing! I haven’t heard from Phil since I called you. I guess I thought I would, but whatever. Thanks again for talking me down that night. It must have been, what, 3 a.m. in Ireland? You’re a saint.
Unrelated, I’m reading this great book, Lost Children Archive. It’s a novel by Valeria Luiselli who I remember you talking about when we were in Mexico. I think you’d like this, if you haven’t read it already. It talks a lot about how, with archiving, you’re making a version of the experience that is a sequence of the interruptions—the photos, the recordings, the notes. You recreate the moment by saving the things that took you out of it. I just read this one line that’s hitting a little too close to COVID life. Let me see if I can find it. Yeah: “And without future, time feels like only an accumulation.” Oof, right?
Alright my Zig-Zag-Zo. Oh! I loved your sign off the other day! That should be our new thing. I love you and it’s . . . enlivening! Is that a word? Who cares. You’ll know what I mean.
Alanna: Oh also, let me know if you and Paul are making your getaway, please! AlrightIloveyougoodbye.
Zoe: M’Lady Lanna! How did you forget your own favorite movie, “She’s the Man,” and that it’s based on Twelfth Night? That must be your winner for retellings!
[COUGHING]
Sorry. I have to be honest, I haven’t heard you sounding so lively in . . . ages!
[COUGHING]
God, I swear I took three tests and negative. Good thing, too, because I’m delighted to report Paul and I are taking off this weekend! To Ballykineely for two nights. An Airbnb and some surfing. Very chill. And needed. I finally asked directly, but he still hasn’t talked about the breakup yet. He managed this kind of verbal sleight-of-hand where suddenly we weren’t talking about her anymore. [COUGH] I am en route to the shop, the gro sto as you would say, for your favorite thing: road snacks.
God, it’s strange seeing so many people out. The restrictions are up, I guess life is really coming back. I’m walking down the street and talking to my phone in a way that doesn’t quite look like I’m on a phone call so I’m feeling a bit self-conscious so I’ll jump off, but I want to tell you the sweetest thing my sister said the other day. We were griping about singledom and she said, Sometimes I think we’re lucky. We still have the chance to meet someone who makes us really happy. We still have falling in love ahead of us. I almost cried.
Soooooo, I love you and it’s . . . serenity!
Alanna: Zoooo. Sorry it took me a while to get back to you but I’m DYING to hear how the trip went! Don’t keep me in the dark.
I’m pleased to find that I’m still feeling good! I know it’s only been, what, 10 days? And I did start Lexapro, but I doubt that’s already kicking in. Did I tell you about that by the way? Yeah, Rachel and Hannah are on it, too, and they love it.
I am on my way to, yes, the gro sto. I’m going to make collards tonight. I also need to get—you know what, I was just about to tell you and I realized who in their right mind cares about someone else’s grocery list? Probably no one.
I’ve kinda been thinking about that, though, this idea of shared banality versus intimacy. It feels related to that thing you said about arguing and emotional stimulation—I think arguing can be mistaken for passion. I really don’t want to believe that whole thing of being drawn to what we know from childhood even if it comes from a totally uncomfortable situation. But growing up there was a lot of shouting between my mom and her boyfriends and my relationships have all featured like, big arguing. I hate to think relationships are just inherited convictions.
Oh god! Thank you, by the way, for reminding me of my own favorite movie. Or one of them—I found out last night I am still a sucker for “When Harry Met Sally.” That line: “When you meet the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” I bawled.
Anyway. I love you and it’s . . . illuminating! Update me please!
Alanna: Hey, again, sorry, but while I was in the grocery store, I heard these two women talking—I couldn’t quite figure out their relationship, it didn’t seem mother-daughter, but there was an age difference. The younger one was breastfeeding and the older one was saying how everybody needs at least one person that they know really loves them unconditionally, and that’s their tether to the world. I thought that was a good way to put it because, never mind hard moments, I can be standing in a beautiful moment or somewhere spectacular, and it’s like my mind detaches me from the world or somehow diffuses me into it . . . into the ether. Not in a good way. But with a tether, if a tether is tied to you, you’re something solid that can be pulled back.
And lately, bizarrely, I’ve been so worried by the idea of my mom dying—she’s in perfectly good health. So I’m thinking maybe part of my worry is that I don’t have, you know, a spouse, I don’t have children. And I love my sister, but . . . she has Ted, the girls . . . .
So, I guess I’m saying that outside of my mom, I feel like you’re my tether. And I hope you feel that way, too, but even if you don’t, thank you for being mine.
Yeah, so, I hope you’re having fun with Paul, and talk to you soon.
Alanna: Just to say, in case what I said before left you feeling an immense amount of pressure, um, yeah, Hannah is also like a tether-style friend too. Um, but, just, yeah. I realize that’s probably a lot for me to say to you, so. Anyway, still dying to hear about the trip. I hope it all went well. And, I will talk to you soon. Okay, love you, bye!
Alanna: Hi. Hey. This is so fucked up and stupid, I know. I don’t know when they deactivate your number. Like how . . . I have no idea how any of that works. Fuck, this is weird, this is weird.
Alanna: I don’t know why I’m doing this. I don’t want to pretend I’m talking to you, Zoe. Acting like a crazy person who thinks they’ll get something back. The dumb thing is, if you were there, you’d help me figure out the fucked-up reason I’m doing this, but if you were there, I wouldn’t be sending this message at all.
I don’t know if I miss you yet. You weren’t there when I left a bunch of dumb messages about a bunch of stupid shit but I didn’t know that. And now I’m just leaving you another dumb message, so do I suddenly miss you? Just knowing?
I love you. I love you so much. I love you and it’s . . . in a way that I will never be able to say. I tried to. But I know it’s exactly the way you love me. Loved. The way you loved me. The way I loved you.