I HAVE TO WRITE A WHOLE NOVEL. I CAN'T EVEN WRITE A BLOG POST RIGHT NOW. HOW AM I TO WRITE A WHOLE NOVEL?

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How to Say the Right Thing:

by Addy

1. Don't state any facts. Don't say, "This is bad weather," even if it is. Don't say, "That shirt is ugly," even if it is. Don't say, "I'm smarter than you," even if that is a real-life fact. Don't mention that it is still dark and you are already finished with one class, but you don't remember it because you were so tired, even though that ought to be completely understandable because it is still dark outside, even if that's a fact. No one cares about facts that much usually, because they can already see them.


2. Don't verbalize your feelings. Don't shout "I'm so obsessed with you," because that will overwhelm people. Don't shout "I hate you," because it makes people hate you back. Don't say "I don't know how to be all of the things I am supposed to be," because then people feel choked by your feelings and they're like, "Uh."


3. Don't mumble. Also don't say things like, "Meh," or "Ag," instead of real words. And maybe refrain from meowing very much.


4. Don't make an inside joke (e.g. pointing at the ground, or "Totes obv awk," or "I HAVE KIDNEY STONES") because it makes anyone else who is not a part of that joke feel left out and when you've made someone feel left out you probably said the wrong thing.


5. Make the right facial expression for the situation. Furrow your brow when the conversation is about death, blood, break-ups, or math; smile when the conversation is about books, neighborhood boys, sweaters, or Matt Davis. And cats. Smile about cats.


6. Speak loudly and clearly.


7. Look at their eyes.


8. Don't mention cats. Most people don't understand the cat life.


Or maybe just scrap all of that and say the wrong thing all the time, because saying the wrong thing makes you the friends that you actually want to have and and saying the wrong thing gets you the jobs you actually want to have and saying the wrong thing is what makes people laugh and because the saying the wrong thing is what makes people fall in love with you.


In childhood.
All my love,
Addy

I like your beanie and also your shoes and also a little bit you a lot you.

I bought sixteen little yogurts and six big yogurts and 2 four-packs of yogurt and the check-out guy was like, "Why you so obsessed with yogurt?" and I was like, "Why you so obsessed with me?"


Except for that didn't actually happen.


What he said was, "Have a nice day," and I said, "You as well."


"Why am I so hopeless?" I say. "Because you're sixteen," the universe tells me.
All my love,
Addy

Mince pies and what it's like to fall in love.

Read what's down there first, maybe. And watch it small (like, not full-screen) if you want so terribly to watch it on this page, but a better idea is to click here after you've read whatever I'm saying and watch it from the source (it's far better quality, for some reason) so then you can actually make it full screen and not have to squint a lot when you watch it.

I don't normally post things like this. And for good reason, I suppose. For me, this blog has always been about writing -- writing for my sake and for yours and for the sake of art. But this is what has been stealing my words lately, so I figured I’d give it to you.

This is another part of me and another art form and another something that I have put my soul into.

The video above is our ensemble scene from last weekend -- Titus Andronicus, condensed -- which we performed at the Shakespearean Festival. It became this huge deal and we ended up performing it twice and some strangers sent up balloons for us “for the sake of our art form” and it was absolutely crazy and fake life-y.

I know it’s terrifying and horrible and very, very scary (the judges also kept saying, “So sexy!!”), but don’t even get me started on our concepts here. I guess we just wanted people to realize that they really ought to react to what humanity is, and if they weren't going to see things within themselves we would shove it down their throats (no pun intended).

Half of us say nothing (e.g. me), but we have stuck our hearts and our souls in this piece. We sewed things and memorized every line and made the cuttings for the piece and painted things and did everyone’s makeup and stayed at high school for far longer than was asked of us, because this is what we believe in.

This is a part of us. This is who I am, and who we are, and who Ben is, and I wish that I had words for it. (That sounds kind of awful. We're not satan-worshipers or anything. Really.)

But I don’t. I don't have the words.

The sound quality isn’t great and the filming is done from the back of the Adam’s and you can’t hear the music and the video is blurryish, but that doesn’t really matter: What you’re really missing the way our hearts beat and the way we were all half-naked and all hypothermia and whatnot, but that it didn’t seem to matter for just .2 seconds, because look -- pay attention!! -- at what we’ve created. You're missing the things that I wish I could write here, but they just wouldn't even make sense.

Also, in case you were wondering, we absolutely swept the competition. The judges were obsessed with us, rival schools were obsessed with us, etc. Word of the "really intense, people-eating, circus scene" traveled like mad and people didn't believe we were a public school (we are). 

When they announced our first place ensemble scene, we all cried and half the auditorium stood up and gave us one last standing ovation. And the tears just kept coming as the awards just kept coming, which is so dumb, but it almost didn't matter if we won or not, after everything we'd done already, but I guess it felt nice to know that every one of our scenes and monologues and every person in Titus had just given their hearts and someone else had noticed and felt the need to mention it.

You might not understand. It sounds crazy, but it isn’t. I promise. (I’m about to go all cliché on you, sorry:) We’re actors. We’re the opposite of people.

Or maybe we’re the epitome of people.

Anyway.

All my love,

Addy

P.S. Can you even recognize me? Meow.

Should we be silent and not speak?

*I really honestly do not have words right now. All of this just stumbled from my fingers and I couldn't stop it. It's a bit of a mess, and I apologize, but also I don't apologize. 

Anyway.*

I don't have words anymore. I just have thoughts and ideas and things to say without thinking, but it only seems to come out as someone else's words. Or just comes out as my words, but they're dumb and awful and exhausting.

I'm not the person I was, and you are not the person you were, and my mom is not the person she was forty years ago today.

And I don't know what it's like to be dry-eyed anymore. I don't know what it's like to be free from my own head and free from my own chains. I know that I'm far from grown up, but I'm somewhere, aren't I? I know I still talk without thinking and procrastinate better than I prepare and care too much what everyone else thinks, but I'm something else, maybe.

And nothing seems to stay inside me anymore. I feel awful when my Complete Works gets handled more than my bible, but I sometimes think they're almost parallel and that's awful blasphemous for me to voice that thought, don't you think?

I wish I had the words for the way I would've looked had you dissected me one year ago.

I'm scared of the things we've let go of -- are you? I'm scared of the things we've grabbed hold of, but they're better things than the things we let go of -- obviously, because we let go of them -- but I'm still here standing naked, "taking guesses at the actual date and time."

I want to be bloody brilliant, like you are bloody brilliant, but I keep getting distracted, and I keep writing things even though they seem to turn out like this.

I'm running thin, but running so fast, and I just keep quoting Imogen and screaming to you, screaming "Here is my heart" and I'm terrified.

But you're here. You're here with me. And sometimes, you are so beautiful that it hurts. And I love you so much. That's the only thing that hasn't changed, yeah? Yeah, everybody? Yeah? 

You are good cats, everybody.

We're still just us. We talked like it was a foreign language -- because it almost was -- and then "best friends" wasn't a lie, and I guess that even though we lost pieces of us, we figured out a whole lot more and that's just crazy.

That's crazy.

I have Coriolanus in my head and Othello behind my eyes and Titus Andronicus at my fingertips, and I'm screaming the facts of Will in my sleep.

All my love,

Addy

Untitled

I just can't put my thoughts into words yet, do you know?

And I was like, "..."

We said we were growing down, and we liked ourselves better in cat sweaters. But all it really was was growing up. We realized what mattered and what didn't, don't you think so? We felt childish, but really we realized what we could handle and realized just how much that was. And we realized we didn't have to do things on our own.

It was the realization that we needed each other and that was fine to need someone, because we were children again, and children are allowed to need other people. But really, we were just growing up.

We stopped trying, I think. We stopped wishing so much and pretending to be someone who we were not. Even with keys of our own, we allowed ourselves to be a little bit younger, but also a little bit older.


They gave us so much growing space, but we didn't even notice all of this immense emptiness and crazy-cricket quiet. We just filled up the space and shed our skin and then all of a sudden we were these beautiful, fleshed-out individuals with drivers licenses and Friend-Boys and friends in general and music and youth -- a lot of youth and a lot of growing down, but growing up, also.


We stopped ourselves from overwhelming everyone and we did something right. I think we said something that changed someone or maybe we wrote something that inspired someone or maybe we sung on pitch. Because karma repaid us. Karma repaid us in pop art and telepathy and thrift stores -- but mostly it gave us each other.


Each other and growing down.


It wasn't about being mature and looking old anymore. It was about cat sweaters, but cat sweaters made us smile and our smiles gave us life and our life gave us maturity, but we were too excited about the sweaters that we didn't really even notice how old we'd gotten and how much of our growing space we had filled.


Maybe it's a paradox. Maybe we're a paradox.


We all teetered on the edge of adulthood, but we couldn't see the cliff through our mustaches and our rainbow cupcakes and photobooth pictures. 


I can't even really explain it to you correctly. 


We're children again, but our souls filled up this enormous space in which we were asked to grow and we didn't even see that whole thing going on until it was quiet and our voices were glowing yellow like the fire and our s'mores tasted like hope and also like the past, but a little bit like the future. 


"Now."
All my love,
Addy

Chappy birthday, Kait.

You are eighteen years old today, Kaitlyn (good thing the government reminded us, because we may've forgotten). I wish I had the words for you, for us, for the way you've been a part of me. But I don't. Not here, at least. So here's my DO and DO NOT lists for my too-young-to-be-an-adult-but-adult-nonetheless-CBF.


DO:
1. Do pierce your nose. Or maybe your belly button or maybe both. Just because you don't have to have parental permission to do either of those things anymore. Also maybe get married.
2. Do order things from informercials.
3. Do shout things like, "I'm an adult, gosh dang it!" just because that is a real thing.
4. Check yourself out of high school. You can do that now. In real life.


DO NOT:
1. Do not stop being my friend merely because you are an adult and I am a child.
2. Do not get into too much trouble because you are no longer a child and now, if you steal something or drive badly (Kaitlyn? A bad driver? What??), then you could get tossed into jail/prison and that would really put a kink in our road trip plans.
3. Do not kiss underage boys because you are now old enough to get sued for that -- yes, even if he gave his consent.
4. Do not actually change very much because I like you just how you are.


I get by with a little help from you, Kaitlyn. And I can't believe you are eighteen real-life years old. Today.


YOU HAVE CHRONIC MODEL FACE.
All my love,
Addy