I read Roxane Gay's Where I Write at the Rumpus. Fucking fabulous.
I am easing slowly back into my writing routine, adjusting to summer and being away from the constant writing-related stimulation of my life in Pittsburgh. I've been writing letters, too, and that's helped. It loosens me up.
I've been reading so much online that has caught my breath in my throat, given me visions, made me shiver and sweat and squirm in my skin. There is such immense talent floating around, and it makes me so glad.
I keep forgetting how old I am until people remind me that I'm turning 21 this summer. It's such a big thing to them, but for me everything's felt a little fuzzy since 18, like it doesn't really matter any more. I focused on my age a lot when I was a teenager because most of my friends were older than me, so they always got to milestones first. Being twenty doesn't have the same significance to me that being sixteen or seventeen did.