In a clear sign that I'm bored to shit today (waiting for the draft in the Lesbian Shitasses League is a drag, man), I have become totally obsessed with a random email I came across.
Since were already discussing NyCyclist's budding friendship with Ms. Dunham, I thought I would share this with you guise. This is from Miranda July's We Think Alone project which allows participants to get random samples from celebrity/artist emails.
I signed up awhile ago and it's been kind of interesting. I was expecting a lot of emails from Kirsten Dunst about how much she loves Cat Neckties, so naturally I'm shocked to discover how few of the exchanges are actually about this. Just shows how out of touch Hollywood is with the common man.
Anyhoo, this one came today and it caught my eye.
————— Forwarded message —————
From: Lena Dunham
Date: May 12th, 2013
I'm a big fan of your work and the book. I am so grateful L sent it to me. It's a truly meaningful work that young feminists should have the chance to engage with.
But after a few lovely exchanges, L wrote me a series of very upsetting, paranoid and accusatory emails. I was saddened that our interaction became so bitter suddenly and without warning. She questioned my interest in, and understanding of, the book and my relationship to feminism as a whole. I'd love to meet you but I am not comfortable engaging with L in any way. It was just too disorienting and mean. Sorry to write that in an email, but I guess modern times require us too!
How sad is it that my first reaction was OH GURL THIS SOUNDS LIKE DRAMA! LENA DUNHAM HAS SOME DRAMA UP IN HER EMAILS. GET THE POPCORN.
But after a few lovely exchanges, L wrote me a series of very upsetting, paranoid and accusatory emails.
Oh my gawd. I want to read all of these emails. How fucking awesome must these be, right?
She questioned my interest in, and understanding of, the book and my relationship to feminism as a whole.
PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME MORE. I MUST KNOW HOW ALL OF THIS TRANSPIRED.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I am almost 40 years old. I have a whole, nice long day off from work. I could be working on something meaningful. I could be reading a good book. I could be
curing cancer drinking.
But no, I am sitting here reading this damn thing like a 12-year-old girl, constantly going WHO? WHO IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?
I have googled. I have yahooed. I have *shudder* binged. I am no closer to finding out who the writer she is emailing is. Or who the person she is referring to as "L" could possibly be. Is it another writer? A fan? An up-an-coming actress? Jane Fonda? Hilary Clinton? Ruth Buzzi? I MUST KNOW.
Will I ever find the satisfaction of knowing who she's discussing in these emails? Or will the quest to find out eventually supersede any actual value in the answer? Will I drive myself insane, like the man in "The Golden Egg" and slowly let this madness take me over and kill me, rather than surrender to the notion that I would be better off letting go and moving on with my life.
Can I ever even have a life again?