Caitlin Raftery speaks with Caitlin Raftery
A Bridge Conversation

I’m sitting in a chair facing myself. These are nice chairs, velvet. I keep thinking about the sound of my hand running across the velvet. I’m looking into my pale eyes trying to figure out the difference between me and me. I know that I like to engage myself intellectually, I like to paint, I like to make something out of nothing.

I’m going to be honest with you, today is a good day because someone retweeted me on twitter. I am checking it right now while I sit in this velvet red chair and a coffee table that’s too far away to put my feet up on. I wish I could be watching Vampire Diaries. I wish I could be on my mom’s couch taking a nap with Family Guy playing in the background. I wish I could be at the midnight showing of a 3D movie, preferably one about piranhas. I am looking at her, me, Caitlin with the serious stare who is serious about serious shit. I’m going to draw a picture of her with poop coming out of her eyes and mouth. During one of my classes last week I just drew pictures of feces in various situations, each time trying to shock myself with the things I was creating. I’m annoying.


I should say something. I should say something. I should say something. I should say something but what should I say to myself? I don’t dislike her in the slightest. I like her a lot. I admire her. I am proud of her as much as I am proud of myself. I’m just going to do it before I have to think twice.

Hi.

Sup, baby?

Why do you dumb yourself down?

Is this about my Most Popular Eighth Grader blog?

No, it’s about some of the things you surround yourself with. Dumb things. Like, didn’t it hurt you when we were in the car on our way to Skidmore with our improv team, Jessica,

Yeah, I remember the name of our improv group that WE STARTED.

I know but in case other people don’t--we were on our way to the National College Comedy Festival and you put in your mix CD that you made

I hate talking about music, I don’t want to talk about it, I hate music. Fuckmusic.

You don’t hate music. Music is this cathartic experience and we’re afraid of the loaded aspects of sharing your tastes because it puts us in this vulnerable place. I felt like crying when Neale stopped the CD after four songs and said, “No offense, Caitlin, but you listen to shit music”. I wanted to cry.

I mean, in my defense, it was mostly top 40. I can’t expect everyone to love Miley Cyrus’s, “Party in the USA”.

Why do you like corporate music? I mean, it’s like, soulless commercial crap. It’s in-genuine and generally sad when you think about it. You’re contributing to the downfall of creativity.

It’s fun. It makes me want to dance. If I’m singing, “noddin my head like yeah, movin my hips like yeah,” with my best friends in the car, crying laughtears, how is that a bad thing? How can you say one happiness shouldn’t exist because it comes from a place of--whatever you said.

She’s such an escapist, does whatever it takes to get her head out of her head. I can’t help but constantly doubt that what I’m saying or doing or feeling is right.

I got an email. Skim. Boring. Delete. If I’m always touching my iPhone in some way, then I feel better. Like Linus and his blanky.

Boo!

Ah.

She’s afraid of me.

I’m not afraid of her, I was just scared because I was thinking about something else that was scary at the precise moment she jumped out at me.

I’m afraid of her.