I visited the Denver Zine Library a little over a year ago, and have put off writing this post for 379 whole days. Not because of the my experiences at the library or in Denver, or anything like that, but simply because of the old zinester’s excuse: life got in the way, and as usual, there were delays, and I’m sorry this post is late.
I’m sitting in my work cube right now, trying to write thru pain. Two days ago, I crashed my bicycle and ended up with scraped palms, a busted knee, a blackened-and-bloodied chin, a left elbow that no longer bends, and a bouquet of bruises on my thighs. My shoulders feel fucking heavy. My face feels greasy and the scabs on my chin are itchy and distracting. I’m having a hard time concentrating on work, but I do feel the motivation to finally finish this blog. (Is that why most of my zines are about sad girl things, because pain—both physical and emotional—seems to motivate me to write?)
The Denver Zine Library was everything I