Things

It's 12:01 a.m. and I should be in bed. Not just IN bed, but asleep. Not reading, but sleeping! I could have just curled up with a book (right now it's Run River by Joan Didion), but noooo. I felt the need to express myself.

I accomplished something on my list from the other week. I sorted through my jewelry! I got rid of a ton of stuff and filled an entire shoebox of things that I never wear and will soon send them off to my dear friend. These are not terrible things. They are things I used to love. Things my mother used to love. Thing I never wore. Things I forgot I had. Things I can't believe I ever bought in the first place. Things I got as gifts so I have an excuse for not liking them so I shouldn't feel bad about getting rid of them. Things I don't like. Things I don't need. Things, things, things. Now I've gotten to the point where I've repeated the word "things" to the point that it sounds weird and has lost its meaning. And I'm not just talking about jewelry now, am I?

I mean STUFF. Whew... For the most part, it's just that I don't have time for all of it... I don't have space for these things... these objects... materials.... I don't have physical, mental, or emotional space. There's only so many things one can be attached to, but how to choose? It's hard, so I don't choose. I cling. I have a difficult time letting go. I'm a hoarder! No I'm not, but I probably could be. I watched a show on animal hoarding tonight and, among other things, it made me want a bunch of tiny kittens and birds and puppies. That's NOT the point of the show. It made me think of my deceased pets and I got sad. Moving on...

When I was cleaning up my dresser and getting rid of stuff and forcing myself to throw away bobby pins rather than save them (but you always need them!) because they were mixed in with clothing tags and those little plastic things that clothing tags are attached with and dirt and other random bits of stuff, I thought of my childhood bedroom. It was always a mess, but it was my glorious mess. Much like my room today, except that I share it with a guy and he probably hates his life. Anyway, at one point in my childhood I decorated my window with CANDY WRAPPERS. This is not a joke. Someone gave me a pack of some sort of delicious, fruit-flavored, European hard candies that came in these magnificent little classic looking wrappers that made me feel like I was picnicking in the Italian countryside or sitting in some little Parisian cafe. So I saved the wrappers in a box and stumbled across them a few years later and finally one day, flattened them all out and taped them down the side of my window in "rainbow order" of course: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple. And that's where they stayed until I moved out of there at age 17.

I look on my bookshelf and see books that I have owned for years, books I never really had an interest in reading since I got them as gifts or secondhand, and then one day decided to pick up... and I loved them, so now of course I can't let them go. And still, there are books I have owned for years and I still have no interest in reading. It's just that I hope one day I will. And so I think I keep all of these things for hopeful reasons, thinking that one day this piece of clothing will suddenly come back into style or I will shrink down to fit into it again (they've both been known to happen), that this piece of jewelry I never wore will suddenly seem beautiful (it's also happened), and maybe one day I'll actually light that candle or put flowers in that vase or draw in that sketchbook or put that picture in a goddamn frame. More likely I won't. But the hope is there.

And until that hope dies, as it thankfully did for everything that sits in that shoebox this evening, I will be mired in things. In stuff. In materials. In confusion, mostly... But at least I will always have something to read. Or wear. Or give away... Which is probably the best hope for me at this point. Any takers?

Listless

I am not an organized person. I have a jumble of things in my head that need to get done and sometimes I do them, sometimes I don't, and the tasks just hover there in non-list form waiting desperately to be listified but forever resigned to their drifting, cloudlike existence. O, the agony!

But then she made a list. And so did she. So I thought, "I can do that! I make a list! I will make a list of things I need to accomplish! And then I will accomplish them! Because I made a list!" But I am a procastinator, and so the longer I go without making a list, the longer I go without completing the things on it. Damn.

Anyway, here goes...

1. Write on this blog more. Because I need a creative outlook. And besides, just look at it! I redesigned it and now it's pretty! So I should put words on it! Pretty words!

2. And in order for me to write more and not have my boyfriend tell me to stop getting lost in the blogosphere instead of cleaning and/or doing anything productive... I should clean my apartment very thoroughly. This is very necessary and only sort of got done this weekend... Oops.

3. Part of cleaning my apartment will be to FINALLY organize my clothing and jewelry. This will entail getting rid of a lot of stuff I don't wear and use. And I mean A LOT. This will be a huge endeavor and I'm not excited. But it's time to clean house. This will also entail getting a lot of clothing I've acquired over the years hemmed so that I actually wear them.

4. And in order to wear some of the pants I bought maybe two years ago, I should probably shed some pounds that I picked up because I got ridiculously lazy this summer after going to Ireland and eating nothing but meat and potatoes and then not doing a damn thing about it... Veggies!

5. Speaking of Ireland, I need to upload the something like 1,200 pictures I took while I was there. Too bad my dad has the camera and memory cards and this will not be as easy as I thought and it will also be a huge time suck.

6. And because my summer travels also sucked my savings account pretty dry, I need to get my finances in order. My economic life is in shambles! Sad face.

7. Also because I need to fix up my economic state, I need to finally be a grownup and get a credit card so I can have a credit score. This is now nonexistent. Sad. I am a failure at adulthood.

8. Speaking of getting a credit card, I should buy less stuff! I've actually been very good about this recently. I didn't even buy any shoes this summer! Oh wait, that is a lie, I bought a pair of gold flip flops from Housing Works to wear to a wedding and then realized they are uncomfortable and slippery and that I already had three pairs of gold sandals. Dammit. But they were $10! For charity! From Banana Republic! And in great shape! Still, no more buying crap, only quality things for good prices. Or better yet, just don't buy anything.

9. Speaking of charity, when I was rolling in tax-free, whiskey-induced dough, I started making monthly charitable contributions to a number of organizations, mostly those that help cute kitties and puppies and abused children. I realize now this is stupid and if I'm going to make a donation, I should just pick one charity and actually make a real difference. So I will consolidate these donations into one or two. Like the American Humane Assocation. They encompass EVERYTHING I believe. Down with child abuse! Down with animal abuse! Up with animal therapy! Up with scientific research on the human-animal connection in order to make positive policy change! For puppies! And kids! YES! Also now I'm poor. Sad face again...

10. And since I work for a nonprofit that I really like a lot, I should probably work my fucking ass off to be really awesome and be super duper professional and finally apply to graduate school for a Master's of Public Administration. Shazam!

There. That's my list.

Let's see if anything actually comes of it.

Lilacs

Three moons have waxed and waned since my last post. And after one more, I'll have celebrated my birthday. This is the first time I'm not terribly excited, but I guess that's a lie because I've been thinking about it for a week and wondering if/how I should celebrate.

There was an earthquake today. As I stood outside my office building in the midday sunshine wondering what would happen in a real emergency, I realized hundreds of thousands of others throughout the country were doing the exact same thing.

I was recently Ireland for two weeks. It was beautiful and wet. Hopefully I'll have pictures soon. I can't even begin to fathom the ancient history on that tiny little island.

I am exhausted but thought I should put some words on a page. Or on a screen. Or in a box. Or on a fox.

I have lilacs on my mind.

Sunday Bloody Sunday

I am writing, goddammit, it it's the last thing I do. Which it probably won't be, because the Rapture did not occur yesterday. Yippee!! Anyway, I just read through most of my blog posts from the last year. (The last fucking year!) And what have I done for the last four months? NOTHING. I mean... not actually nothing... I went to work... and to some other places... I saw people... sometimes I ate food... I did stuff... But as far as this stupid blog... NOTHING.

And today that is changing. I have been too long in an uncreative rut. I haven't been able to write. I haven't drawn a single doodle in the corner of a page. I've had dreams, yes I have, but no crazy otherworldly post-apocalyptic movie-like stuff that's worth even talking about. Just mundane topics like adopting a kitten... which is not happening in real life (but in dream world it's damn cute). And most frustratingly of all is that I CAN'T EVEN READ. No seriously, I haven't been able to pick up a book in weeks. What does reading have to do with creativity, you ask? A LOT. I have only been able to read nonfiction. UGH. I can only take so much fucking Harper's at a time. I can't even get into "The Crying of Lot 49" because apparently reading comedic memoirs by Tina Fey ruined me. Bitch. (Just kidding, Tina, you're magificent.)

Ok but seriously, I think the only reason I'm writing is because I'm on my fourth glass of wine and it's only 5:00 and I need some sort of creative outlet because my boyfriend is taking an MCAT practice test and I have to be quiet. And this was nice up until this moment, when I realized, "I don't want to watch 'Weeds' anymore and I don't want to clean my room!" Because I am a child like that. I've had a good day though. I did yoga. At 10:30 in the morning! ON A SUNDAY. That is a very serious accomplishment. And I bought bagels so I could make my favorite weekend treat, a toasted everything bagel with scallion cream cheese and tomato slices loaded with salt and pepper. DELICIOUS. Then the boyfriend and I watched one episode of "Mad Men" (depressing!) and then I had a little spa day with a Queen Helene mint julep face mask (retro!) and an olive oil manicure (refreshing!) and an experiment with hideous dark blue nail polish (depressing again!) that I'm too lazy to take off (surprise!) and think I should just pretend I like (dammit!). But then I decided to camp out on the couch and just WATCH TV BECAUSE I CAN so that brought me back to "Weeds" on Netflix and then I realized I had half a bottle of Sonoma wine left over and now HERE I AM.

Note how my punctuation and capitalization just goes buck wild.... None of that quiet contemplative philosophical bullshit to be found here, people! Hell no, let's not talk about books when we can ramble about NOTHING. And about how I have NOTHING to say. Ok that sounds depressing, and it's really not, I'm just, like I said before, in an uncreative rut. And getting words on a page feels good. It feels like breathing deeply into a yoga position, like this morning. It feels like taking a giant bite of a bagel laden with your favorite things in the world. It feels like taking a long, slow sip of wine and feeling it warm you through and through. It feels like looking out your window and seeing nothing but a glowing, opaque, gray sky and thinking, "I'm okay with the clouds, because I have nowhere to be, nothing to do, and I am perfectly content to stay inside and type, type, type away..."

Perhaps I'll resuscitate this stupid blog after all. I mean, hell, it's been four months. Seems like I ought to give it a shot, right? Well, here's the beginning. Cheers.

A Look Back... And Forward

A year ago, I wrote this post about my plans for the next few years. It's interesting to see how my priorities have changed and how differently things have ended up than I expected. In May, I went to the Virgin Islands with my cousins as planned and had an absolutely fantastic time. In June, I got a new job. In July, I did not go to Chicago, nor did Nick and I go on vacation in August. In fact, because of the new job and my lack of vacation time, the only places I've gone since then are home to Maryland for random weekends and for Thanksgiving and Christmas, and maybe once or twice in the fall to Nick's parents' house just north of the city. But I had a wonderful summer complete with wine tours and weddings, celebrated my birthday for pretty much the entire month of September, had some great times with new and old friends, and watched the leaves turn brown...

In November, I planned a huge event for work that made me crazy but made me drop 5 pounds and gave me a lot of confidence in myself and my career move. As a reward, I had a staycation with my mother in a fancy boutique hotel, and we went to museums and consumed loads of wine and coffee and great food and truly had the best weekend ever. Thanksgiving came and went somewhat quietly and helped me reconnect a bit with old friends.

Then the world somehow segued into winter... Snow fell and I got sick. I went home for a week over Christmas. This trip was wonderful and filled with family and friends. It made me realize how lucky I am to have such amazing people in my life, though by the end of the week I missed Nick desperately. I worked at the bar on New Year's Eve, which was tons of fun and helped my bank account exponentially. I did not achieve my savings goal for 2010, but it was a bit lofty anyway. I got farther than I expected and I am in no way destitute. I am still working hard, though, and buying less.

And now here I am a month into a new year, and I feel that I have been relegated to this wintry city for too long. I've been going through the motions of life, working, reading, drinking, eating, watching my weight go up, getting fed up with work, getting fed up with my career, getting fed up with who I've become and what I want to do and what I've forgotten I want to do.

But there is hope. I started babysitting again, which is good for my mental health and for my wallet. I've been researching graduate school extensively and I think I've finally figured it out. But I can't act on it yet since it's not time for applications and I have to be completely sure in the first place. I've decided to take that NYU class on the psychology of dreams that I've been looking into. And I'm going to a training session next month for the Brooklyn Public Library's "Reading Troubadour" program, in which volunteers go to public health clinics in the evenings to read to children, pass out free books, and talk to parents about the importance of reading. It seems like a good hands-on program that covers most of my interests--helping low-income populations, working with children, and improving literacy. We'll see where it takes me.

At this moment, though, I just need to go somewhere. I'm itching for travel. I'm itching for something different, even for a day or two. Getting out of the city for half a day the other weekend to go snow-tubing helped. But it just made me itch more. So I made a plan to visit my friend in Providence, where he is in a graduate program at Brown. I haven't visited him in the two years he's been there, and now that it's his last semester I'll head up there on one of my only upcoming three-day weekends, Presidents' Day. Realizing how pale I am now and how beautifully bronze I was last summer made me long for sun and sand, so I've made a vow to visit a very dear friend in Florida as soon as humanly possible, possibly March or April.

I recently got a message from another old friend that she'll be in NYC in early April, which makes me very happy. Then Easter will come and I can go home to see family, most notably my cousin who lives in the USVI and with whom I haven't celebrated a holiday in far too long. I'll also go home again in May to watch my sister for a few days while my parents are in France. I'd rather be in France, but they deserve to go. And then the summer will be here, and I can take the subway 20 minutes to the beach any time I want. Ahhh... In the meantime, I can look forward to a trip to Detroit for my cousin's wedding, a little vacation on Long Island for Nick's cousin's wedding, and a week in Ireland for my mother's birthday. Yes, there is hope.

As far as the long term, I'm pretty settled on getting my MSW and going on to be an LCSW. I would really like to do psychotherapy and counseling for children and families. I love working in nonprofits, but I realize I want to actually work with the people who need help, not just work for them. I am beginning to feel that my development work is shallow. It's not, but simply writing about about problems and pandering to rich folks and foundations to get funding just doesn't cut it for me anymore. I need to make a difference directly, and I need training and experience to do that.

One thing that has not changed in the last year is that I am still committed to an international volunteering trip, and I am seriously looking into a program. I may have to do that before I enter graduate school for a much-needed break. Nick and I are going to have to figure out where we want to apply to school, but if that ends up being NYC, I'll need a break in between working and studying. A few months to a year in a foreign country is probably the solution, which will give me the real hands-on experience that I've been craving. I do realize I'm probably just helping people to help myself. Well, aren't we all? I'm not a selfless person. No one is. Except for maybe Jesus or Mother Theresa. But at least in furthering my own experience and education, someone else will benefit, right?

Thinking about those people who really need help, I realize I truly have no reasons to complain. My life is actually pretty great and full of possibility. I'll stop writing now. And just keep living.

About A Boy

Last weekend, while chattering endlessly in a wine-induced frenzy of women, the subject of blogging came up. Specifically, blogging about one's significant other. The catalyst for this discussion was the discovery of a too-much-information-ridden blog of the soon-to-be-ex-girlfriend of a friend of a friend. Her blog is on the website of a popular women's magazine, meaning it can be accessed by many, many people. She posted many intimate details of her relationship, including how she believed they were not in fact meant to be and that they would most likely be breaking up. And she included numerous pictures of them as a couple. Actual pictures. At least she used a fake name for the boy, but still. Real pictures! But I digress.

It made me realize that I rarely post about my own boyfriend, but when I do, it's not ABOUT our relationship, it's just that he somehow factors into the topic at hand. And though I rarely mention his name, I don't feel the need to use a fake name for him, because I don't post intimate details. His name is Nick. But it doesn't matter that I divulged this information, because I don't post pictures of him and I don't complain about our relationship. I don't predict the end of our relationship for the world to read about and I certainly don't discuss any personal details that he would be uncomfortable with anyone else reading about (right, babe? Whatever, you don't even read my blog!). To me, that is the ultimate insult. It's not only my private life I'm posting about, it's OUR private life. And as we build a life together, the last thing I would dream about doing is blabbering all about it on crazily public space like the Internet. Even though our life is really nice, not everyone needs to know about it.

With that said, I do feel kind of guilty realizing how little I blog about my boyfriend. There have a been a few posts here and there, sure, but nothing that really gushes about what a sweet, darling, adorable boyfriend I have and how much I love and appreciate him. Because I do. I really do! Nick is awesome, and I'm really lucky to have been with him for almost six years. Count 'em. SIX. We totally win. So here I go, writing about my boyfriend...

I'm not going into all the gory details, but I'll just say a few things. I've been with Nick for so long because he's my best friend. We know each other so incredibly well, yet can still remain a mystery to one another. And no matter how much we've changed over time, and no matter how much we expect to change in the future, we know that we're still the same people we fell in love with a long time ago when we were very, very young. And we think those people are pretty great. That's love.

We have gotten each other through some really rough and frightening times...the deaths of family members and friends, an emergency surgery with months of painful recovery, a near-collision that could have been fatal if not for good luck and quick thinking. We've also had some terrible fights that have tested the limits of our relationship. But in the midst of an argument, usually over something stupid that has been blown out of proportions, we can still say, "I love you," knowing that while we may not like each other very much at the moment, in the long run it really doesn't matter. That's love.

While we've made amazing memories together with friends and family all over the place, I'm still most happy when we're home alone, just being lazy and having no intentions of going anywhere or planning anything or calling anyone. Some of my best memories involve simply lounging on the couch, watching a stupid movie or show, giggling incessantly, annoying the hell out of each other, and just acting like little kids. He even downloaded ALL the Harry Potter movies for me, and last night we watched two of them. At his suggestion. That's love.

Nick puts up with my monthly existential crises in which I cry and can't figure out what to do with my life and let my insecurities get the best of me. He's always been particularly good at making me feel better and helping me see reason, and I always tell him he's my "cheerleader." I put up with his incessant studying (good!) and video game playing (bad!), depending on if he's in or out of school. And I tolerate his ridiculous degree of stubbornness and endless depths of knowledge about seemingly every topic under the sun (annoying!). I also put up with his gross habit of farting whenever he feels like it. Whatever. It's just what boys do. He puts up with my childish whims that probably verge on spoiled brattiness, but doesn't let them get too out of hand. When we buy a 2-for-1 toothbrush pack, he automatically takes the pink or purple ones so I can have green or blue. That's right. My boyfriend uses a PINK toothbrush so I don't have to. That's love.

Hmm. Nick's alarm clock is going off right now and I feel awkward writing about him since he's probably about to groggily stumble out of the bedroom, disheveled and scratching himself, and grumbling incoherently with the worst breath EVER. So I'm going to stop writing now and greet him with something along the lines of, "Hi, boyfriend! You smell bad." That's love.