Breathe
It's been a while since I've had to remind myself to breathe. Holding my breath as a defense against pain hasn't come up in some time, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised that it happened today.
Last time I was here, it was November and it was night. I didn't realize you had a key or I would have come up with an excuse to come here before. Of course, once we got here I played coy: It's what I did best. You pretended to look for something while I pretended to care about replacement headlight bulbs and boxes of spark plugs. We played pretend a lot.
I was sitting on this bench when you finally gave up the act and joined me. And it could have been something elicit, a stolen moment in a wildly inappropriate place. Instead, it was a very PG moment in the movie of my boy-girl encounters: one kiss, my hand in yours, and quiet conversation that I can't even remember now. To be fair, I'm not sure I could have remembered it five minutes later, let alone six years. Being with you clouded my mind in the most wonderful way possible.
Sitting on this bench is, for me, worse than spending the night in a cemetery. The shades of my past sting enough on their own, but now they're touched by that most hurtful of phrases: what if.
My chest burns even though I've reminded myself to breathe.
Labels: everyday musings
In Which I Show the Crazy
I don't believe in ghosts. At least, not exactly. I guess it's more that I don't believe in ghosts in the Halloween-y, haunted house sort of way. Like everyone else, I've heard about spirits communicating through lights and sounds, and every time a street light goes off when I walk or drive by (which happens quite a bit), I wonder if it's supposed to be some sort of sign.
I have a ghost clock.
I live in my great-grandmother's house; she died five years ago in February. I sleep in her bedroom, and on the dresser sits a clock that's been there my entire life. It's battery-powered, and it used to drive me crazy when I would spend the night when I was little. It ticked really loudly, and I have a tendency to count such things: steps, beats in songs, clock ticks. It's hard to sleep when you're counting.
When I moved in a year ago, I left the clock, but didn't replace the batteries. One morning, lying in bed and pretending that I wasn't awake, I found myself incredibly annoyed. It took a while, but I finally figured out that it was the ticking clock. Which is weird, right? When I went to bed that night, the ticking had stopped, so I figured I made it up. I sometimes do things like that.
In the year since I moved into the house, the clock has started ticking a dozen or so times. Even in a low-energy device, isn't five years a long time for batteries to maintain power? Even intermittently? So the question becomes whether this is just a weird quasi-electronic thing that I'm reading too much into or if it's something more.
I'm not sure. But I'm still going to call it the ghost clock.
Labels: everyday musings, my insanity
Celebrating Autumn
I once put a lot of energy into writing a
missive about how much I hate autumn. I realize now that, while autumn isn't my favorite season, part of my prior hatred was the result of being forced to be outside walking to class during the bits of fall that are less enjoyable. Those chilly rainshowers that are so great for drinking coffee and reading books are not so great for walking to class.
But, in the spirit of recognizing that I don't actually hate autumn and celebrating the good rather than lamenting the bad, I've composed a list of things about autumn that I love.
- not listening to a running air conditioner (why are they so loud?)
- cardigans
- blooming chrysanthemums
- the handful of trees that turn pretty colors here (instead of just brown and dead)
- wearing tights
- extra-delicious apples
- the end of daylight savings time
- making and eating soup all the time
- new episodes of scripted television
- Halloween
- trench coat temperatures
- the yearly compulsion to buy school supplies
- spending rainy days reading inside
- the end of "beach book" buzz
- cranberries
- taking long, hot baths
- hot, spiced apple cider
- Thanksgiving
- attending football games
- cashmere
Labels: everyday musings, lists
Influential
I spent my evenings last week - and probably for the next couple of weeks - working at my parents' restaurant. They work with a small staff, and one of their employees was in an accident, so I've stepped in to cover her shifts for the time being. Friday night, I learned that I have a greater influence on others than I'd realized.
We're basically a burgers-and-fries place, and evening employees are typically girls in high school, and most evenings five people plus the cook take care of everything, and it's pretty simple to follow. It's a job that requires communicating and paying attention, but there's nothing about it that's hard. There's always downtime, which of course leads to chatting. Often banal, sometimes enlightening chatting.
I take issue with one current employee, who I am going to call B. He is twenty-four, like me, and got his job because he was dating a then-sixteen-year-old employee. (She's now 18. Yes, I still think he's too old for her.) I try very hard not to judge people. Okay, I try very hard to keep my judgment of people to myself instead of saying it out loud (or posting it on the internet). But this kid makes me crazy. We are the same age, but couldn't be in more different places in life. I may not be a pinnacle of success and determination, but I'm educated and I take care of myself. I pay attention to the world around me and maintain a certain level of social awareness. B fits right in with the teenage girls at the restaurant because his maturity level is right on par with theirs. He's not terribly intelligent and also lacks common sense, and he's consistently making that very obvious to those around him. He has a tendency to chatter even more than the teenage girls he's working with.
I think that, both on the surface and deep down, I am a kind person. I make an effort to bring people up instead of putting them down, and I think everyone deserves to be treated with respect. That said, I am intensely mean to B. Beyond the fact that I think he's an idiot and a little gross for dating a girl in high school, every time he speaks I have a single thought: "Shut up." I almost never say the phrase "shut up" - I think it's exceptionally rude - and I think it little more often than I say it. But every single time he speaks, I want to tell him to shut up. Instead, I'm just mean to him. I make passive-aggressive comments, mutter horrible things under my breath that only he can hear, and cut him down in front of the room with regularity. All things that I wouldn't feel compelled to do if he would only keep his mouth shut!
I need to pause here and say that I'm not exactly proud of the things I just wrote.
Typically, I work with only one of my parents at a time, usually my dad, but Friday night, they were both there. We were finishing up for the night when my mom paused to get a drink near where I was standing. "B talks a lot less when you're here," she commented. I was surprised - I still think he talks too much - so I confirmed her statement with my dad and one of the other girls. And it made me think.
Unless we're told, we have no idea how our presence effects those around us. We're very aware of how others make us feel: the friend who puts us at ease, the teacher who makes us feel brilliant, that guy who icks you out a bit. But how does your presence make others feel?
If I were a better person, I might feel bad about what I learned about B. I don't. But it does make me think about how I influence others, and I think B is probably an exception. I'd like to believe that I make others feel better, generally, and that is a goal that I work towards. As a teacher, I will work with teenagers, and substituting puts me in contact with even younger kids, and I think it's important to make every effort to be a good influence in every way.
How do I make you feel? What sort of feelings would you like to elicit in those around you?
Labels: everyday musings, work
Idyllic
Today, the sky is rumbly and dark. The dampness makes it seem cooler than it is. It's the perfect afternoon to curl up on the couch with a cozy blanket and a feline footwarmer, drinking a cup of Lady Grey while reading
The Thirteenth Tale. Perfection.
Labels: everyday musings, weather
Questions and Wonder
When I was a freshman in college, four high school students in my hometown were in a car accident the night before Thanksgiving. Three of those students worked for my parents - and therefore with me, on weekends - so I had some interest in the circumstances and outcomes of the situation. Three boys and a girl. They were in her car, though she wasn't driving. We'd had an early freeze, so there were patches of ice to watch out for on the rural highway they were traveling.
Racing on, actually. Because that's one of the things that particular hilly, straight stretch of rural highway is good for. I have to admit that I've done it, too. However, I didn't do it driving someone else's car after I'd been drinking. That was, unfortunately, the combination of circumstances that led to the accident that Wednesday evening.
Everyone but the driver was ejected from the vehicle, despite later claims that everyone had been wearing seatbelts. Their shoes were literally pulled from their feet by the force, because they were each found barefoot in the middle of the cold pasture on the west side of the road. One of the boys suffered a broken arm and collarbone. Another boy suffered a broken femur that punctured the skin. He later needed skin grafts, like a burn victim, to repair skin that split when it swelled too quickly to stretch. The girl died, instantly they believe, of a broken neck.
The driver walked away with a mild concussion and some bruises.
As weeks slipped by, more information started to come out, most notably that the 18-year-old driver had been drinking earlier in the evening and had been driving recklessly (well over 90 mph) despite the iffy road conditions. The girl's family agreed to press charges. The other boys involved in the accident were in the impossible position of saying things about their friend that were true but had the potential to destroy his life; of course, they'd also lost a friend in the girl.
Things were long and drawn out, and I honestly can't remember what the outcome was. He may have been fined or sentenced to community service, though I don't believe he was ever sentenced to spend time in prison. He was a kid known for recklessness and a bad attitude, and popular opinion seemed to run pretty consistently to the burn-him-at-the-stake position. I thought he should be expected to pay for his poor decisions. I didn't thinking that living with the knowledge that he was at least partially responsible for killing her, his friend, an eighteen-year-old high school student, was enough punishment.
Now, it's less clear.
Without consequences, our choices are all ego-driven. Without the positive consequence of money, many of us wouldn't go to work each day. Without the negative consequence of losing recess time, kindergarten students would chatter constantly. We forget that consequence is a neutral word, but perhaps that's because negative consequences seem to carry more weight in the human psyche. We are more concerned about punishments than we are rewards. But that's another discussion.
Whatever the eventual outside consequences for his actions were, the driver still has to live every day knowing that he contributed to the death of another person. He now manages the meat department at the local grocery store, so I see him fairly regularly, both in my own shopping and in running occasional errands for my parents' restaurant. I'm not sure that he was ever a young man who was destined for "great things," but I wonder if he could have attained more without this set of circumstances hanging over his head.
He and this girl had dated a time or two, in that small town, high school way, in which, I think, teenagers go back to the same person over and over because there aren't any other options. I can't remember if they were on or off. Maybe he was in love with her. Maybe he wasn't, but on some level he had to care.
Every time I see him, I think about her, but because I wonder how he copes with that knowledge. I wonder what it was like to grieve when so many were placing the blame squarely on his shoulders. I wonder if he ever feels like people are still blaming him, because I know how near impossible it is to ever escape your past in your hometown. I sometimes wonder if I shouldn't take an extra minute to be kind to him, if he would be appreciative or confused or annoyed.
I wonder if he realizes that someone he barely knows spends this much energy thinking about him.
Labels: everyday musings
Ideal Presentation
In my fantasy, I see a woman who presents herself perfectly. No matter what the occasion, she is always appropriate. She gravitates to dresses and skirts, feeling more powerful somehow when she feels more feminine. She chooses pieces that accent her narrow waist and long legs, including a wide black leather belt and a pair of red stilettos with a hidden platform. She likes oversized rings and cuff bracelets, but never together. Her professional style is powerful and womanly, leaning just a smidge across the center into formality.
Her version of casual is built around cashmere and dark denim, and her hair is sleek and unfussy. She likes heavy eyeliner and a bold lip, but always chooses one or the other. Getting out of the house on time each morning is a bit of a struggle, but you'd never know that looking at her, climbing out of the car smoothly, scarf draped just so, leather-encased hands wrapped around a travel mug of coffee.
If she were to drink a cocktail, it would be something timeless and classic and built around gin or vodka, but it certainly wouldn't be in public. She seems unlikely to be bothered, but puts together an elaborate dinner for one every night. It might be nice to double a recipe now and again, but she's not willing to sacrifice the quiet of her evenings just yet.
She is somehow impervious and approachable at the same time. She guards her privacy as if it could be stolen and sold for profit, but she shares homemade baked goods on a distressingly regular basis. It is difficult to imagine what she must look like completely undone; a bare-faced, messy-haired, pajama-clad version of this women surely doesn't exist.
And under those carefully chosen and perfectly appropriate clothes, she wears impossibly sexy lingerie. It's just her little secret.
Labels: everyday musings, plans, superficial love
Moving Backwards
Mercury retrograde is one of the few astrological concepts that are a part of the public consciousness. It's a phrase that I think the majority of people have probably heard, though I'd bet that most of them have no idea what it means.
Mercury is considered retrograde when it appears to move backwards in the heavens from our position on Earth, though its orbit around the Sun hasn't actually changed. Astrologically, this is said to be a time when those things that are associated with Mercury go a bit haywire and when we are forced to revisit recent Mercury-related things.
Mercury is the planet of communication, thought processes, dualities (think twins), our perceptions. Its Greek mythology equivalent is Hermes, making it also the planet of tricksters and thieves, liars and actors. It rules our personal communication, thoughts, and travel. In retrograde, Mercury is blamed for everything from crashed email inboxes to lost luggage. We are cautioned to avoid signing contracts, purchasing electronics and appliances, and to keep our words sweet for the inevitability of having to eat them.
I've done my best to pay attention to Mercury's retrograde cycles so I could decide if they were really worth all the fuss. This year, Mercury was retrograde for New Year's (until January 16th) and then again from mid-April till mid-May. During neither of these retrogrades did I have any issues with electronics or appliances, my car didn't conk out or wind up wrapped around a tree, and I didn't stick my foot in my mouth (or if I did, it wasn't egregious enough to remember just a handful of months later).
I've read - though I have no idea where - that people born under a Mercury retrograde are perhaps less affected when the planet retrogrades in transit; they were born under that influence and are therefore more comfortable with it than the general population. I'm not sure if that theory holds water on a large scale, but it seems to work for me as I was born under one of these cycles.
Mercury will retrograde again on August 21st, and it seems that I've decided to tempt the cosmos this time around. I'll be traveling the four-ish hours to visit Bradshaw and seeing Project for the first time in nearly five years. Who knows what sort of issues I could be walking into?
Have you ever had a Mercury retrograde experience or do you think it's much ado about nothing?
Labels: astrology, everyday musings
Martha vs. Snooki
Confession: I want to be a
type-A person.
I feel like there's a weird tendency to both revere and tease type-A behavior. Our culture is alternately obsessed with things like organization and hedonism, perfection in appearances and embracing our imperfections. We like the fastidiousness of Martha Stewart and the train wreck that is
Jersey Shore. We're obsessed with organizing our times and our belongings, but we seek out expressions of lost inhibitions (think
textsfromlastnight and
The Real Housewives of Wherever). And I'm just as bad as everyone else because almost all of those examples come from my own interests and habits.
I love the idea of being something who is ruthlessly organized. I want a spotless kitchen and a refrigerator where all of the labels face forward and the leftovers are neatly stored. I want perfection in color scheme and the objects I display in my home. I want my wardrobe to be perfectly cohesive, and when I get dressed I want people to think it looks just like me. I want to make and complete dail to do lists, to make my bed every morning, to eat perfectly portioned and balanced meals.
That's so far from my truth.
I have my type-A moments. I alphabetize my books and DVDs, I color-code planners (when I keep them), and I'm completely anal about the placement of things in my makeup bag, purse, and computer files. But for the most part, I can't keep it up. As I write, I can see the following: five dresses strung across the top of my heating stove, a kitchen table scattered with random things, a sink full of dishes, carpets that need vacuuming, floors that need mopping, and a stack of magazines sliding from the arm of the couch onto the seat and against sleeping Puck. I also know that my bathroom counter is strung with stuff, there is an enormous pile of clothes (mostly from spring) at the foot of my bed, and the passenger-side floorboard of my car is filled with trash.
For all of those organizational tendencies and jealousies, I am a slob. I find none of the things listed in the previous paragraph particularly distressing. At some point, I will either convince myself to take care of them or they will, suddenly, begin to be absolutely unacceptable and I'll be absolutely nutty until they're gone, but there isn't anything that can make me maintain the fastidious organization that I'd like to have.
For years, I've tried to make myself into a type-A person. I've made detailed schedules for cleaning and organizing, read books and websites, berated myself, asked others to berate me - all to no avail. I'm not quite ready to let go of it either. While I've accepted that dishes in the sink and and an unmade bed are far from things to worry about, I'd still like to get rid of my habits of filling every horizontal surface in my home with random stuff and leaving piles of clothes in various places instead of hanging and putting them away.
There are all sorts of negative connotations that go along with this type-A thing. Even my awareness of those doesn't change my mind. I took
this quiz and learned that I am 70% type-A, which the quiz seems to think is a good thing, a balanced thing. I'm sure that's true, but it still annoys me a bit.
Where do you fall on the organizational spectrum?
Labels: everyday musings
A Space of My Own
Today, I created office space for myself. I am weirdly happy about it.
I never really used my desk in high school, but when I went to college, that was where the computer lived, so I began to find it useful. Not for sitting and doing reading or handwritten assignments. I really just used it for computer time. Granted, most of the works I completed in college (that wasn't simply reading) was done on the computer in some way, but if I'd had a laptop instead of a desktop, I know I would've done all of that work on my bed or couch.
A day or two ago, I discovered
yes and yes (see the sidebar, kittens) and Sarah's photos of her compact
Office Space. Apparently it inspired me, because this afternoon I relocated Grandma's sewing machine and turned an end table into my new desk. With a bulletin board and all of my writing references in easy reach, it seems perfect even if it is humble. As soon as I put away the mountain of clothes next to it, I'll take pictures for you.
I've been hearing for years that people are more productive when they have a place dedicated to work, and I think it's time I test it out. I've always written it off, to be honest; I made it through high school and college doing homework on beds and couches. Of course, there were also deadlines and due dates that were imposed by someone other than me, and I work better with expectations. Perhaps having the space will help the good habits and the self-regulation to come.
I'll never know if I don't try.
Image from tumblr. I wish it was mine.Labels: everyday musings
Waving My Flag
I am an astrology nerd.
This is probably not a revelation, but I'm curious about the opinions of others. Is astrology gospel or garbage? Or, like me, do you feel somewhere in the middle? I think most of us know our sign, but do you know your Rising Sign? Do you know what a Rising Sign is? Do you have any astrological anecdotes for me?
Essentially, I have a one-track mind, and this is what I'm thinking about at the moment.
In unrelated news, share your fabulous links now! I would love to see what's been tickling your fancy and share it!
Labels: everyday musings
High-Maintenance
Bradshaw and I are excellent at talking on the phone. From five-minute chats after important life events (last hurrahs, surprise kisses, quarter-life crises) to the marathon calls that last longer than we've realized, this is something that we have down to a science. We could say that it's because we've been living in different cities for the last two years, but I think this was a skill that we brought to the friendship (I remember having some weirdly long phone calls when we were going to see each other just a few hours later).
Last night, we had something in the middle, and she mentioned something that set my mind working. At a baseball game, the men sitting next to her mentioned that she seemed like a low maintenance kind of girl, which, of course, made me wonder if I'm a high maintenance kind of girl. It forced me to attempt to define what that means, and I'm not entirely sure.
The example the boys used was the jacket that she wore in lieu of something fussier, and I don't really follow. Does the fact that I don't even own a jacket (but do own a trench, a purple military-style wool coat, and a houndstooth wool coat) mean that I'm high maintenance? Somehow, I think that's too general. It's been suggested that my propensity for skirts might make me high maintenance, but I can do anything in a skirt that I can do in jeans - unless you ask me to stand on my head, but I can't do that at all.
Cosmetically, I am most certainly high maintenance. I don't go out without makeup on, my preferred hairstyle takes at least twenty minutes (though I'm not always willing to work that hard), I'm a fan of the half-hour shower, my skincare routine is very involved, and last night I spent an entire episode of
The Rachel Zoe Project* painting my toe- and fingernails. I sometimes wear extremely precise liquid eyeliner, I do a twice-weekly clay mask, I would have my hair cut and colored every six weeks if I could manage to keep up with it, and I have eight different pots of eyeshadow in my bathroom (at $18 a pop, that's pretty bad).
I alphabetize my DVDs and books and I tend to hate loaning them out. I wash my whites, delicates, and other clothing separately. My computer folders are arranged to exacting specifications. I can tell when things in my bathroom have been moved - and I can tell the different between things people have moved and things nudged by nosy cats. My makeup brushes have their own little bag separate from the actual makeup, and all of the bristles must be facing the same way.
Having said all of that, I'm not sure that describing me as high-maintenance is true. I need alone time far more than I need to spend time with other people. I am more than capable of feeding myself, cleaning up after myself, and entertaining myself. There is no one in my life that I feel the need to speak to every day. I live alone - and I love it. I can figure out how to open the most stubborn jar, kill spiders, find flashlights and candles when the electricity goes out with minimal anxiety, talk myself down from a nightmare, go to the movies alone, and choose outfits without asking anyone's opinion.
Maybe I am high maintenance. In pondering this, I've realized something a lot more interesting: I like who I am, whatever that means. And if there are people - and I do know some of those people - who love me for being this person, that's fantastic. I am constantly being reminded that I would much rather have fewer friends who love the girl I am than more friends who either don't know me or don't care. And those people, who think I am too high maintenance, aren't the sort of people that I need in my life.
*The fact that I'm watching The Rachel Zoe Project is probably a red flag, huh?Labels: everyday musings, personal growth
Feature Presentation
Just now, I was walking through my house, still dressed for work and listening to my stomach rumble, thinking about a boy. He has these great blue eyes, probably his best - or at least most noticeable - feature. And I thought to myself, "Of course he knows they're his best feature. Everyone knows their best feature. Mine is-"
And I stopped. Because I realized that while I'm aware of the features that I like about myself physically, those things aren't necessarily my best features. For some people, I'm sure that their best feature is something that they don't even know about themselves. I would also wager that while most people are aware of their most distinguishing physical characteristic (for me, it's my height, or lack thereof), the most distinguishing isn't always the best either.
I tried to decide what would be my best if someone else chose, and I'm still not sure. So I wonder how many other people have some insight into this. Perhaps you've been told, like the boy I was thinking of, over and over about how you have great eyes or hair or abs. Maybe you're like me and are completely clueless. Does anyone care to comment about how their best feature is one that they hate? Or, alternately, one that they love?
Labels: everyday musings
Be Proud of Me, Damn It
You, my lovely readers are aware that I'm a slob; I've told you as much. I have a tendency to let things get bad - sometimes very bad - before the mood to clean up strikes me. Sharing space, however, with Roommate makes me more aware of my messes and more likely to clean them without prompting or near-hazmat levels being reached.
For the last week, I have desperately wanted to clean our kitchen. For some reason, however, I have developed a mental block to cleaning unless I am completely alone in the house. I feel like I'm disturbing the other person or that they're judging the way I'm cleaning. Also, I like to listen to music that is very loud and not always appreciated by everyone, and since I haven't been home for an extended, guaranteed length of time in a while, the cleaning wasn't getting done. Bradshaw can attest to the fact that it was driving me crazy since it was one of the seven dozen or so things that I cried about during our conversation Monday night.*
Now, after all of that likely unnecessary exposition, I get to tell you that tonight I got to clean. I lost steam between sweeping the floor and the mopping that needs to be done but hasn't been, but I did a load of dishes, cleaned the stove and countertops, gathered the clutter from the island/table, and swept all the crumbs and detritus from the floor. I also folded Roommate's laundry that was in the dryer, transferred her last load into the dryer, and did one of my own. This is a vast improvement on my usual practice of waiting until I have
absolutely nothing to wear and going commando for a week before doing anything about it.
After all of that, I grabbed a trash bag and went after my room. I emptied the trash cans, then set to gathering all of the junk that ends up on my floor: junk mail, Netflix trash, random papers with inconsequential things written on them. Now, I still have a laundry basket and a chair full of things that need to be put away that I have no intention of touching tonight and really need to wash my bedding, but you have to be proud of me for that.
It is amazing to me how much lighter I feel for having done all of these chores. Clean counters and an empty sink and seeing the carpet in my bedroom just makes it all so much lovelier.
Now, after I made you read the play-by-play of my domestic chores - ick - I'm going to tell you about my really idyllic plans for tomorrow morning. I have croissants, fresh strawberries, orange juice, and coffee just begging to be eaten on the patio (which I cleaned up yesterday - trash and junk left from Memorial Day and the many days since) while I read the new Vanity Fair and ponder a shower.
*Oh yes, Monday was a banner day for little Miss Nic. You just got the tiniest taste in Monday's post.Labels: everyday musings, my insanity
I Feel...
...that there are some things that never deserve my sympathy or understanding, and I am willing to be considered closed-minded for that feeling.
...that you are being far more smug than the situation warrants. If you are willing to go to those lengths to get something, that's fine, but don't expect me to fawn all over you for doing something that I would do only if I was desperate.
...that sharing the bed with the felines is far superior to sharing my bed with another human. I don't have to worry about my sleepy-time habits and they're excellent foot warmers.
...that the sensitivity displayed by others is often a sign of weakness. Not that they experience the sensitivity, but that they allow themselves to display it. In many situations, sensitivity is akin to lack-of-backbone, and I cannot tolerate those who can't - or won't - stand up for themselves.
...that passive-aggression is the most ridiculous way to express your displeasure with someone. If you have a problem, say something. If you don't tell me there's a problem - even if I can tell that there is - I am going to behave as if there isn't until you tell me otherwise. You can count on me to give you the same courtesy.
...that people who are bad liars shouldn't try to play stupid. I can see what you're doing and you pretending that I don't see it doesn't make it any less true. Leave the faking to those of us who have the ability to lie believably.
...that lack of adequate caffeination (yeah, I just made up a word) should be an accepted excuse for at least half of the bad behavior one may exhibit on a given morning.
...that sometimes self-destructive impulses reveal themselves in ways that seem innocuous, and that often only the person with the impulse is aware that it is self-destructive. See: my current desire to spend a Tuesday evening at Piano Bar again.
...like curling up all weekend in a comfy chair with one of the dozen or so books that are waiting for me to read them, sipping warm drinks and ignoring the real world.
Labels: everyday musings
Summer Fantasy
In my fantasy, I see a girl in an ankle-grazing maxi dress made of gauzy, black material and belted at the waist with a silver sash. Metallic sandals adorn her feet and a large green cocktail ring decorates her left hand as she walks the street with a tote bag and oversized sunglasses.
She has made decisions about her summer. She won't be wearing pants until the leaves start to fall from the trees, for the weather gives her no use for them. She is going to eat as much fresh fruit as possible, along with fresh salads and delicious bread. The cocktail that she has chosen to represent the season is a mixture of lemonade and sweet tea vodka, and she intends to eat breakfast outdoors at least one morning each week, nursing the same cup of coffee for hours.
She wishes that she could be a true hedonist, with each of her actions carefully calculated to bring her the maximum amount of pleasure, but she knows that isn't possible. Instead, she is going to follow as many of those hedonistic impulses as she can without turning heads or negatively effecting her life. She's on the lookout for someone who is willing to search for fun with her, but she knows that she doesn't need someone for that.
She will be perfectly content on her own, eating her fruit and hiding behind her sunglasses and sipping her cocktails and reading anything that piques her interest.
Labels: everyday musings
Introspection and Updates
The weather this time of year is the sort of thing that I could live with for months, but only lasts for a few weeks (damn global warming). I feel compelled to go for a walk or sit outside and read while drinking coffee or even just nap with the windows wide open.
I sometimes feel torn between the two sides of my personality. I am an extrovert who very much enjoys being busy and spending time with people and having lots of plans. I am also someone who is very comfortable alone and enjoys some downtime and quiet. For some reason, I always feel like I cannot have both at the same time, but not exactly in a literal sense. I'll go for a few weeks with plans every night, going to dinners and having drinks and feeling restless in the moments when I'm not busy, then suddenly I'm done. I'll spend a few weeks staying home each night, cooking and baking and reading and watching DVDs and usually not missing what's going on outside. It feels weird to me to have plans two or three nights a week and stay home the rest of the time, or to stay home all week and go out for a night or two. It's all or nothing, one extreme or the other.
Currently, I'm in a busy mode. As such, I feel very little inspiration to write anything of substance for the blog. Most of the substance comes from being alone and thinking and needing an outlet. Maybe that's why I go back and forth; quiet time is more emotionally taxing while busy time is more physically so.
This morning I had breakfast with a boy that the Roommate set me up with. He is a very nice boy. Smart, funny, capable of having a conversation without awkward moments, and attractive. Sounds perfect, and probably is on paper, but there's just one teensy problem: I'm not attracted to him. I feel no urge for physical contact; I do not want to tear his clothes off. Roommate told me that wanting to rip the clothes off was important, but Spark said it better: if you don't want to jump them, you're just friends.
So maybe he will be a great friend. I know that I don't want to string him along, and it's not fair to date him and be thinking about sleeping with someone else. Maybe it's simply time for me to go back into quiet time and stay home. I have a stack of books (and I'm not allowed to buy more until I've read at least half of them), a new embroidery project, an untouched skein of yarn for crochet, an expectation for more chocolate Guinness cupcakes, and a very full Netflix queue.
Sometimes I think I need something to remind me to breathe.
Labels: everyday musings
Separating Myself
I learned something today. I find it very difficult to separate myself emotionally from a situation when I cannot separate myself from it physically. Work was making me crazy, and I was upset until I got out of the store for lunch. I need to figure out how to separate my emotions from my physical presence.
Maybe this is why it's a good idea to avoid people who are bad for me rather than simply trying to control myself. Or, when I am arguing with myself intellectually about someone that I am physically attracted to, perhaps I should put myself near them.
That's the dirty version of what I learned in action though. Thoughts?
Labels: everyday musings, personal growth
I Hate Coming Up With Titles
Today, driving through Small Town to pick up lunch, I was reminded of the life that I once wanted to live. I planned to go to school in College Town and get my teaching degree while going back and forth between here and there. I was supposed to be dating Iris, and in that fantasy, we married shortly after I graduated. We would build a house away from the rest of his family - they are extensive - and would very quickly become the golden children (since I wouldn't have been pregnant at 19, like his sister, or 15, like his sister-in-law). I would teach at the high school and coach cheerleading, and we would grudgingly attend church each week to appease his family. We would attend large, busy family dinners with his family and quiet, peaceful meals with my parents. We would have our first child within the first year or two of our marriage and we would be blissful.
There was a part of me that believed I would return to Small Town right up until Iris died. At that point, I think I knew that being here would not only be too painful, but too limiting. I began to really get to know the city in which I lived, and since my grandmother had passed away, I had far less incentive to come home on a regular basis.
Now, while I enjoy my time here and relaxation that it brings, it only takes about a week before the quiet becomes very loud and I start to go stir crazy. There is a lot of freedom in living in College Town, even if I'm not in college any longer. There's a level of anonymity and far more possibility than can ever exist in Small Town; I cannot now imagine being this age and living here unless I was already married and "settled." Otherwise, how would I fill my time? How would I be able to socialize and make new friends and meet that guy that I'm now willing to let into my life?
I believe that there are two kinds of people: those who are happy where they are and those who feel compelled to get away. I never felt like I needed to get away, and I don't feel like I need to leave College Town now, a compulsion that most of my peers seem to feel keenly. I am very much a girl who is happy where she is. Perhaps you can even say that I dislike change. As the majority of the people I am close to either leave or plan to leave, I realize two things. First, I'm weird to be this age and at this place and be perfectly comfortable where I am. Second, I am attracted to those restless people who must have change. Perhaps that's a self-preservational sort of thing; I don't tend to keep in touch with people who leave, and when people are around too long I nearly always find a flaw and begin to detest them.
Who are you? What are your thoughts on who I am? Are you tired of me writing introspective blog posts yet? And, really, do you think I'm going to stop?
I am really very charming.
Labels: everyday musings, Small Town
Upper-Level Etiquette
Some specialized dos and don'ts that I think we'd all do well to remember in the case of hook-ups. I've collected these both on my own and from friends' stories.
1. Always say hello at some point during the night. There is some merit in kissing before greeting, but the word should be uttered eventually.
2. Used condoms go in the trash can, no matter what is or is not in them. They do not go on the sheets, the floor, next to the wall, or on the nightstand.
3. Ruining clothing is almost never as hot as you think it is. It is more likely distracting and annoying.
4. Cell phone etiquette is the same as that for a date or a business meeting: turn it off or on silent, and no matter what state it is in, do not acknowledge it. Pay attention to the naked person in front of you. Some exceptions may include middle-of-the-night phone calls from work, the best friend, or Mom.
5. Don't scare the pets.
6. Be considerate of roommates and, in the case of apartments and dorms, neighbors.
7. A parting kiss, unless the night is ending on bad terms, is expected.
Feel free to add rules and share anecdotes in the comments. I'm curious to hear what sorts of things others have dealt with.
Labels: boys, everyday musings
