That's how stuffed I am. Wündergirl and I ate tonight at The Last Supper Club at 23rd and Valencia. And sweet lord, was it delicious! I had a cocktail, an awesome glass of wine, crostini with tomatoes and basil, risotto balls stuffed with mozzerella, pork tenderloin with balsamic vinegar sauce, and tiramisu. I feel like it's Thanksgiving. I feel like I could enter a coma at any moment. I feel like hell. And yet, it was soooooooooo worth it.
Mushroom Man has officially disappeared. The weirdest part about this is that I'm not terribly sad. I'm mad, and my feelings are hurt, but sad? Not exactly. I feel deflated, to a certain extent. I have a hard time with the fact that someone I've considered a friend for so long has managed to discount my feelings so completely. But this is not the end of the world. And I'm not feeling damaged. Realistically, the past four months with him have been mostly fun, mostly a great time. So I'd consider the overall situation to have been successful. This is a first for me: walking away from something that's not "bad" simply because it isn't what I want. It feels good to raise my standards, to feel okay with that decision.
According to my friend, Bittersweet Bob, I'm "soft." I'm "sappy." I'm equal parts wonderful and weak, sweet and saccharine. Now, first of all, I have a really hard time with someone criticizing a fundamental aspect of my personality. I find it infuriating when someone who can't handle criticism tells me what's on their list of "what's wrong with Abbersnail." Secondly, when is it ever acceptable to say that to someone??? There's something about me that seems to scream, "Hey, you can say anything to me! Come on! Hit me with the inappropriate comments! Say the disgusting thing to me! Tell me about your revolting medical condition, the time you cheated on your current girlfriend, or the biggest zit you've ever had. I'd LUH-HOOOVE to hear all about it." Come on, world! Give me a break!!!
Another monumentally bad post, but whatever. Goodnight, all!
Showing posts with label "Deep thoughts". Show all posts
Showing posts with label "Deep thoughts". Show all posts
Tuesday, April 03, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Tolstoy Lied, by Rachel Kadish
I've been looking for a new book for a while. Several people have loaned me their recent favorites, and I've started a few. I've always been a fast reader, a devourer of the written word. Recently, however, I find myself getting stuck. It isn't that I'm disinterested. Far from it. I just hadn't found anything that suited my mood, and my current state of perpetual transition.
When I read this ringing endorsement from Stefanie, I knew I'd found my new book. The fact that she'd discovered it courtesy of Malia, one of my most trusted sources of... um... basically anything, and I was desperate to start reading it. I ordered it online, it arrived at work yesterday, and I read it last night. I suggest you read Stefanie's blog entry on the subject, as she does a magnificent job of pulling out some of the most interesting quotes. I also suggest that you pick up a copy and read it.
As you may have noticed (cough), I've been thinking a lot about the nature of happiness. Ironically, I took my one reading break last night to watch Heroes, and at one point there was a line about the difference between living a happy life and a life of meaning. I can't remember the exact quote, which was quite lengthy, but the basic idea was that the two cannot exist together. Either you are happy with your lot, content to live entirely in the present, or you are tormented by your past, present and future, desperate to make the most of each moment.
It's an interesting argument, but I don't buy it. I refuse to believe that one has to choose between their own happiness and the betterment of the world. And I agree with Rachel Kadish, that we are a culture obsessed with our own tragedy. My junior year of college, a year fraught with drama, transition, and heartache, I made a decision to respond each time to the question, "How are you?" with the answer, "I'm great!" At first, I was delighted with the way it disarmed people, surprised them and made them smile. I was floored by the fact that I actually started to believe it, too! And then I went home for Christmas. And every time someone asked, I gave them my new standard answer. Until one day, while celebrating with my extended family, my mom interrupted loudly, squelching my two-word answer with an acid "You know, we're all really glad that you're so 'great,' but could you please stop rubbing all our noses in it?" The speech went on for a solid ten minutes, but I just remember being shell-shocked. Why was my happiness such a burden to my mother? Why, when I was truly making an effort to be happy, was my outlook on the world so horribly offensive?
While I may be inviting the ridicule of others, I still choose to look at the world this way. Sure, there are days when I am blown away by distrust, sadness, self-pity, or anger. But whenever possible, I choose to believe, fully, that "I'm great." I choose to believe that Tolstoy lied when he insisted that only our inner turmoil makes us unique and interesting. Because, frankly, if it's true that misery loves company, I choose to be lonely in my enjoyment of the world. Maybe the comment someone made to me recently, that I am the last un-cynical person in the world, is a Great Truth, but I will take niavete over disenchantment any day of the week.
Call me foolish, but I have to believe that I can make the world better by smiling at it.
When I read this ringing endorsement from Stefanie, I knew I'd found my new book. The fact that she'd discovered it courtesy of Malia, one of my most trusted sources of... um... basically anything, and I was desperate to start reading it. I ordered it online, it arrived at work yesterday, and I read it last night. I suggest you read Stefanie's blog entry on the subject, as she does a magnificent job of pulling out some of the most interesting quotes. I also suggest that you pick up a copy and read it.
As you may have noticed (cough), I've been thinking a lot about the nature of happiness. Ironically, I took my one reading break last night to watch Heroes, and at one point there was a line about the difference between living a happy life and a life of meaning. I can't remember the exact quote, which was quite lengthy, but the basic idea was that the two cannot exist together. Either you are happy with your lot, content to live entirely in the present, or you are tormented by your past, present and future, desperate to make the most of each moment.
It's an interesting argument, but I don't buy it. I refuse to believe that one has to choose between their own happiness and the betterment of the world. And I agree with Rachel Kadish, that we are a culture obsessed with our own tragedy. My junior year of college, a year fraught with drama, transition, and heartache, I made a decision to respond each time to the question, "How are you?" with the answer, "I'm great!" At first, I was delighted with the way it disarmed people, surprised them and made them smile. I was floored by the fact that I actually started to believe it, too! And then I went home for Christmas. And every time someone asked, I gave them my new standard answer. Until one day, while celebrating with my extended family, my mom interrupted loudly, squelching my two-word answer with an acid "You know, we're all really glad that you're so 'great,' but could you please stop rubbing all our noses in it?" The speech went on for a solid ten minutes, but I just remember being shell-shocked. Why was my happiness such a burden to my mother? Why, when I was truly making an effort to be happy, was my outlook on the world so horribly offensive?
While I may be inviting the ridicule of others, I still choose to look at the world this way. Sure, there are days when I am blown away by distrust, sadness, self-pity, or anger. But whenever possible, I choose to believe, fully, that "I'm great." I choose to believe that Tolstoy lied when he insisted that only our inner turmoil makes us unique and interesting. Because, frankly, if it's true that misery loves company, I choose to be lonely in my enjoyment of the world. Maybe the comment someone made to me recently, that I am the last un-cynical person in the world, is a Great Truth, but I will take niavete over disenchantment any day of the week.
Call me foolish, but I have to believe that I can make the world better by smiling at it.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
The cool kids
Here's the thing: I make no pretense of being "cool." I feel pretty socially awkward a lot of the time, which is something that surprises other people. I honestly think most of us feel this way, like we are imposters just waiting to get called out. I don't know. Maybe I'm full of crap. Feel free to tell me, if you think I'm wrong.
I will never be the it girl in the room, the one everyone wants to meet. I'm comfortable with that. Despite my love of performing on stage, I hate being the center of attention in a big group. I love making a big group laugh, I love contributing to the conversation, but I don't like realizing that people have been staring at me for the past ten minutes. That just makes me feel squirmy and awful.
And I've never felt like I'm in competition with the "popular" kids. I use that word in quotes, because I think the label of popularity has nothing to do with how many people like you in the world. "Popular," to me, connotes a personality trait, an extrinsic air of superiority that conceals an intrinsic need to be accepted. Even in high school, at an age when acceptance seems to be the number one desire, I was never a kid who wore cool clothes, striving for inclusion. Frankly, my outfits were tragic. I look back on the men's XXL t-shirts, the oversized jeans, the birkenstocks with thick socks, and I throw up a little bit in my mouth. (Particularly upon considering that I weighed 98 pounds, and my proportions were 36-23-34. sigh What a missed opportunity. I will never look that hot again. But I digress.) I was lucky in high school, with a large group of friends who shared my lack of sameness, and who all had friends in different circles. I still count many of my high school friends as my nearest and dearest. Being "cool" was simply never important.
The point is, I suddenly feel thrust into a situation where I am competing with a stereotypically "cool kid." I am comfortable enough in my own skin that I feel no urge to be more like this person in order to curry favor. The choice between us is simply going to be a matter of personal preference. But it is making me feel insane, because there is nothing I can do about it.
I am not demanding, I am not the kind of person who gets in your face and screams "choose me!" I feel like this person is of that ilk, and I am at a loss as to how I am supposed to assert myself. I can hope that I'll make the cut, simply because of my general niceness, my enthusiasm for life, or any other thing that makes me... me. But I've had enough experience to the contrary that I'm concerned.
I know that I shouldn't care so much. But there's always that underlying desire to beat the competition, to score higher despite the odds. Intellectually, I get that eventually someone will wake up and realize that I'm fantastic, even without all the flash. I know that I shouldn't have to be in competition with anyone, because I'm worth undivided attention all on my own. But again, it's all about this feeling that I think we all have, waiting to be called out as an imposter.
I will never be the it girl in the room, the one everyone wants to meet. I'm comfortable with that. Despite my love of performing on stage, I hate being the center of attention in a big group. I love making a big group laugh, I love contributing to the conversation, but I don't like realizing that people have been staring at me for the past ten minutes. That just makes me feel squirmy and awful.
And I've never felt like I'm in competition with the "popular" kids. I use that word in quotes, because I think the label of popularity has nothing to do with how many people like you in the world. "Popular," to me, connotes a personality trait, an extrinsic air of superiority that conceals an intrinsic need to be accepted. Even in high school, at an age when acceptance seems to be the number one desire, I was never a kid who wore cool clothes, striving for inclusion. Frankly, my outfits were tragic. I look back on the men's XXL t-shirts, the oversized jeans, the birkenstocks with thick socks, and I throw up a little bit in my mouth. (Particularly upon considering that I weighed 98 pounds, and my proportions were 36-23-34. sigh What a missed opportunity. I will never look that hot again. But I digress.) I was lucky in high school, with a large group of friends who shared my lack of sameness, and who all had friends in different circles. I still count many of my high school friends as my nearest and dearest. Being "cool" was simply never important.
The point is, I suddenly feel thrust into a situation where I am competing with a stereotypically "cool kid." I am comfortable enough in my own skin that I feel no urge to be more like this person in order to curry favor. The choice between us is simply going to be a matter of personal preference. But it is making me feel insane, because there is nothing I can do about it.
I am not demanding, I am not the kind of person who gets in your face and screams "choose me!" I feel like this person is of that ilk, and I am at a loss as to how I am supposed to assert myself. I can hope that I'll make the cut, simply because of my general niceness, my enthusiasm for life, or any other thing that makes me... me. But I've had enough experience to the contrary that I'm concerned.
I know that I shouldn't care so much. But there's always that underlying desire to beat the competition, to score higher despite the odds. Intellectually, I get that eventually someone will wake up and realize that I'm fantastic, even without all the flash. I know that I shouldn't have to be in competition with anyone, because I'm worth undivided attention all on my own. But again, it's all about this feeling that I think we all have, waiting to be called out as an imposter.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Killing time
I have a half hour to burn before I can leave work. I feel like my current job (the one I'm leaving in T-minus 14 days) is either so busy that I can't breathe (e.g. Gala), or drop-dead boring. The good news is that this gives me plenty of time to research all kinds of new and exciting things for my NEW JOB. I think about the possibilities all the time, about the limitless opportunities to grow this near-nonexistent Outreach program into something remarkable. It is such a refreshing change, to feel excited about my job again. I am really looking forward to getting started!
Another perk of the new job? The raise. Yes, there will be a raise. Enough of a raise that my current diet of black beans and rice will become substantially more varied. At least, that's the hope. The new job also comes with much more structured hours, and the promise of genuine FREE TIME. Time that I will hopefully use to cultivate friendships with people who live in the same time zone as I do. Not to say that everyone I love isn't enough. That's not it at all. But it would be delightful if I had enough local numbers programmed into my cell phone that I could meet someone for a drink occasionally. I'm just saying.
Other things? I might start taking yoga classes. Anything to de-stress, and the knee is preventing running at the moment. (Aside: This is the first time ever that I've felt my body getting older. This injury, which should have been minor, has been plaguing me for nearly two months. TWO MONTHS. I tore all the ligaments in my left ankle ten years ago, and six weeks later it barely hurt. What the crap, man?) And, as many people have pointed out to me, I may or may not need to learn how to calm down.
crickets
So I'm counting down the days. And I'll definitely miss all of my friends at the Ballet. But the promise of finally doing something that I love again is intoxicating.
Ho hum, 15 more minutes. Is it sad that it took me a whole 15 minutes to write the above? Maybe. It might be a little bit sadder that I expect someone to actually read it.
So. Let's make a list.
Ten Things I'd Like To Make For Dinner
(I should state, for the record, that these are items that I really could make for dinner, not just a list of fantasy dinners. That's a different animal, entirely.)
1. Chicken with morels in tarragon cream sauce
2. Barbeque-spiced peel and eat shrimp
3. Roasted chicken and veggies
4. Southwest pork chops with vegetable hash
5. Brunswick stew
6. Macaroni and cheese with chicken and broccoli
7. Acorn squash shepherd's pie
8. Salmon with orange-mushroom sauce
9. Gingersnap pork with apple brandy sauce
10. Gumbo Ya-Ya
Actually, I just realized that I might have all the ingredients for #8 already, so HOORAH!
Alrighty, I'm out of time, at last. Happy Wednesday, blogosphere!
Another perk of the new job? The raise. Yes, there will be a raise. Enough of a raise that my current diet of black beans and rice will become substantially more varied. At least, that's the hope. The new job also comes with much more structured hours, and the promise of genuine FREE TIME. Time that I will hopefully use to cultivate friendships with people who live in the same time zone as I do. Not to say that everyone I love isn't enough. That's not it at all. But it would be delightful if I had enough local numbers programmed into my cell phone that I could meet someone for a drink occasionally. I'm just saying.
Other things? I might start taking yoga classes. Anything to de-stress, and the knee is preventing running at the moment. (Aside: This is the first time ever that I've felt my body getting older. This injury, which should have been minor, has been plaguing me for nearly two months. TWO MONTHS. I tore all the ligaments in my left ankle ten years ago, and six weeks later it barely hurt. What the crap, man?) And, as many people have pointed out to me, I may or may not need to learn how to calm down.
crickets
So I'm counting down the days. And I'll definitely miss all of my friends at the Ballet. But the promise of finally doing something that I love again is intoxicating.
Ho hum, 15 more minutes. Is it sad that it took me a whole 15 minutes to write the above? Maybe. It might be a little bit sadder that I expect someone to actually read it.
So. Let's make a list.
Ten Things I'd Like To Make For Dinner
(I should state, for the record, that these are items that I really could make for dinner, not just a list of fantasy dinners. That's a different animal, entirely.)
1. Chicken with morels in tarragon cream sauce
2. Barbeque-spiced peel and eat shrimp
3. Roasted chicken and veggies
4. Southwest pork chops with vegetable hash
5. Brunswick stew
6. Macaroni and cheese with chicken and broccoli
7. Acorn squash shepherd's pie
8. Salmon with orange-mushroom sauce
9. Gingersnap pork with apple brandy sauce
10. Gumbo Ya-Ya
Actually, I just realized that I might have all the ingredients for #8 already, so HOORAH!
Alrighty, I'm out of time, at last. Happy Wednesday, blogosphere!
Monday, February 19, 2007
Hi, I'm a girl.
So here's the thing. Most members of my reading audience are men. At least, most of the people who I know are reading the blog are men. And boys, you may want to bypass this one. I'm about to share a lot of information about girl stuff that you probably never wanted to know about me. And it will probably horrify you to your core, because we don't talk about this stuff. EVER.
1. I've finally found a birth control pill that doesn't seem to be turning me into a crazy person or a blimp. Hoorah! Sure, I've gained the obligatory two pounds, and my boobs look fairly gigantic (at least, to me...), but I seem to still be able to wear all of my usual clothes, and I haven't cried every freaking five minutes since starting this pill. I can only stress to you how unusual this is for me. I believe that this is pill brand number 9 or 10, and I really was about to give up. Needless to say, I am a happy camper about this.
2. Having read from several of you (whose entries on the subject I can no longer find... GAH) about the wonders of the bikini wax, I have to say that I'm curious. I may go and do some research today. The unique thing about my neighborhood in San Francisco is that there's a chinese salon on every single corner that offers this service for next to nothing. We're talking ten bucks, here. But do I really want a bargain-basement bikini waxing? I'm not sure. I think the answer is no.
3. Stacy's assessment of Victoria's Secret versus the small lingerie boutique has rocked my world, and I am sooooo excited for my first paycheck at the new job. Dare I say it? I'm waiting to meet the bra that is going to change my life. Vicky has been good to me over the years, but I've recently become thoroughly disenchanted with her. It makes me ill to spend $40+ on a bra that itches after two washings and still shows under every damn t-shirt that I own. I'm also annoyed by the fact that I cannot seem to shop there without getting mowed down by 16-year-olds and their moms buying sexier lingerie than I have ever owned. I find that more than a little bit disturbing. I think my mom would pass out if she knew that I even owned a thong at the tender, virginal age of 26.
That's all.
1. I've finally found a birth control pill that doesn't seem to be turning me into a crazy person or a blimp. Hoorah! Sure, I've gained the obligatory two pounds, and my boobs look fairly gigantic (at least, to me...), but I seem to still be able to wear all of my usual clothes, and I haven't cried every freaking five minutes since starting this pill. I can only stress to you how unusual this is for me. I believe that this is pill brand number 9 or 10, and I really was about to give up. Needless to say, I am a happy camper about this.
2. Having read from several of you (whose entries on the subject I can no longer find... GAH) about the wonders of the bikini wax, I have to say that I'm curious. I may go and do some research today. The unique thing about my neighborhood in San Francisco is that there's a chinese salon on every single corner that offers this service for next to nothing. We're talking ten bucks, here. But do I really want a bargain-basement bikini waxing? I'm not sure. I think the answer is no.
3. Stacy's assessment of Victoria's Secret versus the small lingerie boutique has rocked my world, and I am sooooo excited for my first paycheck at the new job. Dare I say it? I'm waiting to meet the bra that is going to change my life. Vicky has been good to me over the years, but I've recently become thoroughly disenchanted with her. It makes me ill to spend $40+ on a bra that itches after two washings and still shows under every damn t-shirt that I own. I'm also annoyed by the fact that I cannot seem to shop there without getting mowed down by 16-year-olds and their moms buying sexier lingerie than I have ever owned. I find that more than a little bit disturbing. I think my mom would pass out if she knew that I even owned a thong at the tender, virginal age of 26.
That's all.
Thursday, February 08, 2007
So today...
1. So today one of my bosses (the one I DO NOT LIKE) made me spend an hour counting 37-cent stamps, and then went out and bought a corresponding number of 2-cent stamps. Thank GOD I have a masters degree.
2. So today one of my coworkers walked into my office with five mini-boxes of chocolates, a roll of ribbon, and a handfull of tissue paper, and told me he needed me to wrap the chocolates for several donors. Thank GOD I have a masters degree.
3. So today I found out that the $500 bonus I was supposed to receive from the Ballet as a "thank you" for giving up three weeks of my life to Gala was actually only $287.75 in my bank account because of taxes. Thank GOD my ass is large enough to provide sustenance for an army. That's all I have to say.
4. So today I rocked an interview for a job that would pay me a living wage and allow me creative autonomy over my life. I am perfect for this job. And I think they know that. And I am terrified of the possibility that it presents. So terrified that I have cried three times today. Thank GOD for wine.
5. So today I have no idea what life is about. I managed to change the cat litter and clean my apartment for the first time in a few weeks, sure. But I feel more clueless than ever.
Why is it that unexpected, and seemingly undeserved, opportunity brings with it such anguish? Why? And why, after three glasses of mediocre red wine, am I listening to Damien Rice's 9 Crimes on repeat? Can we say "bad idea?" Um, hi.
UGH.
2. So today one of my coworkers walked into my office with five mini-boxes of chocolates, a roll of ribbon, and a handfull of tissue paper, and told me he needed me to wrap the chocolates for several donors. Thank GOD I have a masters degree.
3. So today I found out that the $500 bonus I was supposed to receive from the Ballet as a "thank you" for giving up three weeks of my life to Gala was actually only $287.75 in my bank account because of taxes. Thank GOD my ass is large enough to provide sustenance for an army. That's all I have to say.
4. So today I rocked an interview for a job that would pay me a living wage and allow me creative autonomy over my life. I am perfect for this job. And I think they know that. And I am terrified of the possibility that it presents. So terrified that I have cried three times today. Thank GOD for wine.
5. So today I have no idea what life is about. I managed to change the cat litter and clean my apartment for the first time in a few weeks, sure. But I feel more clueless than ever.
Why is it that unexpected, and seemingly undeserved, opportunity brings with it such anguish? Why? And why, after three glasses of mediocre red wine, am I listening to Damien Rice's 9 Crimes on repeat? Can we say "bad idea?" Um, hi.
UGH.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Something like it
Life is a funny thing. Just when I think I've figured out what I want, just as soon as I feel content to just be, suddenly a whirlwind sweeps in and knocks me off balance. Not in a bad way, mind you. More in a way that shakes me up and makes me question who I am and what I want out of this ride called Life. And the only answer that comes to my mind is, "I don't know." I want to be secure in myself. I want to be happy. I want to love and be loved for all I'm worth. I want to make someone's life better, and I want to die feeling like I'm leaving the world a better place than when I entered it.
I suppose the crux of the matter, and what I'm loving about having a regular "day job," is that I don't feel defined right now by what I do. I'm learning to appreciate smaller accomplishments, and realizing that they mean more to me than the accolades and the honors, than the performances that defined my mood for the subsequent three weeks. I feel greater happiness from the loaf of bread that I made, for the time I spent this weekend with a friend, than I feel sadness for the lack of flute playing that I am doing.
The oddest part about this phenomenon is that, for the longest time, I thought that doing something other than performing would be a cop-out. The idea of being someone who didn't spend my life onstage seemed like a watercolor version of life. And yet, my life now is more opaque, more rich than it ever has been. I'm clearly not where (or who) I want to be entirely, but there's hope that I'm getting closer, that I might be on the right road at last.
So, when someone calls you up with a fantastic opportunity, an opportunity that could knock your socks off, what do you do? There are pros and cons, of course, and I've been weighing them carefully. For the first time in my life, I have no gut instinct on this one. I trust gut instincts, and the lack of an immediate opinion on what my own fate should be is distinctly unnerving. And, frankly, it's not something I feel ready to discuss with people, at least not in anything more than these vague terms. I'm just rolling it around in my brain, sampling the different options like items on a buffet. I'll keep you updated. For now, it's just nice to get the thoughts out.
I suppose the crux of the matter, and what I'm loving about having a regular "day job," is that I don't feel defined right now by what I do. I'm learning to appreciate smaller accomplishments, and realizing that they mean more to me than the accolades and the honors, than the performances that defined my mood for the subsequent three weeks. I feel greater happiness from the loaf of bread that I made, for the time I spent this weekend with a friend, than I feel sadness for the lack of flute playing that I am doing.
The oddest part about this phenomenon is that, for the longest time, I thought that doing something other than performing would be a cop-out. The idea of being someone who didn't spend my life onstage seemed like a watercolor version of life. And yet, my life now is more opaque, more rich than it ever has been. I'm clearly not where (or who) I want to be entirely, but there's hope that I'm getting closer, that I might be on the right road at last.
So, when someone calls you up with a fantastic opportunity, an opportunity that could knock your socks off, what do you do? There are pros and cons, of course, and I've been weighing them carefully. For the first time in my life, I have no gut instinct on this one. I trust gut instincts, and the lack of an immediate opinion on what my own fate should be is distinctly unnerving. And, frankly, it's not something I feel ready to discuss with people, at least not in anything more than these vague terms. I'm just rolling it around in my brain, sampling the different options like items on a buffet. I'll keep you updated. For now, it's just nice to get the thoughts out.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
A rant, and then a bunch of other stuff
It's 10:56, and I just got home about ten minutes ago. We've all been working our asses off to make the Gala happen tomorrow. Today was a 14-hour day for me, and a longer one for my boss. We've talked about my boss. She is smart, funny, warm, a great leader, and a better friend. (And no, she doesn't know about the blog, so this isn't just brown-nosing. I actually do really like her. I kind of want to be her.) I'm pretty sure she's been at the office for 12+ hours every day for the past three weeks in preparation for tomorrow. She has sacrificed an incredible amount of her time and energy in order to pull this off, and has tried her absolute hardest to make everyone happy. Needless to say, there are always people in the world who are determined to make life difficult, however, and one of our guests is the epitome of this fact. As we were leaving the office at 10:30 tonight, my boss received an email from this horrendous human being, accusing her of being racist because of her table assignment. It made my boss/friend/hero cry in her office as we all stood awkwardly outside the door, unsure of what to do. And now I really want to kick some ass. Why do some people feel so entitled that they think it's absolutely acceptable to say whatever they want in the hopes of getting a rise out of someone? Why do some people think that it is okay to be mean? And why is it that some of us, myself included with a gold star, are so hurt by the insensitivity and cruelty of these rare and strange people? And, most importantly, why is it still illegal to kick the ever-loving crap out of them?
My tiny kitten, which Sis and I adopted in April, has now achieved a whopping 15 pounds. This is slightly horrifying, as he is still growing. Also, the fact that he still acts like a kitten, complete with the biting and pouncing on one's feet, is dramatically enhanced by the sheer magnitude of his being. It is highly overrated, and ridiculously cute.
Despite eating almost nothing for the past two weeks, I have still managed to gain five pounds. I find this to be horridly unfair. At the same time, however, I feel vindicated. I was explaining to a doctor recently that my weight plummets when I am happy and skyrockets when I am stressed, and he told me that this was "abnormal and highly unlikely." Take that, Doctor IknownothingaboutSnail.
There are tiny, shiny bits of myself (my soul) that seem to be coming alive recently. They freak me out and feel great, all at the same time. The irony, however, is that these sparkly pieces of glitter are also the cause of the depressed feelings. Is that possible? When something is capable of making me so happy, is it possible that it is also capable of making me feel so "blue?" Is this normal? I have no answers, and I'm oddly more comfortable discussing it in the blogosphere than I am talking to a trained professional about it. This, to me, also seems odd.
Thursday I am making fried chicken, biscuits, green beans with ham hock, cheese grits, and cobbler. I am also getting a haircut, and going to the doctor's appointment that I have rescheduled three times. (Yes, the lovely and wonderful boss has given me the whole day off.) I am living for Thursday.
This has been the longest, and shortest, of all months. I can't believe that January is almost over! Each day feels like an eternity, yet I can't seem to comprehend that February is only about a week away. I feel like the month has been a blur. Yet, somehow, during the last 20-some-odd days, I've helped my organization raise over a million dollars (!), made a few new friends, fallen in and out (and in) of "like," lost a roommate, and made over a whole normal paycheck's worth of overtime. I've also drunk an obscene amount of wine, bought more "convenience food" than I have since I was in college (thus the five pounds...), and gotten my lunch for free about 50% of the time. Will February bring the same brilliant insanity?
My tiny kitten, which Sis and I adopted in April, has now achieved a whopping 15 pounds. This is slightly horrifying, as he is still growing. Also, the fact that he still acts like a kitten, complete with the biting and pouncing on one's feet, is dramatically enhanced by the sheer magnitude of his being. It is highly overrated, and ridiculously cute.
Despite eating almost nothing for the past two weeks, I have still managed to gain five pounds. I find this to be horridly unfair. At the same time, however, I feel vindicated. I was explaining to a doctor recently that my weight plummets when I am happy and skyrockets when I am stressed, and he told me that this was "abnormal and highly unlikely." Take that, Doctor IknownothingaboutSnail.
There are tiny, shiny bits of myself (my soul) that seem to be coming alive recently. They freak me out and feel great, all at the same time. The irony, however, is that these sparkly pieces of glitter are also the cause of the depressed feelings. Is that possible? When something is capable of making me so happy, is it possible that it is also capable of making me feel so "blue?" Is this normal? I have no answers, and I'm oddly more comfortable discussing it in the blogosphere than I am talking to a trained professional about it. This, to me, also seems odd.
Thursday I am making fried chicken, biscuits, green beans with ham hock, cheese grits, and cobbler. I am also getting a haircut, and going to the doctor's appointment that I have rescheduled three times. (Yes, the lovely and wonderful boss has given me the whole day off.) I am living for Thursday.
This has been the longest, and shortest, of all months. I can't believe that January is almost over! Each day feels like an eternity, yet I can't seem to comprehend that February is only about a week away. I feel like the month has been a blur. Yet, somehow, during the last 20-some-odd days, I've helped my organization raise over a million dollars (!), made a few new friends, fallen in and out (and in) of "like," lost a roommate, and made over a whole normal paycheck's worth of overtime. I've also drunk an obscene amount of wine, bought more "convenience food" than I have since I was in college (thus the five pounds...), and gotten my lunch for free about 50% of the time. Will February bring the same brilliant insanity?
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Feelings I hate but have experienced today:
Rage
Sadness
Annoyance
Intolerance
Hopelessness
Paranoia
Exhaustion
Anxiety
Pessimism
Irritation
Impatience
Stubbornness
Hurt
Apathy
Tomorrow will be better. I swear, tomorrow will be better. I feel like Dorothy, closing my eyes, clicking my heels together three times. So, for the third time: Tomorrow will be better.
Sadness
Annoyance
Intolerance
Hopelessness
Paranoia
Exhaustion
Anxiety
Pessimism
Irritation
Impatience
Stubbornness
Hurt
Apathy
Tomorrow will be better. I swear, tomorrow will be better. I feel like Dorothy, closing my eyes, clicking my heels together three times. So, for the third time: Tomorrow will be better.
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Needing armor
Something has been happening in my life recently that I have stalwartly refused to believe. Like an ostrich with my head in the sand, I have denied that someone I have trusted and cared about could be so careless with me. I think I might be done with my unwillingness to think ill of this situation. I think I'm at the point of giving up. Except that I still have this speck of hope that I'm wrong, that there's some grand excuse and that everything will be okay.
This is the downside of my open-heartedness. I possess an amazing propensity for trusting (and liking) people too much. It is a double-edged sword, as it has allowed me to befriend some thoroughly amazing people who might not outwardly seem to be a natural part of my social circle. I've had some amazing experiences because of my somewhat childlike character, and I feel like it is a part of my personality that will never be extinguished. That being said, however, today I wish I were more worldy-wise, that I had the "I'm about to be hurt" radar that most people my age seem to have developed. I wish that I could become so enraged that I would feel righteously angry, rather than slightly damaged.
I will bounce back from this, and it will happen quickly. I just don't know how to resolve anything in the interim. I just don't feel like I have thick enough skin for this.
This is the downside of my open-heartedness. I possess an amazing propensity for trusting (and liking) people too much. It is a double-edged sword, as it has allowed me to befriend some thoroughly amazing people who might not outwardly seem to be a natural part of my social circle. I've had some amazing experiences because of my somewhat childlike character, and I feel like it is a part of my personality that will never be extinguished. That being said, however, today I wish I were more worldy-wise, that I had the "I'm about to be hurt" radar that most people my age seem to have developed. I wish that I could become so enraged that I would feel righteously angry, rather than slightly damaged.
I will bounce back from this, and it will happen quickly. I just don't know how to resolve anything in the interim. I just don't feel like I have thick enough skin for this.
Friday, December 29, 2006
A year in review
I know I've been bad about posting recently. In part, this has to do with the fact that my family has been in town for the holidays. Also, I've been a whirlwind of social activity (cough), which has put a damper on my blogging time. Mostly, though, I've been doing a lot of reflecting upon the past year. This has been a year of massive life changes, a year of heartache and euphoria, a year of transition, discovery, and revelation. I feel like 2006 has been the year of becoming an adult, and also of becoming more of a person than I was before. Don't get me wrong, I feel like I've always been a distinct personality with a concrete set of values and all that jazz. I just feel like this past year has forced me to define who I am and what I want. And, to be completely honest, I feel like the majority of that has hit me within the past few months. A quick-and-dirty list of the good, bad, and ugly of 2006:
1. Finishing school.
2. Resigning from a job for the first time, simply because it was a bad fit. Oh, and telling my boss that I disagreed with her ethics. Awesome.
3. Giving up on a love that I nurtured through thick and thin for a quarter of my life.
4. Learning how to let go of a friend.
5. Rebuilding my relationship with my sister after six years of living far apart.
6. Building a home for myself in a city I love.
7. Getting my first real job.
8. Hating my first real job.
9. Discovering that I can love my first real job.
10. Learning to accept my body as it is, without the need to torture myself.
11. Buying the world's greatest pair of jeans.
12. Beginning to pay off my student loans that resulted from seven years of college education.
13. Remembering that I am a girl.
14. OH! Starting a blog!!!
15. Ahem. Packing away my childhood teddy bears, because really, what 26-year-old woman should still be sleeping with those??? crickets
16. Reconnecting with lost friends.
17. Creating my own family (pictures to follow. I need more time to define exactly what I want to say on the subject.)
18. Pursuing someone who I'd liked for a while, with no assurances that my feelings were reciprocated.
19. Learning to hope that maybe my feelings were reciprocated.
20. Buying a sofa.
21. Letting go of (or, at least, learning to compromise on) a dream.
There are more, naturally. It was a big year, and one list cannot hope to contain all the changes. I look forward to 2007, feeling more hope than I have felt in a long time. I hope this is the year that I learn to take command of my own destiny. I hope this is the year when I accept that I am enough, just as I am. I hope this is the year when I will learn some great truth about the universe that rocks me to the core. Frankly, I hope this is the year when I love someone who rocks me to the core. And I hope this year I will grow more, with less hurt than in 2006. Maybe that's impossible, but it is what I hope for.
These are not resolutions, mind you. I'm saving that list for Monday. In the meantime, it is enough to just look back and remind myself how far I've come. Thanks, 2006. And please don't take offense to this, but I'm glad you're over!
1. Finishing school.
2. Resigning from a job for the first time, simply because it was a bad fit. Oh, and telling my boss that I disagreed with her ethics. Awesome.
3. Giving up on a love that I nurtured through thick and thin for a quarter of my life.
4. Learning how to let go of a friend.
5. Rebuilding my relationship with my sister after six years of living far apart.
6. Building a home for myself in a city I love.
7. Getting my first real job.
8. Hating my first real job.
9. Discovering that I can love my first real job.
10. Learning to accept my body as it is, without the need to torture myself.
11. Buying the world's greatest pair of jeans.
12. Beginning to pay off my student loans that resulted from seven years of college education.
13. Remembering that I am a girl.
14. OH! Starting a blog!!!
15. Ahem. Packing away my childhood teddy bears, because really, what 26-year-old woman should still be sleeping with those??? crickets
16. Reconnecting with lost friends.
17. Creating my own family (pictures to follow. I need more time to define exactly what I want to say on the subject.)
18. Pursuing someone who I'd liked for a while, with no assurances that my feelings were reciprocated.
19. Learning to hope that maybe my feelings were reciprocated.
20. Buying a sofa.
21. Letting go of (or, at least, learning to compromise on) a dream.
There are more, naturally. It was a big year, and one list cannot hope to contain all the changes. I look forward to 2007, feeling more hope than I have felt in a long time. I hope this is the year that I learn to take command of my own destiny. I hope this is the year when I accept that I am enough, just as I am. I hope this is the year when I will learn some great truth about the universe that rocks me to the core. Frankly, I hope this is the year when I love someone who rocks me to the core. And I hope this year I will grow more, with less hurt than in 2006. Maybe that's impossible, but it is what I hope for.
These are not resolutions, mind you. I'm saving that list for Monday. In the meantime, it is enough to just look back and remind myself how far I've come. Thanks, 2006. And please don't take offense to this, but I'm glad you're over!
Monday, December 18, 2006
The History of Us
I come from a family mired in tradition. We've discussed this before, so this should not come as any kind of shock. Maybe I'm weird, but I've never really thought of this as a bad thing, even as a teenager. Okay, so Fruitcake Day is my personal hell, I'll cop to that. But, in general, I love family traditions. I love making biscuits from my great-grandmother's recipe. I love hanging the Christmas tree ornaments that I made with Memo when I was two years old. I love the tortoise shell comb that I keep in my cedar chest. I love that I have a cedar chest.
Living in the South, tradition was a part of every day. People there do things a certain way simply because that's how they've always been done. In the mountains, traditions seem slightly more malleable, like the creation of Bluegrass based on the influences of a few hundred years of folk music. In San Francisco, I feel like tradition is a bit like water: continuously swirling around my ankles, slipping through my fingers, inconstant and reliably undependable. Living here makes me feel somehow more "old school" than I've ever felt before.
Case in point: every year my family makes jam. We've done this for four generations, in lieu of giftcards or whatnot for teachers, friends, and colleagues. The recipe, while really simple, is a mass of edits, proportion changes, and scribbles. This year, I made my own jam for the first time. I felt an enormous sense of pride staring at the plastic cups lined up on my kitchen table, capped in wax and covered with saran wrap and green ribbon. And then, handing it out to my coworkers, I felt the strangest mixture of embarrassment and shyness. It was the kind of feeling I used to get in elementary school, whenever I had something to say and wanted to raise my hand. How odd is that?
I suppose that there is a part of me that still feels slightly out-of-place in this uber-trendy city. I feel somehow as though, by upholding traditions, I am betraying the forward-thinking person I present myself to be. Intellectually, I know that's ridiculous. And, regardless of the small insecurity I feel, I know that I will not change into someone who throws my history to the wind. It was just a surprise to meet this piece of myself that I thought I'd outgrown.
This is so stream-of-consciousness, and I have no idea what I wanted to say. (Way to go with the planning of this one, right?) So yeah. I guess that's all for now. Will you send me your traditions?
Living in the South, tradition was a part of every day. People there do things a certain way simply because that's how they've always been done. In the mountains, traditions seem slightly more malleable, like the creation of Bluegrass based on the influences of a few hundred years of folk music. In San Francisco, I feel like tradition is a bit like water: continuously swirling around my ankles, slipping through my fingers, inconstant and reliably undependable. Living here makes me feel somehow more "old school" than I've ever felt before.
Case in point: every year my family makes jam. We've done this for four generations, in lieu of giftcards or whatnot for teachers, friends, and colleagues. The recipe, while really simple, is a mass of edits, proportion changes, and scribbles. This year, I made my own jam for the first time. I felt an enormous sense of pride staring at the plastic cups lined up on my kitchen table, capped in wax and covered with saran wrap and green ribbon. And then, handing it out to my coworkers, I felt the strangest mixture of embarrassment and shyness. It was the kind of feeling I used to get in elementary school, whenever I had something to say and wanted to raise my hand. How odd is that?
I suppose that there is a part of me that still feels slightly out-of-place in this uber-trendy city. I feel somehow as though, by upholding traditions, I am betraying the forward-thinking person I present myself to be. Intellectually, I know that's ridiculous. And, regardless of the small insecurity I feel, I know that I will not change into someone who throws my history to the wind. It was just a surprise to meet this piece of myself that I thought I'd outgrown.
This is so stream-of-consciousness, and I have no idea what I wanted to say. (Way to go with the planning of this one, right?) So yeah. I guess that's all for now. Will you send me your traditions?
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Homeward bound
I'm sitting in Liz's apartment in North Carolina. Liz and Leah are both out for their run, and I am... not. As much as I say I'd love to run a marathon, these gals are crazy! Inspiring, but insane. Seriously.
This trip has allowed for a lot of self-reflection. I'm coming to terms with the fact that the South is not "home" anymore. I've almost gotten killed at least three times because I tend to cross the street under the assumption that traffic will stop. I've glared at men in bars who dared light a cigarette. I've grimaced at big hair and shoulder pads. Looking at my home from an outsider's vantage point has been odd, to say the least. As I'm writing this, however, I'm reminded that I had the same reaction to all of this when I went to college from my tiny mountain town. If it's possible, I think San Francisco has turned me more into myself. I am someone who wears layers of sweaters and likes the fog. I am someone who lets my hair air-dry and then pulls it back in a rubber band. I am someone who likes *gasp* indie rock and folk music. These are not "deep" levels of my personality, but they are something that set me apart from other women in the South. They are things that I had to train myself to change in South Carolina and Houston. While I love the South, most of me is not a "southerner."
Other epiphanies from the trip: I want to stay in the Bay Area. I am not sure how long I want to stay, but the fact is that I want it to be my home. I'll always miss seasons, always miss snow, but I think it is where I need to be at this point in my life. And that might mean that playing the flute for a living is not my top priority. Saying that out loud (or, at least, writing it down) gives it a certain sense of reality that I've been fighting in my head. I don't know what I want to do. I still love playing, and I always will. Maybe that will lead to something. I guess I'm just realizing that I'm the kind of person who'd rather have a happy, fulfilling life than a particular career. Not that I think an orchestral career wouldn't make me feel fulfilled, but I don't think it's the only answer to that problem.
There really isn't any point to this posting. I wanted to get my thoughts out, and what better vehicle than the blog? No conclusions, only the thought that I am excited to get on a plane tonight and go home.
This trip has allowed for a lot of self-reflection. I'm coming to terms with the fact that the South is not "home" anymore. I've almost gotten killed at least three times because I tend to cross the street under the assumption that traffic will stop. I've glared at men in bars who dared light a cigarette. I've grimaced at big hair and shoulder pads. Looking at my home from an outsider's vantage point has been odd, to say the least. As I'm writing this, however, I'm reminded that I had the same reaction to all of this when I went to college from my tiny mountain town. If it's possible, I think San Francisco has turned me more into myself. I am someone who wears layers of sweaters and likes the fog. I am someone who lets my hair air-dry and then pulls it back in a rubber band. I am someone who likes *gasp* indie rock and folk music. These are not "deep" levels of my personality, but they are something that set me apart from other women in the South. They are things that I had to train myself to change in South Carolina and Houston. While I love the South, most of me is not a "southerner."
Other epiphanies from the trip: I want to stay in the Bay Area. I am not sure how long I want to stay, but the fact is that I want it to be my home. I'll always miss seasons, always miss snow, but I think it is where I need to be at this point in my life. And that might mean that playing the flute for a living is not my top priority. Saying that out loud (or, at least, writing it down) gives it a certain sense of reality that I've been fighting in my head. I don't know what I want to do. I still love playing, and I always will. Maybe that will lead to something. I guess I'm just realizing that I'm the kind of person who'd rather have a happy, fulfilling life than a particular career. Not that I think an orchestral career wouldn't make me feel fulfilled, but I don't think it's the only answer to that problem.
There really isn't any point to this posting. I wanted to get my thoughts out, and what better vehicle than the blog? No conclusions, only the thought that I am excited to get on a plane tonight and go home.
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Leaving on a jet plane
I'm flying to Charlotte, North Carolina tonight. I'll be taking the red-eye, and arrive fresh-smelling and beautiful at 10 a.m. Eastern Standard Time.
Crickets
I'm really excited for this trip, as I'll be hanging out with my two best girl friends for the first time in almost two years. There will be wine, cake, more wine, stupid flute duets, wine, and more wine. Liz is creating a typed itinerary including "bra/panty pillowfight." Try to contain your excitement, boys.
The odd thing, though, is that this will be my first time leaving San Francisco in nearly a year. This realization has kind of thrown me for a loop. I'm generally a pretty frequent traveller. Not that I go anywhere exciting, I just tend to be on a plane an average of 5 or 6 times each year, usually headed to music festivals or auditions. The fact that I've hunkered down in one city for such a long stretch is odd. And, while I am counting down the hours until I board a plane (13 hours and 27 minutes to go...), I'm strangely anxious about leaving the world where I feel comfortable. I've frequently noticed the way that San Franciscans seem to forget that the rest of the world continues to function outside of the Bay Area. I've always scoffed at them, at the slight arrogance of this notion. It's somewhat humbling to realize that I've developed the same kind of feeling. I'm sort of ashamed of this bubble that I've built around myself.
So tonight I'll be stepping outside of my new comfort zone, flying back towards home and southern accents, fried chicken, and the two people who know me better than anyone else can currently claim. And I'll be back on Monday. The world will keep turning, and I'll be having a great time. Don't wait up for me!
Crickets
I'm really excited for this trip, as I'll be hanging out with my two best girl friends for the first time in almost two years. There will be wine, cake, more wine, stupid flute duets, wine, and more wine. Liz is creating a typed itinerary including "bra/panty pillowfight." Try to contain your excitement, boys.
The odd thing, though, is that this will be my first time leaving San Francisco in nearly a year. This realization has kind of thrown me for a loop. I'm generally a pretty frequent traveller. Not that I go anywhere exciting, I just tend to be on a plane an average of 5 or 6 times each year, usually headed to music festivals or auditions. The fact that I've hunkered down in one city for such a long stretch is odd. And, while I am counting down the hours until I board a plane (13 hours and 27 minutes to go...), I'm strangely anxious about leaving the world where I feel comfortable. I've frequently noticed the way that San Franciscans seem to forget that the rest of the world continues to function outside of the Bay Area. I've always scoffed at them, at the slight arrogance of this notion. It's somewhat humbling to realize that I've developed the same kind of feeling. I'm sort of ashamed of this bubble that I've built around myself.
So tonight I'll be stepping outside of my new comfort zone, flying back towards home and southern accents, fried chicken, and the two people who know me better than anyone else can currently claim. And I'll be back on Monday. The world will keep turning, and I'll be having a great time. Don't wait up for me!
Friday, December 01, 2006
Job crap
I really am trying to have a positive, devil-may-care attitude about my current profession. I'm attempting to go with the flow and look at my job from the perspective that it's a short-term fix to a long-term problem. I am trying to be mature and realize that it's my first job, and no one gets the dream job on the first try. (If you've managed it, please don't tell me. I'll cry.)
But for one moment, I need to be juvenile and whine about the lack of gratification I feel on a daily basis. Folks, my major task of each and every day is printing and stuffing envelopes. Yes, I work for San Francisco Ballet, a fabulous arts organization. Yes, I adore my boss. Yes, I feel appreciated by my coworkers for the job that I do. But it is really difficult for me to accept that as "enough." I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I'm one of the greatest brainiacs of our generation, but I frequently feel like my skills are being completely wasted. I look forward to the odd day that someone needs me to write an acknowlegement letter for them, because it's an excuse to actually think. I am constantly walking from office to office, asking people to gie me something to do. I am not someone who enjoys sitting idle, particularly not when I can think of a million other things I'd rather be doing. Thus far today, I have mailed about 150 letters, printed 400 or so envelopes, and talked on the phone to several elderly donors. I have also given dietary advice to someone down the hall who was freaking out about the fat in his salad dressing, checked my email 8-bazillion times, and spun around in my chair. I talked on the phone with one of my former bosses, who needed help with a formatting question. I ate lunch, and have stared at the wall for an obscene amount of time.
I don't mean to be a snob, but people, I have a masters degree. I know, I know, it's in music, but come on! I am at a loss as to how I can alter my current situation in a minor way in order to make it more bearable. The thing is, I love my life. I am generally happy on a day-to-day basis. I just feel this major sense of frustration when I'm sitting in my office, feeling like I'm coasting down a road to nowhere.
Blargh!
But for one moment, I need to be juvenile and whine about the lack of gratification I feel on a daily basis. Folks, my major task of each and every day is printing and stuffing envelopes. Yes, I work for San Francisco Ballet, a fabulous arts organization. Yes, I adore my boss. Yes, I feel appreciated by my coworkers for the job that I do. But it is really difficult for me to accept that as "enough." I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I'm one of the greatest brainiacs of our generation, but I frequently feel like my skills are being completely wasted. I look forward to the odd day that someone needs me to write an acknowlegement letter for them, because it's an excuse to actually think. I am constantly walking from office to office, asking people to gie me something to do. I am not someone who enjoys sitting idle, particularly not when I can think of a million other things I'd rather be doing. Thus far today, I have mailed about 150 letters, printed 400 or so envelopes, and talked on the phone to several elderly donors. I have also given dietary advice to someone down the hall who was freaking out about the fat in his salad dressing, checked my email 8-bazillion times, and spun around in my chair. I talked on the phone with one of my former bosses, who needed help with a formatting question. I ate lunch, and have stared at the wall for an obscene amount of time.
I don't mean to be a snob, but people, I have a masters degree. I know, I know, it's in music, but come on! I am at a loss as to how I can alter my current situation in a minor way in order to make it more bearable. The thing is, I love my life. I am generally happy on a day-to-day basis. I just feel this major sense of frustration when I'm sitting in my office, feeling like I'm coasting down a road to nowhere.
Blargh!
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Check and check
November is ending today, and--with it--NaBloPoMo. I can't believe I actually completed this challenge. Let's face it, some days have been more interesting than others. But it's been a fun month of airing my personal philosophies on life, happiness, and whatnot. I've also found myself becoming somewhat obsessed with posting, checking stats, etc. blah blah. I've discovered new blogs that I enjoy checking in on every day. Mostly, I've rediscovered the joy of writing. I suppose that was the whole point of the challenge, but it has taken me somewhat by surprise. Even in casual conversation, my vocabulary has evolved over the past month. I've remembered the way certain words feel in my mouth, the way they sound, the sheer beauty of language. That sounds ridiculous, I realize, but words have always been something I love. I guess I'd gotten so used to music being the main sound of my day-to-day life that I'd forgotten how musical language can be.
This is sounding absurd, so I'm going to just halt that train in its tracks.
As I said yesterday, however, my computer is broken. I'm glad November has run its course, as my internet time is currently somewhat limited. So, it's been fun, and it's definitely been a catalyst in making me want to post more. But I'll probably be somewhat sporadic in posting for the next few weeks.
(Watch, you'll check in tomorrow and I'll have posted three times... I've also learned that I'm a master of eating my words.)
This is sounding absurd, so I'm going to just halt that train in its tracks.
As I said yesterday, however, my computer is broken. I'm glad November has run its course, as my internet time is currently somewhat limited. So, it's been fun, and it's definitely been a catalyst in making me want to post more. But I'll probably be somewhat sporadic in posting for the next few weeks.
(Watch, you'll check in tomorrow and I'll have posted three times... I've also learned that I'm a master of eating my words.)
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Pout
I've been floating around in a bubble of contentedness all day. My bubble has been impervious to a vast array of negative things, including: 1) The incorrect information on the DMV website that caused me to waste a significant amount of time this morning. 2) The death (again) of my beloved computer, which will invariably cost me three-hundred bucks to fix. 3) A stomachache. 4) One of my friends being treated abominably by a jackass.
But my bubble could not withstand someone lying to cover their own behind and implicating me in the process. And yes, it could not have been a more obvious lie. But lord, folks, are we five years old???
I feel grumpy!
But my bubble could not withstand someone lying to cover their own behind and implicating me in the process. And yes, it could not have been a more obvious lie. But lord, folks, are we five years old???
I feel grumpy!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas!
There's a Christmas tree in the lobby of my building! I walked through the glass doors (which, incidentally, I always try to open the wrong way... I'm so cool...) and the scent was like a hug. Today is one of those incredibly beautiful days in San Francisco. The sky is absolutely clear and the sun is shining. Although it looks like summertime, the air is that special kind of cold that turns everyone's cheeks pink without feeling unpleasant. And now someone is making cinnamon toast in the kitchen, and it smells like heaven.
Is there a limit to how much I can love life? Because right now I feel pretty freaking happy! Have a great Tuesday, everybody!
Is there a limit to how much I can love life? Because right now I feel pretty freaking happy! Have a great Tuesday, everybody!
Monday, November 27, 2006
Communication meltdown
I have to be completely honest. I sometimes do not love the myriad ways in which we communicate via computer. I realize that it's ironic to be talking about this on the blog. There exists, however, an innate problem with electronic communication. Instant messaging, email, and especially text messaging lack several aspects of human interaction that we take for granted. For example, tone of voice is immediately lost in electronic communication. One cannot sense sarcasm, sympathy, or humor when one is presented only with words. Particularly in the example of text messaging, we tend to express ourselves in as few words as possible. I seriously dislike the substitution of "u" for "you," "2" for "to," and so forth. As someone who still writes letters (as in, the ones that require a stamp for delivery), I find these brief snippets of conversation confusing, at the very least. I don't love myspace comments substituting for real conversation. I've been a perpetrator of this on many occasions. Sometimes it's just easier to leave someone three sentences on their myspace page, rather than picking up the phone and playing a frustrating game of phone-tag. I have no defense, other than laziness.
I think, though, that the biggest part of the problem is that we've lost the ability to communicate via written word. I had several friends in college who had managed to graduate from high school having never written a paper in their lives. I'm floored by this. I love writing (obviously). I love picking through my brain to find the perfect word, the word that expresses exactly what I'm feeling. I love the sounds of words rolling off my tongue. I love that English is a language of synonyms, where verbal variety is truly the spice of life. I am someone who re-reads my own blog entries for a few days afterwards in an attempt to remove duplications of a word within a posting. And, while I recognize that this is completely Type A of me, I wish that people would consider their syntax more carefully. I hate reading something that someone has sent me and spending the day wondering, "What did that mean? Are they angry with me? What are they trying to express? Should I call them?" And I hate not knowing what to expect if I, in fact, decide to pick up the phone. I diligently work to make sure my words can be taken at face-value, that I can be comprehended both intellectually and emotionally. I'm sure I'm more successful some days than others, but I absolutely consider it every time I press "send."
So yes, this is just a short rant about communication. But it's also something that, to me, brings up the fundamental nature of friendship. If I don't care about someone enough to pick up the phone and spend 20 minutes of my life ascertaining how they are, what they're doing, etc. blah blah, then why am I attempting to keep them within my circle of friends? Now, for those of you with whom I do communicate mostly via myspace/email/blog/what-have-you, please don't take this as any indication of my feelings for you. It's just something I've been considering. I'm frustrated with my own inability to communicate how much I care about my friends. I have no conclusions tonight. I don't have any great insight into this problem. I know that I'm just an old-fashioned girl living in a world to which I absolutely must adapt. I know that I have to grow a thicker skin and not worry so much about "what did s/he mean by such-and-such." I just miss beautiful writing. I miss our ability to use our language to express what it is that we actually mean. And I'm slightly afraid that it is only going to get worse, until we are a culture of people who speak in monotone and use emoticons to convey sentiment.
Any thoughts? Am I being a pretentious you-know-what, here? I could really use some feedback on this one.
I think, though, that the biggest part of the problem is that we've lost the ability to communicate via written word. I had several friends in college who had managed to graduate from high school having never written a paper in their lives. I'm floored by this. I love writing (obviously). I love picking through my brain to find the perfect word, the word that expresses exactly what I'm feeling. I love the sounds of words rolling off my tongue. I love that English is a language of synonyms, where verbal variety is truly the spice of life. I am someone who re-reads my own blog entries for a few days afterwards in an attempt to remove duplications of a word within a posting. And, while I recognize that this is completely Type A of me, I wish that people would consider their syntax more carefully. I hate reading something that someone has sent me and spending the day wondering, "What did that mean? Are they angry with me? What are they trying to express? Should I call them?" And I hate not knowing what to expect if I, in fact, decide to pick up the phone. I diligently work to make sure my words can be taken at face-value, that I can be comprehended both intellectually and emotionally. I'm sure I'm more successful some days than others, but I absolutely consider it every time I press "send."
So yes, this is just a short rant about communication. But it's also something that, to me, brings up the fundamental nature of friendship. If I don't care about someone enough to pick up the phone and spend 20 minutes of my life ascertaining how they are, what they're doing, etc. blah blah, then why am I attempting to keep them within my circle of friends? Now, for those of you with whom I do communicate mostly via myspace/email/blog/what-have-you, please don't take this as any indication of my feelings for you. It's just something I've been considering. I'm frustrated with my own inability to communicate how much I care about my friends. I have no conclusions tonight. I don't have any great insight into this problem. I know that I'm just an old-fashioned girl living in a world to which I absolutely must adapt. I know that I have to grow a thicker skin and not worry so much about "what did s/he mean by such-and-such." I just miss beautiful writing. I miss our ability to use our language to express what it is that we actually mean. And I'm slightly afraid that it is only going to get worse, until we are a culture of people who speak in monotone and use emoticons to convey sentiment.
Any thoughts? Am I being a pretentious you-know-what, here? I could really use some feedback on this one.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Bitter Bob Bites the Proverbial Dust
I am officially declaring an end to the Existential Life Crisis. To be completely honest, I got bored with it several weeks ago. I'm tired of psychoanalyzing myself every twenty seconds and coming to the conclusion that I don't have a clue. Who cares? Life goes on, and I still probably won't have a clue when I'm eighty. So I'm not living the life of my dreams. It's my responsibility to make my own opportunities! I'm tired of feeling like I'm missing some kind of instruction manual to life, and I'm ready to just write my own. I still have my moments of terror, the "what-ifs" welling up over every coherent thought in my brain. But really, who doesn't? It's time to get over it.
Also, upon re-reading my blog as of late, I've noticed that postings with the ELC label are actually more accurately described as my overall thoughts on life. I haven't actually written anything truly ELC-worthy in a while.
As such, I am debuting a new label! (Ready? All together now! Oooooh! Aaaaaaah!) From this day forth, all Philosophical Discussions Of Life In General will feature the label "Deep thoughts."
Oh, and I promise I'll write something that's actually interesting later today. I know you were worried.
Crickets
Also, upon re-reading my blog as of late, I've noticed that postings with the ELC label are actually more accurately described as my overall thoughts on life. I haven't actually written anything truly ELC-worthy in a while.
As such, I am debuting a new label! (Ready? All together now! Oooooh! Aaaaaaah!) From this day forth, all Philosophical Discussions Of Life In General will feature the label "Deep thoughts."
Oh, and I promise I'll write something that's actually interesting later today. I know you were worried.
Crickets
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