I already can't sleep because my bed is a gulf without you in it.
I made a real effort to get on a normal schedule and I had a horrible dream that you hurt me. You didn't do it on purpose. I can't be angry with you for the things you do now. You can do whatever you want.
It's stupid and selfish and irrational and I hate it.
But I still love you. I still miss you.
Remember all those nights I slept on the couch because we were fighting about the move? I regret every single one. If I would've known I couldn't sleep without you, I would've hugged you tightly every night no matter how angry I was. Even though you were breaking my heart, I would've hugged you and kissed you and thrown my arms around you every single night.
I don't know how to get over you. I try not to talk to you, but I miss you. You were my best and closest friend. You read me like a book, knew all my secrets and knew every time I was full of shit.
We were together almost my whole...adulthood. Four and a half years. Everyone, including us, thought we'd go the distance and be together forever. We talked about marriage. If I hated you, it'd be so much easier. We only has the misfortune of being at a crossroads in our lives. You're 30, you have ideas about how your life should be. You've worked and lived. I've just finished grad school and I'm just starting. We've both had opportunities the other hasn't.
I miss you.
I can't sleep yet.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Ploits of a Single City Girl
This title is a bold faced lie. I haven't had any exploits. I've barely had any...ploits. I'm sitting awake at 2 AM listening to 3 Libras by A Perfect Circle on repeat. Ok, its 3 am and now I'm playing Agents of Oblivion. (330a and playing Alcest) Slow sad songs for slow sad folks. That's as wild as my life has been. Ok, it's been a little more wild, I suppose, but that's more through circumstance than my own doing. When my life is exciting, it's because my friends are coming through on tour or because my normal friends are chasing happy hours- not because I am doing anything particularly fascinating.
That said, I haven't been single in...4 and a half years? It's weird ending a relationship of that length for a number of reasons. One of the most difficult parts of this ordeal- who am I kidding- there are two noticeable difficulties. One is that I haven't slept since I've been here. I bought this big amazing bed when I moved here and it seems so empty. It's the most cliched thing ever. Total romance movie bullshit, but it's true. After sharing a bed with someone for over two years, my queen bed seems like an un-cross-able canyon. No matter where on that stupid thing I sleep, there's so much empty space around me. I spent a good chunk of cash on that bed and its like sleeping on a cloud- but I can only sleep there when I stay away to the point of sheer exhaustion. I've moved onto the couch. It's supposed to help after break ups, I guess. I'm not sure if it helps. So far it just assures I wake up mad early, since my east-facing windows make every inch of my house brighter than the sun by 7 am. The second thing is that I have become this feelings monster. Every emotion is right there, on the surface. I cried at Paganfest. Literal tears rolled down my cheeks in a room full of sweaty happy drunk strangers. I cried more when I realized I was the only person who wasn't happy to be there. I've never felt so lonely in a room full of people. That night ended in chaos- sometime around 7 am when I finally got home. Normally, I'd just tell Dan whatever I was feeling. He took everything in stride. Now I end up blathering on to near strangers in this strange verbal diarrhea fashion. Before I realize what I've done, I've told a perfectly lovely stranger all about how I don't sleep because my bed is empty. Now that's a pick up line! It's no wonder the boys are not lining up- as if I even know what the fuck I'd want to give them and want from them.
Ugh. Ugggggggggggggh. It's almost mortifying. If a handful of wonderful people didn't put up with it, I probably would've lost my mind already. I can already see people lose their patience with me though. Texts get returned more and more slowly until they're not returned for days at a time. Plans get broken. I can hear it in people's voices- what was the sort of cute and tolerable quirk of a heartbroken girl has become an uncomfortable death rattle. I get it. And I'm sorry for dragging you all into my personal life. I need to get a grip. I know. I'm trying. No one said it would be easy. Even when I don't talk about Dan, I can feel people getting sick of me. It's like I forgot how to socialize. I'm out of my element. I think I misjudged my ability to bounce. In the last few months, when we knew it was coming to an end, part of me became hardened because it was the only way I could exist in the same space as Dan, knowing it would end and not literally losing my shit every day. After the move, I survived on hardness for two weeks. When I learned he was pursuing someone new ("Not to replace you, never to replace you"), it ripped the wound clean open. We're not talking a teeny papercut-sized scab, we're talking...when my friend broke his leg and the bone pushed through the skin? Yeah, a scab like that. When the wound was opened, everything came out. Months- almost a year- of repressed sadness has come pouring out like a flood. I suppose it's good to know my feelings for Dan were genuine and deep and meaningful, but I wish I could make it stop. I've always been an emotional person, but I can't function every day when it feels like my heart is going to burst. More often than not, I don't function.
In some sense, I've turned to going to shows and social drinking. I've always been big on going to shows, of course. My normal friends here chase happy hours and have weekend whiskey punches- habits I denied myself throughout graduate school- so that's new. Plus, a lot of friends have come through on tour, and what's friendship without a few drinks? Drinking doesn't really solve anything. It kills time and temporarily makes me forget, but the hangovers suck and recovery days are boring alone. On the plus side, and I guess this is where this post takes an amusing turn...I certainly have created a new "dealbreakers" list.
I guess dealbreakers is a bad term- it's not like I'm looking for a new significant other. I'm not. I'm not looking for anything in particular. Perhaps a mutual adventure companion. Someone who likes fun and sillyness and eating a lot of food. This is proving to be difficult to find.
I am a magnet for men that...I don't even know how to put it. I guess that sounds vain, but bear with me. A disproportionate amount of the time, men over the age of 40 hit on me. I guess that's nice, but when a man is old enough to be my father, my interest wanes. I have a lot of friends in their 40s, but they never approached me by saying things like "Now, I know I'm a bit older than you..." or my personal favorite "I could be your dad you know." Nothing gets a woman going like a much older man desperately jamming that "Daddy Issues" button. I am a big hit with the over 40 crowd. There are some things I like about friendships with people older than me; they take my weird-mean sense of humor in stride, they don't give a fuck about mundane bullshit and they usually have their shit more or less together in a way people my age (including me) do not. Dealbreaker #1: Men old enough to be my dad. Sorry guys.
I personally have a thing for long haired pretty dudes. More often than not, I meet a beautiful guy in a band and...well nothing. Dealbreaker #2: No touring musicians. It's a good rule, it's a practical rule and it's one I intend to keep.
The rest is a mixed bag. I dated an insanely jealous and manipulative human once before, and I have no intention of doing it again. Therefore Sir Clingy Flincher, who flinches every time I mention a male friend's name is out. Doubly out for getting annoyed that I couldn't hang out because I had previous plans with a (male) friend. I'm not an adventurous eater- I'm even a little picky- but I am not afraid of trying new things. So, King Nugget, who proudly proclaimed to only eat chicken fingers and pizza has got to be out. I mean really- where do you take this person?! I am really at a loss. Dealbreaker #3: Cannot eat like a child. Weird food quirks are a kind of crazy that should be spread out over time, with the rest of your crazy business.
It hasn't been all bad for sure. There are a few people who's company I truly enjoy. I've clung to them in a way that I think is overwhelming. I shouldn't, it's awful and desperate and I know it. I'm sitting here with no job, very few friends who have time for me and a huge hole in my heart. I just try to make it through each day. I enjoy my own company generally, but right now my own company is demons. When I try to talk to old friends- who knew me before, during and after Dan- tell me to get over it, since I knew it was coming I should be fine, right? They mean well, but its not particularly helpful. I'm going to lose all my new friends if I can't get a grip on...myself. Everything. No one wants to fix a near-stranger and it's not their job. They have lives and relationships and...entire ways of existing that don't involve me at all. If they're not craftswo/men, they certainly don't want some project.
I just need to figure out how to get ahold of myself. My new job is supposed to start in two weeks, which should help. I just hope I don't drive everyone away before then.
Damn, what is my problem?
That said, I haven't been single in...4 and a half years? It's weird ending a relationship of that length for a number of reasons. One of the most difficult parts of this ordeal- who am I kidding- there are two noticeable difficulties. One is that I haven't slept since I've been here. I bought this big amazing bed when I moved here and it seems so empty. It's the most cliched thing ever. Total romance movie bullshit, but it's true. After sharing a bed with someone for over two years, my queen bed seems like an un-cross-able canyon. No matter where on that stupid thing I sleep, there's so much empty space around me. I spent a good chunk of cash on that bed and its like sleeping on a cloud- but I can only sleep there when I stay away to the point of sheer exhaustion. I've moved onto the couch. It's supposed to help after break ups, I guess. I'm not sure if it helps. So far it just assures I wake up mad early, since my east-facing windows make every inch of my house brighter than the sun by 7 am. The second thing is that I have become this feelings monster. Every emotion is right there, on the surface. I cried at Paganfest. Literal tears rolled down my cheeks in a room full of sweaty happy drunk strangers. I cried more when I realized I was the only person who wasn't happy to be there. I've never felt so lonely in a room full of people. That night ended in chaos- sometime around 7 am when I finally got home. Normally, I'd just tell Dan whatever I was feeling. He took everything in stride. Now I end up blathering on to near strangers in this strange verbal diarrhea fashion. Before I realize what I've done, I've told a perfectly lovely stranger all about how I don't sleep because my bed is empty. Now that's a pick up line! It's no wonder the boys are not lining up- as if I even know what the fuck I'd want to give them and want from them.
Ugh. Ugggggggggggggh. It's almost mortifying. If a handful of wonderful people didn't put up with it, I probably would've lost my mind already. I can already see people lose their patience with me though. Texts get returned more and more slowly until they're not returned for days at a time. Plans get broken. I can hear it in people's voices- what was the sort of cute and tolerable quirk of a heartbroken girl has become an uncomfortable death rattle. I get it. And I'm sorry for dragging you all into my personal life. I need to get a grip. I know. I'm trying. No one said it would be easy. Even when I don't talk about Dan, I can feel people getting sick of me. It's like I forgot how to socialize. I'm out of my element. I think I misjudged my ability to bounce. In the last few months, when we knew it was coming to an end, part of me became hardened because it was the only way I could exist in the same space as Dan, knowing it would end and not literally losing my shit every day. After the move, I survived on hardness for two weeks. When I learned he was pursuing someone new ("Not to replace you, never to replace you"), it ripped the wound clean open. We're not talking a teeny papercut-sized scab, we're talking...when my friend broke his leg and the bone pushed through the skin? Yeah, a scab like that. When the wound was opened, everything came out. Months- almost a year- of repressed sadness has come pouring out like a flood. I suppose it's good to know my feelings for Dan were genuine and deep and meaningful, but I wish I could make it stop. I've always been an emotional person, but I can't function every day when it feels like my heart is going to burst. More often than not, I don't function.
In some sense, I've turned to going to shows and social drinking. I've always been big on going to shows, of course. My normal friends here chase happy hours and have weekend whiskey punches- habits I denied myself throughout graduate school- so that's new. Plus, a lot of friends have come through on tour, and what's friendship without a few drinks? Drinking doesn't really solve anything. It kills time and temporarily makes me forget, but the hangovers suck and recovery days are boring alone. On the plus side, and I guess this is where this post takes an amusing turn...I certainly have created a new "dealbreakers" list.
I guess dealbreakers is a bad term- it's not like I'm looking for a new significant other. I'm not. I'm not looking for anything in particular. Perhaps a mutual adventure companion. Someone who likes fun and sillyness and eating a lot of food. This is proving to be difficult to find.
I am a magnet for men that...I don't even know how to put it. I guess that sounds vain, but bear with me. A disproportionate amount of the time, men over the age of 40 hit on me. I guess that's nice, but when a man is old enough to be my father, my interest wanes. I have a lot of friends in their 40s, but they never approached me by saying things like "Now, I know I'm a bit older than you..." or my personal favorite "I could be your dad you know." Nothing gets a woman going like a much older man desperately jamming that "Daddy Issues" button. I am a big hit with the over 40 crowd. There are some things I like about friendships with people older than me; they take my weird-mean sense of humor in stride, they don't give a fuck about mundane bullshit and they usually have their shit more or less together in a way people my age (including me) do not. Dealbreaker #1: Men old enough to be my dad. Sorry guys.
I personally have a thing for long haired pretty dudes. More often than not, I meet a beautiful guy in a band and...well nothing. Dealbreaker #2: No touring musicians. It's a good rule, it's a practical rule and it's one I intend to keep.
The rest is a mixed bag. I dated an insanely jealous and manipulative human once before, and I have no intention of doing it again. Therefore Sir Clingy Flincher, who flinches every time I mention a male friend's name is out. Doubly out for getting annoyed that I couldn't hang out because I had previous plans with a (male) friend. I'm not an adventurous eater- I'm even a little picky- but I am not afraid of trying new things. So, King Nugget, who proudly proclaimed to only eat chicken fingers and pizza has got to be out. I mean really- where do you take this person?! I am really at a loss. Dealbreaker #3: Cannot eat like a child. Weird food quirks are a kind of crazy that should be spread out over time, with the rest of your crazy business.
It hasn't been all bad for sure. There are a few people who's company I truly enjoy. I've clung to them in a way that I think is overwhelming. I shouldn't, it's awful and desperate and I know it. I'm sitting here with no job, very few friends who have time for me and a huge hole in my heart. I just try to make it through each day. I enjoy my own company generally, but right now my own company is demons. When I try to talk to old friends- who knew me before, during and after Dan- tell me to get over it, since I knew it was coming I should be fine, right? They mean well, but its not particularly helpful. I'm going to lose all my new friends if I can't get a grip on...myself. Everything. No one wants to fix a near-stranger and it's not their job. They have lives and relationships and...entire ways of existing that don't involve me at all. If they're not craftswo/men, they certainly don't want some project.
I just need to figure out how to get ahold of myself. My new job is supposed to start in two weeks, which should help. I just hope I don't drive everyone away before then.
Damn, what is my problem?
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
American History Museum Day: Everything I'd Gained
Today I played adventurer. Although the weather was as perfect as its been since I moved here, the day started roughly. Since I'm an American and public historian, I decided it was finally time to visit the National Museum of American History (NMAH). On the way there though, I almost lost it. I was seconds away from sobbing in front of the Ronald Reagan Building and International Trade Center. You know, because I just get so choked up when I hear/see Reagan's name. Kidding! It was in that moment, surrounded by beautiful Romanesque architecture when every emotion I've felt since moving here hit me all at once.
I had a moment for everything I'd lost and a moment toasting everything I'd gained.
I had a moment for everything I'd lost and a moment toasting everything I'd gained.
Everything I'd lost and everything I'd gained.
Although this experience had little to do with the rest of my exploring, it felt revelatory and it sets the scene, I guess, for my solo adventures. If I hadn't uprooted myself, it would be nearly impossible to have the wonderful day I had today, at the very least.
I had really low expectations for the NMAH, I'll admit this up front. As a rule, I try not to set high expectations- but also, I was a little underwhelmed by parts of the National Zoo and the National Museum of American History. Some of the exhibits in both haven't been updated in decades. I feared the same would be true of the NMAH. It's not as if these fields are stagnant- we find new thing and create new interpretations of the past every day- it's just that these enterprises receive less funding than other, more glamorous (and more explode-y) sectors of the economy.
Friday, March 22, 2013
Conflicting Feelings
My life has changed radically. I'm living just outside DC now, in a tiny mini-city. I live in a high-ride building, which is like living in a fancy hotel.
Everything is different. It feels so temporary. It's strange no longer being with my boyfriend. We're still talking and I'm sure we'll talk quite a bit until he goes on tour in Europe. The temporary feeling of the high-rise only compounds the strangeness. I forget for moments that I actually live here now. That I am looking for jobs here. That I have bought tickets to concerts here in the future. In those moments, I wait for him to come through the door before I remember that he decided not to come. It's a type of sadness I've never known.
I thought I'd be a crying mess, but I'm not. Maybe it's because the whole move seems surreal. My sadness is more deep-seated and permanent. Crying resolves things. This cannot be resolved.
Simultaneously, I couldn't be more thrilled to be here. I applied to a handful of jobs and volunteer positions that were all directly related to my field. (Except one, where I inquired at a doggy daycare. I love pups.) These opportunities were completely lacking in Florida, there is no doubt about that. Even the unpaid positions were amazing- exhibits tour guide at the Smithsonian? Tour guide for a hostel? There were NO opportunities like that in Florida, and if one came up they were highly competitive with no room for advancement and little networking within the industry. So for all of this, I am excited. I am excited to start my new business here, to explore this bustling and huge metropolis, to see the incredible surrounding areas.
The first week was rough. My mom helped me move and get settled in. She discovered she had a gnarly triple or quadruple infection. She lovingly gave me some of her germs and we both found ourselves in a walk-in clinic, being prescribed a course of antibiotics (yuck). I spent today, the most beautiful day so far, laying on my air mattress (because my furniture is lost in the Rooms to Go abyss) watching junk TV and barely moving a muscle. I went to the grocery store during rush hour and some crazy lady almost ran me over with her scooter. If I could have picked any first week, this certainly was not it.
I don't doubt for a second that I made the right choice. I did. But the weight of the sadness can be too much in some quiet moments.
Everything is different. It feels so temporary. It's strange no longer being with my boyfriend. We're still talking and I'm sure we'll talk quite a bit until he goes on tour in Europe. The temporary feeling of the high-rise only compounds the strangeness. I forget for moments that I actually live here now. That I am looking for jobs here. That I have bought tickets to concerts here in the future. In those moments, I wait for him to come through the door before I remember that he decided not to come. It's a type of sadness I've never known.
I thought I'd be a crying mess, but I'm not. Maybe it's because the whole move seems surreal. My sadness is more deep-seated and permanent. Crying resolves things. This cannot be resolved.
Simultaneously, I couldn't be more thrilled to be here. I applied to a handful of jobs and volunteer positions that were all directly related to my field. (Except one, where I inquired at a doggy daycare. I love pups.) These opportunities were completely lacking in Florida, there is no doubt about that. Even the unpaid positions were amazing- exhibits tour guide at the Smithsonian? Tour guide for a hostel? There were NO opportunities like that in Florida, and if one came up they were highly competitive with no room for advancement and little networking within the industry. So for all of this, I am excited. I am excited to start my new business here, to explore this bustling and huge metropolis, to see the incredible surrounding areas.
The first week was rough. My mom helped me move and get settled in. She discovered she had a gnarly triple or quadruple infection. She lovingly gave me some of her germs and we both found ourselves in a walk-in clinic, being prescribed a course of antibiotics (yuck). I spent today, the most beautiful day so far, laying on my air mattress (because my furniture is lost in the Rooms to Go abyss) watching junk TV and barely moving a muscle. I went to the grocery store during rush hour and some crazy lady almost ran me over with her scooter. If I could have picked any first week, this certainly was not it.
I don't doubt for a second that I made the right choice. I did. But the weight of the sadness can be too much in some quiet moments.
Friday, December 28, 2012
Lazy About Writing!
I had lots of pent up fee-fees to write about. I am not even sure I remember them all.
Mostly things about how I was down. But things are looking up.
I had a laundry list of things I wanted to do when I finished school. And although mostly I've been lazy, there are some things that just NEVER got done. I have yet to start a youtube channel documenting local historical sites or monuments. I have yet to road trip anywhere further than Miami. I didn't do a lot of things.
But I have done some things. I am a new blogger for a music site. I haven't reviewed anything just yet, but I do have four albums lined up. I worked on some stuff for my other blog. I have read a small wheelbarrow load of books. I've done a ton of errands. I worked out a lot and lost 4 lbs (which I gained back, thanks asshole Christmas food.) I made a bunch of Christmas gifts and bought everyone tons of gifts.
Awesome. For some reason, I keep skimping on writing on this blog though. I keep writing and browsing the internet a ton though. It's obnoxious that I love to write and keep signing on to more writing projects, but I hate how much I sit around on the computer. Hrmph.
I wanted to write some reviews of museums I've been to- the American Natural History Museum in DC and more recently, the Dali Museum in St. Pete, which recently moved to its new, beautiful home. I wanted to touch on J.K Rowling's new book The Casual Vacancy and Florence King's Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady. That's my to-do list for this blog. It's coming. It will come. It's on the horizon. Promise. Especially now that the holidays are over.
Anyway. I'm just checking in, so I remember not to forget this blog.
Mostly things about how I was down. But things are looking up.
I had a laundry list of things I wanted to do when I finished school. And although mostly I've been lazy, there are some things that just NEVER got done. I have yet to start a youtube channel documenting local historical sites or monuments. I have yet to road trip anywhere further than Miami. I didn't do a lot of things.
But I have done some things. I am a new blogger for a music site. I haven't reviewed anything just yet, but I do have four albums lined up. I worked on some stuff for my other blog. I have read a small wheelbarrow load of books. I've done a ton of errands. I worked out a lot and lost 4 lbs (which I gained back, thanks asshole Christmas food.) I made a bunch of Christmas gifts and bought everyone tons of gifts.
Awesome. For some reason, I keep skimping on writing on this blog though. I keep writing and browsing the internet a ton though. It's obnoxious that I love to write and keep signing on to more writing projects, but I hate how much I sit around on the computer. Hrmph.
I wanted to write some reviews of museums I've been to- the American Natural History Museum in DC and more recently, the Dali Museum in St. Pete, which recently moved to its new, beautiful home. I wanted to touch on J.K Rowling's new book The Casual Vacancy and Florence King's Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady. That's my to-do list for this blog. It's coming. It will come. It's on the horizon. Promise. Especially now that the holidays are over.
Anyway. I'm just checking in, so I remember not to forget this blog.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
Two Whole Days of Productivity and a Whole Lotta Love
Is it possible? Did I just use two whole days' worth of time (more or less) wisely?
I think I did. While I didn't make it to 9 am yoga, I did manage one running session at the gym. I ran a ton of overdue errands. After weeks of conflicting schedules, I made it out to grad night dinner, a weekly tradition in my (now former) graduate program. Amazing. I adore those people. Everyone is kind, funny and smart and any time we gather, it's a night of loud talking, belly laughs and strange looks from other dining patrons. (Fuck 'em!)
But getting shit done is in my nature. It's not totally surprising. What DID surprise me was presents. Birthday presents from friends I rarely see, to be specific. Since my birthday is over Thanksgiving weekend and less than a month before Christmas, I never expect presents from friends, ever. Hell, it's a struggle to even give my parents a list. (This might also be partially because they whine about the contents of my list.) I just...I have lots of *things.* At the moment, I share a small house with three other people; the last thing I need is more *things* to take up our precious space. Birthdays in my family are not really big gift-giving occasions.
People say I'm incredibly hard to buy for. (Lies I say! I have many interests, I just don't have space!) So, imagine my shock when I gifts from friends, two of whom don't even live in the same state. Even a stranger, a waiter at my fancy birthday dinner with the BF, put a candle in our dessert plate. I realize that is part of his job, but it caught me off guard and seemed so sweet. After years of not really celebrating my birthday (thanks grad school, I forgot how old I was turning this year), I had forgotten what a birthday could be. I am so deeply touched and I feel incredibly loved and lucky to know such nice people. It made my day.
(As an aside- the two out of state friends are both people I've met at metal fests/online. I love how shocked my mom gets when I tell her things like "My metal friend from OK just sent me an incredibly thoughtful gift." Ithink know she assumes all metal people are knuckle-dragging cretins, despite my achievements, despite my boyfriend's politeness, despite...rationality. At the very least, she assumes we're all unmotivated, thoughtless people, ill-suited to be seen outside, let alone shopping for and mailing gifts.)
But it's not all about what I received. I also took my thesis committee members gifts- fancy red wine and dark chocolate. And of course, touching heartfelt notes. That's just how I roll. My advisers seemed genuinely happy to get gifts. My chair even hugged me and offered my job advice. Another adviser offered me some freelance copy-editing work- editing HIS work. Awesome. I love that The Committee liked their gifts. I just wanted them to know that I appreciated their wisdom, their experience, their feedback and their patience, above all. I know I made them proud, but that wouldn't have even been possible without their guidance. Although my university might not be the most prestigious, my department has some of the most outstandingly brilliant faculty, and I feel I received a great education. The least I can do is get them drunk.
Sometimes it is better to give things and to receive love. This feeling, it's like being hugged by the whole world.
I think I did. While I didn't make it to 9 am yoga, I did manage one running session at the gym. I ran a ton of overdue errands. After weeks of conflicting schedules, I made it out to grad night dinner, a weekly tradition in my (now former) graduate program. Amazing. I adore those people. Everyone is kind, funny and smart and any time we gather, it's a night of loud talking, belly laughs and strange looks from other dining patrons. (Fuck 'em!)
But getting shit done is in my nature. It's not totally surprising. What DID surprise me was presents. Birthday presents from friends I rarely see, to be specific. Since my birthday is over Thanksgiving weekend and less than a month before Christmas, I never expect presents from friends, ever. Hell, it's a struggle to even give my parents a list. (This might also be partially because they whine about the contents of my list.) I just...I have lots of *things.* At the moment, I share a small house with three other people; the last thing I need is more *things* to take up our precious space. Birthdays in my family are not really big gift-giving occasions.
People say I'm incredibly hard to buy for. (Lies I say! I have many interests, I just don't have space!) So, imagine my shock when I gifts from friends, two of whom don't even live in the same state. Even a stranger, a waiter at my fancy birthday dinner with the BF, put a candle in our dessert plate. I realize that is part of his job, but it caught me off guard and seemed so sweet. After years of not really celebrating my birthday (thanks grad school, I forgot how old I was turning this year), I had forgotten what a birthday could be. I am so deeply touched and I feel incredibly loved and lucky to know such nice people. It made my day.
(As an aside- the two out of state friends are both people I've met at metal fests/online. I love how shocked my mom gets when I tell her things like "My metal friend from OK just sent me an incredibly thoughtful gift." I
But it's not all about what I received. I also took my thesis committee members gifts- fancy red wine and dark chocolate. And of course, touching heartfelt notes. That's just how I roll. My advisers seemed genuinely happy to get gifts. My chair even hugged me and offered my job advice. Another adviser offered me some freelance copy-editing work- editing HIS work. Awesome. I love that The Committee liked their gifts. I just wanted them to know that I appreciated their wisdom, their experience, their feedback and their patience, above all. I know I made them proud, but that wouldn't have even been possible without their guidance. Although my university might not be the most prestigious, my department has some of the most outstandingly brilliant faculty, and I feel I received a great education. The least I can do is get them drunk.
Sometimes it is better to give things and to receive love. This feeling, it's like being hugged by the whole world.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Rebirth on my 24th, Infinite Possibility
Infinite Possibilities. Infinite. Possibilities. I was in grad school, busting my buns on my thesis a mere few weeks ago. I imagined the time post-thesis and pre-moving as a space for infinite possibility. I wanted day trips to make a travel blog or a cool YouTube channel. I had stockpiled XL shirts in hopes of turning them into cute fitted tops and household goods. Craft ideas and books- oh god, the books- are coming out of my wazoo. Sifting through my computer revealed tons of notes for short stories I planned to write, including a set of Revolutionary-themed erotic novels under a pen name I find hysterically perfect. Not to mention, countless errands and daily life things that pile up when one is tied (crying) to a computer chair, writing frantically to meet deadlines. I even signed up to volunteer at a no-kill animal shelter to snuggle some animals. I went to the formal orientation, but I am ashamed to say I have yet to volunteer a single minute.
I pictured my body, toned by workouts and yoga I did religiously. I envisioned YouTube dollars. I saw a fledgling writing career. My music blog (which is on Blogger under a similarly styled pen name...) would explode with new reviews and interviews. I thought I would immediately sit down and finally teach myself bass. And Spanish. I'd meditate often, cook healthier food and bike everywhere. I'd launch a magazine designed to empower girls. It would look like Seventeen but with the message of a mentoring program I dedicated four years of my life to. (This idea is totally a go, I've been slowly working on the planning aspects with a friend and have generated a fair bit of interest in the local activist community.)
On one hand, the final draft of my thesis was only approved November 16th, 9 days ago. Between my defense date, October 29th and the University's final deadline (November 9th, more or less), I did a fair amount of work including revisions, formatting corrections and fighting a copyright battle with a less-than-helpful editor who refused to return my phone calls. Simultaneously, the whole time I wrote my thesis, I kept telling myself, "The minute you're finished, you're going to be able to do all those things you love!" And what have I done?
NOTHING. Not literally nothing. I've applied for more or less every available history-related, museum-related and adjuncting job I found listed online in both public and private sectors. I'm waiting on phone calls. I've gotten a few rejection e-mails (Damn Veteran's Preference! I kid, I do. It's still frustrating!). I went to DC with my mom on a fact-finding mission. I found a few facts; 1. DC proper is too damn busy and too damn crowded. 2. I really enjoyed my soon-to-be town. 3. Lots of great apartments! I have options! Mostly, I've been watching re-runs of Roseanne and America's Next Top Model. (I can hear you judging me, stop that.)
Most importantly, I started a volunteer project with a local museum. This museum, recently acquired by my department, is being modernized and opened to the public. Slowly. My job is to create audio tours for the public that can be downloaded via free wi-fi and smart phone/tablet/gadget/what have you. I really love the museum space. I adore the office coordinator (whose name, like all other details of my life, will remain private)- she is incredible, smart, patient and kind. In general, being at the museum, finding a way to communicate the past to a broad public audience is great. It's what I love to do and the main reason I studied public history. Since I finished school, this is the only thing I have done successfully, and barely so.
Some of that is my fault, for just being useless. Some of that is the holidays; the people who will approve my scripts is out of town or in meetings or writing final exams.
The long and short of this rant is that I have yet to live up to or complete anything. Each day, I grow more anxious. It's not that I'm in a rush, I'm here until Mid-March. My name's on a lease and everything. No apartment can even give me availability this far out. It's just that...I know how fast time slips by, especially when one is being a loaf. All days just blend into one, uneventful, unaccomplished...blob.
I don't like feeling like a blob. I don't like not contributing to dialogues. I miss reading and writing. I've whined "switching between formal and casual writing is sooo harrrrrd" for weeks. It is hard. But, I also wrote this whole blog in a casual voice and I didn't have one aneurysm. Nothing is strained. Academic writing is a struggle too, but I completed a monster Master's thesis in what my adviser called record time (ahem). Casual writing, to me, is about verbalizing things I feel emotions towards. It's from the heart and soul, which I've poured out here in all it's glory and failure.
So, on my 24th birthday, as a gift to myself (besides the fab massage I received earlier), I am going to rededicate myself to the infinite possibilities of post-grad life. Finishing a thesis is a little like post-postpartum depression, I imagine. I don't have kids, so I don't want to make light, but I literally gave a year of my life to my thesis. I rarely took a day off, working 6-8 hours or more per day. Sometimes, I worked twelve hours straight, not stopping to even eat or shower. A calendar year. Babies really are made in less time. And how does one beat depression? I don't really have the answer to that, but I know keeping an active mind and body is a hell of a lot more healthy than watching TV re-runs.
I pledge to myself to write a lot more, on this blog. About books, current events (maybe, if I disable comments), and history/museums/travel. Why segregate my interests into separate blogs? No need! This is 2012, I am a multi-faceted person and my interests can share a blog. (Although my music blog will remain separate, as that's a whole other alias, if anyone is interested.) I want to write once a week on each blog. Or more. I want to walk dogs, do yoga, read books, take photos, start a youtube channel, run more. All the things I promised myself. I'm not going to let a few weeks of postpartum laziness ruin my whole, sacred time off. How many people have the opportunity to lounge for a few months between grad school and the REAL WORLD? Not many.
Starting today, I'm taking full advantage. Happy birthday to me.
I pictured my body, toned by workouts and yoga I did religiously. I envisioned YouTube dollars. I saw a fledgling writing career. My music blog (which is on Blogger under a similarly styled pen name...) would explode with new reviews and interviews. I thought I would immediately sit down and finally teach myself bass. And Spanish. I'd meditate often, cook healthier food and bike everywhere. I'd launch a magazine designed to empower girls. It would look like Seventeen but with the message of a mentoring program I dedicated four years of my life to. (This idea is totally a go, I've been slowly working on the planning aspects with a friend and have generated a fair bit of interest in the local activist community.)
On one hand, the final draft of my thesis was only approved November 16th, 9 days ago. Between my defense date, October 29th and the University's final deadline (November 9th, more or less), I did a fair amount of work including revisions, formatting corrections and fighting a copyright battle with a less-than-helpful editor who refused to return my phone calls. Simultaneously, the whole time I wrote my thesis, I kept telling myself, "The minute you're finished, you're going to be able to do all those things you love!" And what have I done?
NOTHING. Not literally nothing. I've applied for more or less every available history-related, museum-related and adjuncting job I found listed online in both public and private sectors. I'm waiting on phone calls. I've gotten a few rejection e-mails (Damn Veteran's Preference! I kid, I do. It's still frustrating!). I went to DC with my mom on a fact-finding mission. I found a few facts; 1. DC proper is too damn busy and too damn crowded. 2. I really enjoyed my soon-to-be town. 3. Lots of great apartments! I have options! Mostly, I've been watching re-runs of Roseanne and America's Next Top Model. (I can hear you judging me, stop that.)
Most importantly, I started a volunteer project with a local museum. This museum, recently acquired by my department, is being modernized and opened to the public. Slowly. My job is to create audio tours for the public that can be downloaded via free wi-fi and smart phone/tablet/gadget/what have you. I really love the museum space. I adore the office coordinator (whose name, like all other details of my life, will remain private)- she is incredible, smart, patient and kind. In general, being at the museum, finding a way to communicate the past to a broad public audience is great. It's what I love to do and the main reason I studied public history. Since I finished school, this is the only thing I have done successfully, and barely so.
Some of that is my fault, for just being useless. Some of that is the holidays; the people who will approve my scripts is out of town or in meetings or writing final exams.
The long and short of this rant is that I have yet to live up to or complete anything. Each day, I grow more anxious. It's not that I'm in a rush, I'm here until Mid-March. My name's on a lease and everything. No apartment can even give me availability this far out. It's just that...I know how fast time slips by, especially when one is being a loaf. All days just blend into one, uneventful, unaccomplished...blob.
I don't like feeling like a blob. I don't like not contributing to dialogues. I miss reading and writing. I've whined "switching between formal and casual writing is sooo harrrrrd" for weeks. It is hard. But, I also wrote this whole blog in a casual voice and I didn't have one aneurysm. Nothing is strained. Academic writing is a struggle too, but I completed a monster Master's thesis in what my adviser called record time (ahem). Casual writing, to me, is about verbalizing things I feel emotions towards. It's from the heart and soul, which I've poured out here in all it's glory and failure.
So, on my 24th birthday, as a gift to myself (besides the fab massage I received earlier), I am going to rededicate myself to the infinite possibilities of post-grad life. Finishing a thesis is a little like post-postpartum depression, I imagine. I don't have kids, so I don't want to make light, but I literally gave a year of my life to my thesis. I rarely took a day off, working 6-8 hours or more per day. Sometimes, I worked twelve hours straight, not stopping to even eat or shower. A calendar year. Babies really are made in less time. And how does one beat depression? I don't really have the answer to that, but I know keeping an active mind and body is a hell of a lot more healthy than watching TV re-runs.
I pledge to myself to write a lot more, on this blog. About books, current events (maybe, if I disable comments), and history/museums/travel. Why segregate my interests into separate blogs? No need! This is 2012, I am a multi-faceted person and my interests can share a blog. (Although my music blog will remain separate, as that's a whole other alias, if anyone is interested.) I want to write once a week on each blog. Or more. I want to walk dogs, do yoga, read books, take photos, start a youtube channel, run more. All the things I promised myself. I'm not going to let a few weeks of postpartum laziness ruin my whole, sacred time off. How many people have the opportunity to lounge for a few months between grad school and the REAL WORLD? Not many.
Starting today, I'm taking full advantage. Happy birthday to me.
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