The Boy is coming to spend the first Holidays with the family. Of course they've all met him, but this is the first time anyone beside our immediate family will be there on Christmas morning. And I'm so psyched about that. I feel like I'll be so great for him to see all the traditions.
My dad was also super awesome and is taking us to see some glass blowing exhibit at the conservatory. He's normally the most anti-art person I know, so when he gets really excited about seeing something creative, I also get very excited. I imagine that it will be a pretty cool exibition.
I'm normally a pretty awful packer. It takes me forever and I need to focused and listening to music and it's best if no one else is in the apartment, which is exactly what's going on right now and I just finished, and I got a manicure after work, and I think this could be a new personal record. I'm also a pretty awful traveler in general, I get antsy and nervous and turn into a complete "hurry up and wait" person who gets everywhere ridiculously early for fear of being the slightest bit late. So I already have tomorrow all planned out, what time I have to get us up and ready, so we can travel to Brooklyn so he can pack, so we can get to the airport in plenty of time to sit at the gate and be ready to board.
I'm also one of those people who gets on the plane as soon as possible so I definitely have a place to store my luggage in the overhead compartment. He is not that way, he gets on at the last possible moment so he doesn't have to sit cramped for one minute more than he has to. So in a cruel twist of fate, his boarding pass says that he can board in group 3 and I have to wait until group 5. Pshaw.
Anyway, now that I have plenty of time this evening... I'm going to get some wine and sitting in front of the television and chilling the fuck out since I have time to relax for the first time in months.
Heaven.
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And this is what you come up with, if you follow the directions on the right sides.
I'm writing about Donald Barthelme's Dead Father. Specifically about mechanisms and machinary and what his references have to say about stories and story writing. But of course it can't be a straight up paper, so I'm making it into a manual. A manual giving directions on how to write a paper about that exact subject, but also incorporating how to build a machine with a crank that makes fingers on a disembodied hand move. The machine is made of paper, so the teacher can construct it.
I'm so excited about this. So I have to get to work.
Also - thoughts on the new design? I thought I needed some color to brighten up this very windy winter.
xo.
]]>Anyway, I came across this quote which I thought was amazingly lovely, I which I secretly hope in some way descibes me.
Perhaps she was a shy child, for those who are magical break from silent structures after years of chrysalis.
My
for this week is finding of lost music. Perhaps lost isn't the right word, but forgotten music. I recently found out that my external drive (and 80+gigs of music) crashed, died, is unrepairable. Well, in my mind it's not worth the $500 to fix it when most of it I still have CD format and can re-import. Which is a strong reason for me to continue to buy CDs, even though I never listen to them in CD form, but that's a whole 'nother post. Anyway, yesterday I saw the new Britney video, which is also another post, my feelings towards her, and suddenly had an urge to listen to some old school Britney. While looking through my CD collection, I found a few other CDs that I had to import and one in particular that I haven't stopped listening to since last night.
Pete Yorn's musicforthemorningafter. Swoon. I listened to this nonstop my sophmore year of college. And then he came to my school for a free concert, and I stood out in the pouring rain for hours in what ended up being a woodstockeque muddy field, to have a standing position very close to the stage. Have I mentioned Swoon? The boy is so cute. And he has such a wondeful voice, rough and yet so gentle at the same time. And I just want him to sing me love songs the morning after. (haha, did you get that little pun?)
Anyway, turns out I love him just as much now as I did back in, like, '01-'02, which while wasn't that long ago, seems like ages ago, when I was still just an innocent co-ed at Penn State and this city hadn't turned me all pretentious.
So here's to a Sunday filled with some Pete.
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These are defining my weekend:
And the rest of these are just funny:
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01) I normally have a very strong stomach. Most foods don't affect me.
02) When I was little, if I was really excited about something, I'd make myself sick. For example, when I was in first grade we had a vacation planned to Disney World. Of course I was so excited about it, the day before we were leaving I came down with an awful stomach bug. We couldn't plan trips to go see my grandparents, they had to come see us. And even so, I'd always get sick before they came. I also had to reschedule many birthday parties for the exact same reason.
03) Fortunately, I grew out of that phase pretty quickly. A new one, however, took it's place. Panic attacks. They've happened very sporadically, but one Thanksgiving while in college I made myself so upset over everything I had to do from them until finals that I spent hours crying over a toilet and throwing up. In was in the middle of the night, but I still woke my mom up and we had a very long chat, and she gave me cold compresses, and told me that she gets panic attacks sometimes too.
So.
Last night I was very very sick.
At first I thought it was food poisoning of some sort, because let me tell you, it was not pretty. But, noting number 1, that would be very rare. I've never had food poisoning, that I can remember. I'm definitely not excited about anything, well, the holidays, but nothing out of the ordinary. So it had to be number 3. I'm completely freaking out because for my third piece that I'm working on for workshop (that is due tomorrow) it's something much more personal and experimental than the first two pieces I wrote. I was at a complete stop yesterday and couldn't write anything.
I finally called my sister, because she also suffers from panic attacks and a great tendency towards perfectionism, and also because at midnight I'd knew she'd be up and getting ready for finals today. It was the first time that I had leaned on my little sister like that, to talk me through my completely irrational fears and remind me that the reason I am going to school is for fun and to get better, that it's okay if my rough drafts aren't completely perfect. She was the best and said all the right things and suggested that I do some yoga to clear my mind and then just go to sleep. We decided it was perfectly okay for me to call in sick today, to take a little mental health day, and after sleeping I could spend the day writing.
Which turns out to be the best plan, because I'm still have crazy stomach cramps, although thankfully things have stopped coming out of my body.
So anyway, it's 8:30, I'm up, I've showered, and I'm ready to get to writing. And I know it's okay if everything is not perfect right now.
]]>"Are you suggesting that you want me to whip something up now, while I'm showering and getting ready and within 30 minutes?"
"Why? Is that not possible?"
This is why I sometimes hate boys. It's so frustrating that HIS friends are having a party, HE'S not prepared, and then expects ME to cook, while looking pretty. It never ceases to amaze me that boys don't think, oh, what should I make? But instead think, I'll call my girlfriend and ask her to make something.
And he's very rarely sexist, so I can't even imagine being with someone who is even more so. And I know that recently I'm being more Girl Power (maybe because Spice Girls are going back on tour?) than I normally am, but what is expected of women vs. men is sometimes completely mind blowing.
Argh. In protest, I'm bringing a 6 pack of beer. And I don't even feel bad about it.