Abandoning My (Current) Life Crisis

It is perfect outside today. Not quiiite shorts weather, but another 3 degrees and I’d totally be there. Actually, I take that back. I hate shorts. Do you know any woman above the age of 19 who likes them? Just some food for thought.

I have decided to stop obsessing about my future because it’s, like, sort of ruining the present. For instance, this blog hasn’t been updated in several weeks. It’s not because I haven’t tried. It’s that when I sat down to write, my thought process went something like this:

Jesus, you’re finally writing. Well, it had better be good to make up for all the time you haven’t been writing. Oh, and while we’re at it – weren’t you going to apply for grad school? Don’t you need, uh, a writing sample? Doesn’t it have to be, like, 25 pages? What’ve you got so far? Five? You’re a miserable excuse for a writer, and probably a human being in general. By the way, your first sentence sucks.

And then I’d slam my laptop closed and go and cry and watch Top Chef and eat peanut butter out of the jar.

A couple days ago I woke up and realized that this strategy isn’t producing any masterpieces. In fact, it isn’t producing anything except, well, insomnia, an ulcer, and a nervous tick. So here is the plan as it now stands: Grad school may happen, or it may not. Either way, deadlines are a long ways off, so I’ve got some time. I will write without putting pressure on myself to compose a Pulitzer-worthy memoir every time I sit down at the computer. I will buy one of those awful GRE study books and seriously contemplate taking the test sign up for the damn test. (On the plus side, I hear that GRE scores hardly count for anything in the M.F.A. admissions process, which makes sense. I mean, can you imagine a roomful of skinny emo kids made to sit for hours without coffee and cigarettes? My test score will shine like a light unto the nation next to theirs. Not that it will matter.)

And when I freak out this weekend about how I can’t write anything halfway decent to turn in to my class to be workshopped, I will take a deep breath and meditate on the thought that all is One. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll comfort myself by remembering that what my classmates have written so far is total and utter crap.

But for now, I will revel in my afternoon off by doing laundry, cleaning the bathroom, and cooking dinner for myself and Boyfriend, who, Ladies and Gentlemen, is moving in tonight. Pray for me. Wait, no, scratch that. Pray for him.


May 23, 2008. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

High School Reunion

“So I’m nervous,” I say, sliding into the hot tub next to Boyfriend. We are on a ski vacation out West with his family, but we’ve taken the afternoon off due to a bruised shin (mine) and a desire to while away the afternoon drinking and boiling in the Jacuzzi (his and mine).


I hesitate, knowing how silly he’ll find my latest preoccupation, then barrel on in my typical fashion of ignoring good common sense: “About my 5-year high school reunion in May.”

He rolls his eyes. “Why?” he repeats.

I busy myself finding a decent spot to set my vodka tonic, my skin rising in goosebumps as the cold air around me mingles with the hot steam coming off the water. “Because,” I sigh, already regretting my decision to introduce this topic, “I want it to be perfect.”

He looks at me quizzically.

“I mean, I just want everything to be as I remember it. And I want to prove to everyone that I did it, you know? That I made it. Also, I want to look really hot.”

“You are really hot.” Boyfriend takes a sip of his drink and sets it down, shaking his head. “You’re also ridiculous.” I lean over and kiss him on the lips.

“I know,” I say, and I mean it.

May 10, 2008. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.

An Introduction of Sorts

I am a writer. At least this is what I tell myself. Because, you see, I write. Actually, that’s a lie: I mean to write. I see the world as I would write it; I write it in my head as I observe it. But to write, and especially to begin to write – is an intensely scary, intimidating proposition. Because writing gives body to your thoughts. It makes them real.

This is my reality. I am a young twenty-something living and working in New York City, having graduated one year ago from a prestigious university with a B.A. (oh, does it matter? It’s a B.A. – if I have learned anything this year, it’s that a B.A. is utterly useless except perhaps to help you get into grad school. Do I even know what I would go to grad school for? Fuck me.) After graduation, I began working as a legal assistant slave at a notoriously evil corporate law firm. I stayed there for several long, painful, sleep-deprived months before escaping to 9-5 land, where instead of dodging stapler-hurling attorneys with little-man syndrome, I spend hour after hour surfing the internet trying to find some purpose to my existence updating spreadsheets. Although I have managed, in the course of about 10 months, to change not only jobs but industries and move across the city not once but twice, not to mention all the emotional trauma which I’ll share in later entries, it is remarkable that my boyfriend (“Boyfriend” from this point forward) has not up and left me, seeking someone a little more, um, stable. So Boyfriend? Thank you. And also? I’m sorry. For all the insanity, and now this blog. Please forgive me. I have steaks in the freezer.

But what I really mean to say is this: that for the entire year I’ve had a compelling urge to chronicle my clichéd life experiences. I usually tuck it away and pretend it’s not there. I engage in other productive activities, such as cooking, working out, and drinking, to distract myself from what I really want to do. Because please, God, a blog? You can’t be serious. These days I wouldn’t be surprised if my grandma had a blog. But as I said: I think I am a writer. And if I ever want to break out of cubicle purgatory, I may just have to start acting like one.

And so, dear readers, it is with a stiff gin and tonic and a forgone gym session (my mom, if she is reading this, is shaking her head in disapproval) that I finally put fingers to keypad. Welcome to my world.

April 19, 2008. Uncategorized. Leave a comment.