http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1823766
Something more original sometime when I'm more awake.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Home SWEETER Home
I like my current apartment. I do. I like that I have a spare bedroom for wandering friends. I like all the natural light from the big windows. I like my curving 1920's art-deco walls, my hardwood floors, and most of all, my beautiful flora-filled corner of the Belhaven neighborhood. I feel very lucky to have the home that I do; I like it.
However. I do not love my current apartment. I have been feeling this lack of love quite acutely this weekend. Thus, as a wish list I'm putting out there into the universe for consideration, here is a list of things that I would love to have in my next living space - things that are wanting in my current one:
1. A backyard for Sofia. This is the biggie. I hate that my poor dog has no backyard. And currently, when my little husky is shedding her undercoat, I hate that instead of putting her outside in a nice shady yard to shed to her heart's content, I am vacuuming three times a day to keep up with the fluff. (This week's post was thiiiiiis close to being called "I Caved And Shaved the Husky Again." Depending on how much the shedding abates this week, that may well be next week's post.)
2. Windows that open. Particularly in the summer, it gets quite stuffy. And I know it lets AC escape, and blah blah blah, but call me crazy, I LIKE breathing real air. (NONE of the windows in my current apartment open. Not even a little bit. They are all painted/sealed shut.)
3. A kitchen big enough that more than one person can be in there at a time. Enough
said.
4. Cell phone signal. I get NONE in my bedrooms or kitchen, and very little anywhere else in the apartment. I even switched from the cellular provider that rhymes with Hint to the one that rhymes with Hey Bee and Bee, since I was told service would be better. It's a lie. Service is still nil. I am cut off from the rest of the world when I plug my phone into the charger. "Emergency calls only" can be made from my room. Yet I need the phone in my room for said emergencies, and for its alarm clock feature. I am often unreachable when at home. It's almost enough to make me want to get a landline. Except that seems so... committed. And clearly, I remain uncommitted to this apartment. Though officially I've now lived in this apartment for over a year (and have been paying rent in this building for a year and a half).
I'm not asking for fireplaces, a Viking-stocked kitchen, stone or brick exterior, walk-in closets, spa-bathtubs, a pool, a built-in bar and vaulted ceilings. (Though universe, if you're listening and any/all of these are available, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.) I just want a little outdoor access, a little air, options for cooking-with-a-buddy, and some good conversation. I think I am being very reasonable. Thanks for your consideration.
However. I do not love my current apartment. I have been feeling this lack of love quite acutely this weekend. Thus, as a wish list I'm putting out there into the universe for consideration, here is a list of things that I would love to have in my next living space - things that are wanting in my current one:
1. A backyard for Sofia. This is the biggie. I hate that my poor dog has no backyard. And currently, when my little husky is shedding her undercoat, I hate that instead of putting her outside in a nice shady yard to shed to her heart's content, I am vacuuming three times a day to keep up with the fluff. (This week's post was thiiiiiis close to being called "I Caved And Shaved the Husky Again." Depending on how much the shedding abates this week, that may well be next week's post.)
2. Windows that open. Particularly in the summer, it gets quite stuffy. And I know it lets AC escape, and blah blah blah, but call me crazy, I LIKE breathing real air. (NONE of the windows in my current apartment open. Not even a little bit. They are all painted/sealed shut.)
3. A kitchen big enough that more than one person can be in there at a time. Enough
said.4. Cell phone signal. I get NONE in my bedrooms or kitchen, and very little anywhere else in the apartment. I even switched from the cellular provider that rhymes with Hint to the one that rhymes with Hey Bee and Bee, since I was told service would be better. It's a lie. Service is still nil. I am cut off from the rest of the world when I plug my phone into the charger. "Emergency calls only" can be made from my room. Yet I need the phone in my room for said emergencies, and for its alarm clock feature. I am often unreachable when at home. It's almost enough to make me want to get a landline. Except that seems so... committed. And clearly, I remain uncommitted to this apartment. Though officially I've now lived in this apartment for over a year (and have been paying rent in this building for a year and a half).
I'm not asking for fireplaces, a Viking-stocked kitchen, stone or brick exterior, walk-in closets, spa-bathtubs, a pool, a built-in bar and vaulted ceilings. (Though universe, if you're listening and any/all of these are available, I wouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.) I just want a little outdoor access, a little air, options for cooking-with-a-buddy, and some good conversation. I think I am being very reasonable. Thanks for your consideration.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
As I Lay Me Down to Sleep
I've been having some upsetting recurring dreams lately. Interspersed with some new stress-dreams, last night I had a nightmare that has officially plagued me since 2003: the one where it turns out that there was this class I signed up for and never attended, and never remembered to drop, and thus failed, and thus my college diploma is revoked.
This dream definitely has staying power. (In fact, since 2007, there's even a new variation, less frequent but still scary,
where there's this class I signed up for and never attended ,and never remembered to drop, and thus failed, and thus my graduate degree is revoked.)
It's incredibly vivid: I'm sitting there on the final day of classes, and while everyone around me is giddy with excitement, talking about graduation and the new jobs that await them and all of the golden roads ahead, a cold feeling of fear grips my gut and spreads slowly through the rest of my body as I realize: Oh no, oh no no no, that American Studies class with Professor W*... I registered for it, but I don't remember going to a single freaking class...
Hoping I can slip in on that day and somehow Professor W will not have noticed my entire semester of absences, I go racing around, trying to find the classroom. I'm looking for the booklets that list all the classes and their locations, but of course, so late in the term, they're nowhere to be found. I run throughout the humanities quad, finally locating the classroom just as Professor W is passing out the final. I know none of the material on the test, and the teacher's look tells me he knows I haven't been present - but now I have to take the final, though it's an exercise in humiliation and terror.
Everything is clear up until that point, and then it gets fuzzy: no more crisp images, just an overwhelming sense of failure, disappointment in myself, a crippling sensation of fear that the mask has fallen, I haven't done as well as everyone thought, I am now exposed.
I hate this dream. It always lingers, always touches a deep nerve. I think it's because it touches on so many fears: the fear of failure, the fear of overlooking something, the fear of judgment, the fear of loss... the fear of somehow losing my very intelligence, my very self.
Why are we tormented by our own minds? I know I'm not the only one. Why must these dreams be recurring? Can we ever get over the fears they represent? If we get rid of these fears in our waking lives, will they also be put to rest in our sleeping hours?
For now, I have plenty of time to ponder these questions as I lay awake at night. I'm sure I'll be sleeping better soon. But for now, I'm hiding my diplomas, so no one can take them. And if I get a postcard from Professor W this week, I just might have a heart attack.**
*It's always Professor W. I don't know why. Likely because he was one of the most intimidating and challenging of my undergraduate professors; he really pushed me to be a better writer and more critical thinker; he's one of only two professors with whom I've stayed in touch post-college; AND, the man knows more about more topics than seems humanly possible. Which is a terrifying, terrifying quality in a person.
** Yes, he really does send me the occasional postcard.
This dream definitely has staying power. (In fact, since 2007, there's even a new variation, less frequent but still scary,
where there's this class I signed up for and never attended ,and never remembered to drop, and thus failed, and thus my graduate degree is revoked.)It's incredibly vivid: I'm sitting there on the final day of classes, and while everyone around me is giddy with excitement, talking about graduation and the new jobs that await them and all of the golden roads ahead, a cold feeling of fear grips my gut and spreads slowly through the rest of my body as I realize: Oh no, oh no no no, that American Studies class with Professor W*... I registered for it, but I don't remember going to a single freaking class...
Hoping I can slip in on that day and somehow Professor W will not have noticed my entire semester of absences, I go racing around, trying to find the classroom. I'm looking for the booklets that list all the classes and their locations, but of course, so late in the term, they're nowhere to be found. I run throughout the humanities quad, finally locating the classroom just as Professor W is passing out the final. I know none of the material on the test, and the teacher's look tells me he knows I haven't been present - but now I have to take the final, though it's an exercise in humiliation and terror.
Everything is clear up until that point, and then it gets fuzzy: no more crisp images, just an overwhelming sense of failure, disappointment in myself, a crippling sensation of fear that the mask has fallen, I haven't done as well as everyone thought, I am now exposed.
I hate this dream. It always lingers, always touches a deep nerve. I think it's because it touches on so many fears: the fear of failure, the fear of overlooking something, the fear of judgment, the fear of loss... the fear of somehow losing my very intelligence, my very self.
Why are we tormented by our own minds? I know I'm not the only one. Why must these dreams be recurring? Can we ever get over the fears they represent? If we get rid of these fears in our waking lives, will they also be put to rest in our sleeping hours?
For now, I have plenty of time to ponder these questions as I lay awake at night. I'm sure I'll be sleeping better soon. But for now, I'm hiding my diplomas, so no one can take them. And if I get a postcard from Professor W this week, I just might have a heart attack.**
*It's always Professor W. I don't know why. Likely because he was one of the most intimidating and challenging of my undergraduate professors; he really pushed me to be a better writer and more critical thinker; he's one of only two professors with whom I've stayed in touch post-college; AND, the man knows more about more topics than seems humanly possible. Which is a terrifying, terrifying quality in a person.
** Yes, he really does send me the occasional postcard.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Placeholder
I'm too in need of bedtime at the moment to write tonight... but there WILL be an installment this week, so check back soon! Sweet dreams...
Monday, July 7, 2008
We're All All Write
I have a larger circle of writer-friends now than I ever have in the past. It's pretty incredible - frankly, amazing and inspiring - to be surrounded by so many ideas, so much enthusiasm, so many worthy verbal sparring partners and written-project-collaborators.
It can also be a hard to stay on track with any one project when there are so many being tossed around. It can get a little overwhelming. Not just on the group level, but on
the individual level. One person's idea will give me another idea, and then someone else has a third that just sounds so much fun... and suddenly we reach the point of the overwhelm. Well, I do, at least. Sometimes I start to feel like the big-eyed girl staring at an all you can eat buffet, clutching my tiny plate like a shield as I head in to battle: everything looks so good! And it's all you can eat! But as my mother frequently reminds me at such buffets "All-you-can-eat is not a personal challenge, Beth."
(The above paragraph, I must confess, at some point stopped being a metaphor and just became an anecdote. I really do eat too much at buffets, and my mom really does remind me -and my Dad! - that buffet eating is not a competitive sport...)
Wait a minute! Look at that parenthetical! Ha! There! You see?! I got sidetracked just writing this blog, on my own...
To return to the topic at hand, I have fantastically creative friends with an overabundance of good ideas and projects waiting-to-be-tackled. An old and cliched question arises: can you have too much of a good thing? In this case - are we creating a sort of reverse-writer's block, where instead of blanking because we have no good ideas, we are stalling because we have too many? It feels sometimes like we get stuck in a traffic jam of our own creation, throwing up writer's roadblocks as we write a paragraph on this project, change channels and crank out an outline for another great project, hit the scan button again and remember this super-duper idea I had when I was twelve that I just never got to --
Yes. I think the traffic jam is (figuratively) real.
However, I don't think the answer is to get out of the car, or shake fists at the other drivers, or shout obscenities to try and get traffic moving again. I think instead we need to install some stoplights. Get off the freeway now and then to refuel when we need a break. Learn to take the back roads when we need to, and learn to share the road. We just need to get traffic under control - red light, green light, left turn, right turn, slow down, speed up, pull over when we get lost. We can learn to use maps. Plan out the journey, but still leave room for some sidetrips and detours. One project, the next, the next - and once again, we're all all write.
(Except for me and my overly metaphoric, punforgivable posts. Thanks for not revoking my writer's card, y'all.)
It can also be a hard to stay on track with any one project when there are so many being tossed around. It can get a little overwhelming. Not just on the group level, but on
the individual level. One person's idea will give me another idea, and then someone else has a third that just sounds so much fun... and suddenly we reach the point of the overwhelm. Well, I do, at least. Sometimes I start to feel like the big-eyed girl staring at an all you can eat buffet, clutching my tiny plate like a shield as I head in to battle: everything looks so good! And it's all you can eat! But as my mother frequently reminds me at such buffets "All-you-can-eat is not a personal challenge, Beth."(The above paragraph, I must confess, at some point stopped being a metaphor and just became an anecdote. I really do eat too much at buffets, and my mom really does remind me -and my Dad! - that buffet eating is not a competitive sport...)
Wait a minute! Look at that parenthetical! Ha! There! You see?! I got sidetracked just writing this blog, on my own...
To return to the topic at hand, I have fantastically creative friends with an overabundance of good ideas and projects waiting-to-be-tackled. An old and cliched question arises: can you have too much of a good thing? In this case - are we creating a sort of reverse-writer's block, where instead of blanking because we have no good ideas, we are stalling because we have too many? It feels sometimes like we get stuck in a traffic jam of our own creation, throwing up writer's roadblocks as we write a paragraph on this project, change channels and crank out an outline for another great project, hit the scan button again and remember this super-duper idea I had when I was twelve that I just never got to --
Yes. I think the traffic jam is (figuratively) real.
However, I don't think the answer is to get out of the car, or shake fists at the other drivers, or shout obscenities to try and get traffic moving again. I think instead we need to install some stoplights. Get off the freeway now and then to refuel when we need a break. Learn to take the back roads when we need to, and learn to share the road. We just need to get traffic under control - red light, green light, left turn, right turn, slow down, speed up, pull over when we get lost. We can learn to use maps. Plan out the journey, but still leave room for some sidetrips and detours. One project, the next, the next - and once again, we're all all write.
(Except for me and my overly metaphoric, punforgivable posts. Thanks for not revoking my writer's card, y'all.)
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