Reader, I Blogged It

When I was 15, after my high school best friend and I had watched A Walk to Remember (a movie we certainly, did not, cry over. Nope.), we decided to make "100 Things I Want to Do Before I Die" lists. In retrospect, I'm sure every other 15 year old girl (and perhaps just every other girl?) did this too, but I'm sure we thought we were being unimaginably creative. I've been thinking a lot about my list lately, and I wish I still had it!

I do remember some things on it; a lot of it was me being preoccupied with what colleges I wanted to get into and countries I wanted to visit. I suppose, at 15, I thought being 22 was the same thing as being dead.

I know now that I'll never do some of the things that are on my list--- and, no, dear Reader, it's not because I'm being pessimistic or hard on myself, but it's because they're things I no longer WANT to do. For instance, I'm pretty sure I had "Act in a Lifetime Movie" on there, which is certainly not something I'm planning on doing anytime soon! I remember, quite clearly actually, that my number 1 was to "Get the hell out of Connecticut." While I still want to, as my younger self so eloquently put it "get the hell out of CT," I don't think I would mind settling here in the future. I don't think I'd want to live in Southeastern part of the state, where I currently live (except maybe Mystic. I love Mystic.), but other parts of the state are quite lovely. I've come to realize that I am not the Big City girl I thought I was when I was 15; no, I am much more of a suburban, New England gal. I love the changing seasons and the polo t-shirts.

Some of the things on my list, however, I've already done: I know I had "meet and fall in love with the person I'm going to marry" on there, and I'm certain I, of course, had "go to college," although I think I wanted to major in Journalism back then. I also remember writing "raise a puppy to adulthood," and that's something I'm excitedly about to do!

But, I think it's time for me to start a new list. I know I'm just in my 20's, but I'm basically an old lady as it is, and I really don't think my ambitions are going to change too much from here on out. Once me and my lazy butt write the list, I will be sure to post it here. So, dear Readers, if any of you are out there: what would be on your lists?

My boyfriend and I are adopting...




















This puppy!!!! His name is Tate, but we're changing it to The Smoke Monster, but we'll call him Smokey for short. He's three months old, and he currently lives in Tennessee, and he's coming to live with us on February 13th. I can't wait to post more pictures once we get him!

I think the reason I stopped referring to myself as a "writer" is because, these days, I feel as though the Internet has made everyone into a writer. Anyone can create a blog (even those of us whose thoughts aren't that important--- I, on some level, apologize for my babblings!), or upload a novel onto a plethora of free websites, or, for the more ambitious, pay to have a book published at a number of self-publishing companies. It's sad, really.

I always thought being a writer meant something. Writing is my favorite sort of art form; I've never really understood the alleged beauty of a Jackson Pollock painting, but a Shakespearean play or a James Joyce novel has been known to make me shudder at the wonder of it all. I don't connect with images--- I connect with words.

But, I don't know, I feel like anyone who has the ability to string a handful of words together to make a coherent sentence now has the ability to call him or herself a writer. And that's just... that's just not fair because it cheapens the craft. I don't call the pictures I color in my My Little Pony activity book art, for God's sake! Storytelling (even though it is not the same thing as writing, but they are related, mind you) was once thought to be a gift from the gods, bestowed upon mere mortals by the muse Calliope. And now? A silly little fifteen year old girl (such as my past self) can call herself a writer because she whines bout how much she hates her life in her emo livejournal.

That, however, leaves me to the over-arching question: what, then, makes someone a writer? It's not about the desire, I don't think--- for instance, ever since I was a little girl, I've had an overarching desire to do musical theatre, but I can't sing, dance, or act very well, and my concept of rhythm is atrocious---and that desire certainly never turned me into an actress! It's not about being published--- although that helps, but, as I said before, anyone can pay to have a book published. It's not even about talent, really, because talent is so subjective. No, at the end of the day, I think it's about spark, it's about voice and it's, above all things, about consistent Beauty. (Beauty as an art form, of course, and accepting the fact that even Beauty can appear in the most hideous forms.)

Because, you see, there is the difference between enjoying writing and being a writer; there is a difference between being a rich, successful author and being a gifted wordsmith. There is a difference between a sentence from a Stephenie Meyer novel and a Charles Dickens novel, and there is a difference between what is popular and what is good. (On that note, there is, for all of you literary theory geeks, Differance as well!)

I probably won't ever be a writer---and, to be frank, I believe so very few writers are born in each generation. But, I will always strive for that heralded position, and I will, undoubtedly, enjoy the craft. After all, wouldn't life be boring if we didn't have a higher position to strive for? Very dull, I think, indeed!

Sometimes, I feel like John Locke--- the character on ABC's Lost, that is, not the philosopher.

All 11 (!) of my graduate school applications have been emailed and snail mailed to their respective homes. My Statement of Purpose and Writing Sample have been finished for months now. My recommendation writers have sent their letters. I've entered my name, address, social security number, and date of birth a countless amount of times. (And I don't even have carpal tunnel yet! That's what I call island magic.) So, you see? Now all I have to do is wait.

I hate waiting; I'm very impatient; hell, the longest I'll wait in line for any ride at Walt Disney World is 20 minutes, unless it's Toy Story Midway Mania, and then it jumps up to 35. Waiting an entire month though? Two months? Maybe even three? The very thought horrifies me. Yet, in this instance, it doesn't scare me quite as much as it should.

For, you see, I've done all of the prep work. I've agonized over my applications for months, banging at the proverbial hatch door. I've had some slip ups, and I've lost my faith and questioned myself dozens of times, thinking maybe, maybe no, I wasn't supposed to do this. But, faith was regained (luckily, for me, without any sacrifices the grad school demanded), and I persevered.

I went to the Black Rock in the middle of the Dark Territory and fetched dynamite. I blew the door to the hatch open, telling myself hope was inside, and it was my destiny to do this. And now I'm left at the end of a Season 1 cliffhanger, wondering what's inside the hatch. Let's just hope I don't find a Scotsman with crazy eyes when I start getting those letters and emails. I'm not looking for the Dharma Initiative, rather, I'm simply looking for a "Yes."

Just a quick note: For those of you who don't know, my boyfriend's little sister passed away two weeks ago. It's been a hectic, sad two weeks, but I think life might be starting to resemble something that feels normal again. As with any tragedy, however, there were some upsides--- for instance, I got to meet the rest of his extended family who I had never met (he hadn't seen them for years... you think I would have met these people by now; we've been together for four and a half years!), and I really, really like them. So at least there's that. I was going to write a blog entry about the whole... grieving process, but I decided my blog wasn't really the place for that. I feel like it's more his family's pain than mine, and I just don't feel comfortable posting that here.

So, on that note, I'm going to return to posting about my (not so interesting) life. I'm almost done with all of my graduate school applications, I just need to get my ass to the post office for one more, and then I am finally done. It's an odd feeling--- being done with something I have been fretting about since the summer. I don't think I really know what to do with myself, other than worry about what I'm going to do if I don't get accepted anywhere. (Yes, the worrying has already started. But I'm good at worrying, I promise.)

I'm in a bad mood today, and I don't really know why. I think it's just the little things. My hours have been cut at work, and I really, really just want a new job. I don't really care what the work is anymore: I just want to work full time and be on a steady schedule! But, well, I suppose I've wanted that since the summer, haven't I? Really, I just hope 2010 is better than 2009. Don't you, dear Reader?

Also, I really wish this blog had Garamond.

Well, a lot of... hectic things have been going on lately, to say the least, and I'm not really prepared to write about them. Instead, I'm just going to do a quick New Year's Resolution update.

I only did... okay for my goals from last year. And they were:

1) Follow Weight Watchers: Honestly, I was good half the year--- but, when all was said and done, I gained about 10 pounds this year. Was it a stressful, kind of sucky, rejection-filled year? Yes, yes it was. Is that an excuse? No, not at all.

2) Be better with money: I truly feel that I was a little better this year. I only have two general Visas and I paid off my store accounts. One of my Visa cards has a bit more money than I would like, but I'm not completely struggling with it.

3) Figure out my life: Again, halfway on this one. I have an idea, but it's not set in stone. I tried as hard as I could though and, in retrospect, this was a shitty resolution.

4) Read more books: I did do this one. I read 29 books in 2008, and 31 books in 2009.

5)Update this blog at least once a week: Eh. Not so much. But, I did write more, so that's an improvement.

My goals for 2010

1. Lose weight and become more satisfied with my appearance and myself. I am such a yo-yo dieter, I suppose I have been since I was 12, and I don't want to do that anymore. I want to try as hard as I can to embrace a more healthy lifestyle. I am going to continue to follow Weight Watchers, something I've been slacking on for about two months, but I am not going to do everything the program calls for: for instance, I really don't care about their "healthy oils" or their dairy as much. I want to eat more fruits and vegetables, have at least one serving of dairy a day, and just eat a lot of lean meats and whatnot. (I do not want to be a vegetarian!) I also need to drink more water and less caffeine, but I don't think the latter will happen.

2. Set a new goal every month. For instance, my goal for the month of January is not to shop for the entire month. (Except, of course, for grocery shopping!) I am taking suggestions for further months, by the way. I'm thinking of abstaining from sweets one month, not getting any take out/going out to eat another month, stuff like that.

3. Pay down my credit cards!

4. Read more books: my goal is 52 for the year.

5. Blog more. Not necessarily once a week (In all honestly, I'd prefer to write more than that!), but much more often, regardless.

Well, dear Reader, that's that. What are yours?

I should be writing my teaching statement for one of my graduate school applications. I am, however, really tired, so I figured I would write something a little bit more fun than talking about why I like teaching, what my methods are, and, somehow, relating it back to Socrates and Meno (without it sounding corny and cliche). All in 600 words, no less!

Anyway, so this More Fun Than a Teaching Statement Entry was inspired by Suman (visit her over at http://tamarindsandtoile.wordpress.com/) and one of my favorite bloggers, Lisa (http://adayinthelife-blog.blogspot.com/).

Winter is, by far, my favorite season of the year. The other day, I asked my boyfriend if he thought I liked Christmas so much because I am obsessed with the Victorian Era, the time period that virtually created the notion of Christmas as we know it today. He disagreed, saying "No, Jack. You're just really materialistic." Which, granted, is really quite true. I adore... well, stuff. I know that sounds really horrendous and superficial, but I figure it can't be as bad if I at least admit it. (Besides, come on, who doesn't love stuff?! If you say you dislike stuff, you're lying.)

BUT, on that note, I do adore the other side of Christmas: giving presents, wrapping presents, Christmas movies, decorations, and, of course, the whole true-meaning-of-Christmas bit! My ideal Christmas--- one I've never had, but the one I've always imagined in my head--- is a very typical, very Victorian Christmas, with simple, chic decorations (with a little bit of Mickey Mouse thrown in, of course!). The greatest aspect of Christmas to me is the tradition. While my politics may be liberal I am, at heart, a traditionalist in every sense of the word; it's the main reason why I could never see myself being any other faith but Catholic. It is the faith of traditionalism, after all.


But, dear Reader, I'm not answering the question, am I? What do I like about winter?! Because, well, winter is not just Christmas; heck, winter doesn't even officially start until December 22nd or so. (Although, in the retail world, winter ends on December 24th.) Winter isn't just one day a year, it's many months, and February does get to be quite dreary.

Still, I'd rather be faced with the dreariness of February than the humid, stickiness of August. I've always felt... comfortable in the winter, maybe because I like the clothes better. I love the feeling of being warm, but artificially--- the kind of warmth that comes from a cup of coffee, a cashmere sweater, or free heat being turned up to 80 degrees. It's real, but then again, it's not. (You know, kind of like Santa Claus?)

Which, I suppose, leads me to the real reason I love winter so much: it makes people believe again. (It's the same reason I love Disney World). No, dear Reader, I'm not saying I believe in Santa Claus, but, I think on some level, most people remember what it was like. And, well, it was fun! We all need a bit of fun in our lives, and winter let's us do that--- not only at Christmastime, but after, too. Because, sure, shoveling snow sucks, but that messy white stuff also brings memories of snow days and being able to stay in and watch The Price is Right after you spent the morning making snowballs. (I didn't get to make too many snowballs though, one of the cons of being an only child!)

And, finally, just like Taylor Swift, I love the smell of winter: Christmas cookies (and Christmas Cookie candles from Yankee Candle!), church incense, vanilla, caramel, peppermint, coffee, fires, and the smell of snow. They all combine to make a wonderful, comforting, cheery scent, that recalls a time that never was, but could be.