blow me down asunder

I didn't end up writing anything today. Now I feel like crap.

I always get so inspired when I read the NY times books section. There's this writer, or that writer writing what he/she loves and getting paid. I just want to drop everything rush out and get writing.

Instead I made dinner. I watched t.v. Didn't even read a book. And now 5 mins later it's bed time. But instead of sleeping I'm checking out Facebook, which is really a bad idea when you're already feeling like crap. See the thing about Facebook, people don't post stuff allow themselves to be tagged in things that they're not proud of or happy to have been a part of. As much as folks like to complain about privacy and shit, at the end of the day we love showing off. When we say we want to share our lives or connect with old friends, really what we want to do is announce how much cooler we are than the rest of the world and in how many ways that's true. So when you're attending a self-pity party alone, Facebook is the worst place to hang out at.

You might think "hey, I should check out that one girl. She was always fatter than me. But then BAM she lives in France. What about that fucking dumb blonde chick? Crap still a hotty and WHAT THE FUCK?! she got her masters before I did. And of course there's those girls who lead perfect lives you've always wanted to live, even without the ability to stalk them. And there they are traveling the world with their perfect boyfriends and happy puppy, and love running. Makes me want to shoot myself and be reborn her.

Alien like me

I have this song stuck in my head from this show called "Being Erica". The lyrics themselves aren't that profound but the song is quite beautiful:

Sweetest line is "Lift your eyes and let me in". Can not get it out of my head.

The little rejections and dejections

Miles, Miles, Miles, Miles

Miles, the giant "what if" in my life. What if we were more than friends? What if it's all in my imagination? All of it? What if I fucked it up? What if I'm the reason we're where we're at? What if it was me who couldn't make a decision?

I'm moving out. He's moving out sooner. What if I created this game of one-up-manship? What if by trying really hard to be only friends, it turns out we're barely even that?

But more importantly why does this, he, him, all of it bother me so much?

It's like Sophie's Choice

So got into Boston University School of Public Health and it's the program I wanted. Sucky thing is that I also got into Drexel's program and Anna is taking research leave for two years here in Philly.

So it's like brother or career?

But not really. I mean that's super melodramatic.

I've made really good friends here and have created a pretty bad ass support system. Boston isn't that far and not too expensive to travel to and from. It's just two years. two years of an amazing program and great faculty. two years, part of which i'll get to spend in a developing country.

And it's two years of staying put. Which is funny because just yesterday the idea of staying put in Philly for two years, making it a grand total of 3 years was kinda freakin' me out.

And after all of this, I'm worried I'm not excited about this career. But then again, nothing would really make me happy, right?

I've just gotten so used to living in the limbo, making an actual decision feels pretty scary.

No Ado About Something

The drank my way through evacuation lead up, during and after. I certainly felt numb, and coped by obsessing over sex and men. I acted out. I was juvenile. But after I was home and safe, I was ok.

It was a traumatic experience for sure, but I was ok, I think. I didn't cry, I wasn't depressed or angry. My obsession with sex and men eventually tapered off, as with my dependence on booze and cigarettes.

Still I can't help but wonder, was I ok? Really? For realz?

Sometimes I can't help but feel like I just woke up from a pleasant dream and it makes me sad that it's all merely a distant haze.

I miss a lot, but really just one giant thing

Alright so I've been feeling pretty uninspired lately. There's no books that hold my attention, no stories hammering to be let out inside my brain, my past writings all sound childish, and this lack is really really taking a toll on my overall emotional health.

I don't think I ever realized how large a part literature and fiction plays in my identity. How much joy a well turned phrase, or passage gives me. I ache for the excitement of things on paper. I miss my friends who make me think about things, who spar verbally because it's fun, who appreciate a well written piece of fiction and want to dissect it and talk about its merits and failures in large and minute detail.

I miss the need/desire to go to a full coffee shop and take in all the other people and wonder who they are, what they're working on, and where they come from. I miss my old enclave in the French House - that large table, the french doors, all those windows, the quiet view of a nice street with beautiful houses framed by green trees and grass on a rainy day.

I miss the drama of someone else's problems. sword fights, epic loves, teenage angst, adult angst, and indecision. Where did it go and how do I get it back?

That Knot in Your Chest You Just Can't Untangle

Strings that have wound themselves into a ball under my sternum and is pressing uncomfortably:

- My parents are coming to visit

- The future

- My un-date-ablity despite being pretty freakin' awesome.