I’m Here

It’s been a while, huh?  I guess you could probably tell, there at the end of March, that things were getting bleak.  That I wasn’t very happy.  I kept things vague and short in April because it was too hard to pretend for very long that my life was fun and bright, or even very interesting.  I had a moment, in mid-April, I guess?  Where I realized that everyone who knows me best and whom I love most in this world is several hours and several hundred miles away.  That’s hard.  Most of that month, I pushed away the hollowness as best I could and went along on my way.  The last weekend in April, I drove home; I didn’t even make it ten minutes outside the city before I broke into heaving sobs, so thankful to be getting out of here, if only for a few days, and so sad that that’s how I feel about this city I’ve lived in for the last nine months.  And so scared that this is what the rest of my life is going to look like.  When you get down there deep in that hole, it’s hard to realize what a stupid line of thinking that is.  What helped was finally admitting to my best, best friend that I was unhappy more days than not, and that I hate this stupid town.  Maybe hate is a strong word.  She sent me a card a few days later, and it felt like the first time I had really smiled in a long time.

There isn’t a whole lot anchoring me here.  I spend a lot of time daydreaming about leaving, imagining how easy and freeing it would be to just get in my car and drive to New York City.  I only have enough money to make it there maybe a week or two, but I could do it, and I could probably breathe easier there.  It is mid-May now, and although things aren’t as bad as they were a month ago, I still struggle to get through some evenings.  I’ve started running.  If you know me at all, you know that’s a big fucking deal.  But every time I do it, every time I pull my protesting body out of bed in the morning and get it out on the bike path through the park, every time I finish running a few miles, I am able to congratulate myself for doing something healthy.  It’s an ego boost, something to feel good about, which I’ve been short on this year.  I finally get what the big fucking deal about endorphins is.  I ran this morning.  Not far, but it was the first time in a week and half, and God, I needed that.  I’m cuddled up here writing and listening to The Mountain Goats, and all I can see out my window over the back of my couch is treetops and a patch of perfect blue sky shot through with a telephone wire.  The next year of my life may not be great.  But I’m gonna make it.  And I’ll be here.

I have been spending, lately, an inordinate amount of time wishing I were 19 again.

I want it to be spring, but like the perfect weather spring where the temperature is always just warm enough but never makes you sweat, and it’s always bright and sunny, blue skies all around.  I want to be discovering Bishop Allen’s The Broken String for the first time and playing it on repeat in my old Honda.  I want to have just come home from a miraculous trip to New York City.  I want Starbucks to be included in my meal plan.  I want to go camping with my high school friends.  I want to harbor a crush on the older guy that works at the music store downtown.  I want my only worry to be when my next shift at Coldstone is.  I want to feel the immense relief of the loneliness letting up.  I almost want to be too young to buy alcohol, so that it feels like a thrill when my best friend’s older sister invites us to a party.  I want to have so much time left in college.  I want to feel like a kid and feel like it’s ok to feel like a kid.  I want to steal the neighbor’s wireless because my parents still use dial-up.  I want to be able to look out my window and see the highway.  I want to work at the freaking AIR SHOW this summer!  Oh man!

I really just want to be 19 again.

Man I Gotta Get Out Of This Town

When I was home for Spring Break at the beginning of the month, I went through my notebooks and folders from last semester, and found a piece of writing I’d done in my Social Psych class back in October.  I remember the exact day I wrote it; it was the day I was going home for Fall Break, and I was in the most boring class I’ve ever had, at 4:30 in the afternoon.  I couldn’t sit still for the life of me because I was so excited to go home; it had been a while since I’d seen people in Dayton.  So instead of listening to lecture, I wrote this, and then just walked out of class.

5 Places I Would Rather Be Right Now

• Sunday morning, 1996, Grandma’s house, sitting down to bacon and eggs with her and Lydia and Whitney
• Home, now, lounging in the green chair, chili cooking, football on TV
• May 2008, Brooklyn Bridge, with the beer and the wind and the lights
• In bed, under covers, in soft afternoon light, Ben Lee singing in my ear
• Whenever, wherever, driving my old, wrecked Honda, windows down, music up

And then, after I found it, I stuck it in the folder I use for my Shakespeare class now and forgot about it.  Until St. Patty’s day, sitting in class listening to a boring presentation, when I took it out, reread it, and added to it:

• About 15 hours less than a year ago today, drunk off my ass with my best friends, in the room of two trashy boys
• January of my senior year, driving home from work with a song in my head and the biggest crush
• August, my sister’s, with beach hair and a book
• Springtime at OLOM, 2002 or so, outside in the early morning cool, on the bike racks waiting for the bell to ring
• 4 hours from now, taking a walk around campus with coffee and my iPod

I think this might become a thing I do.

Trip Around The Sun, Part One

Hello.  I just wanted to sit and reflect a little bit on the last year of my life.  Actually, this part of the entry is being written on September 11th, because my mind kept wandering to this topic during English class instead of actually paying attention to Wimsatt and New Criticism and all that boring bullshit.  I’m just so much happier than I was last year, so happy that things have changed for the better here, and I thought that instead of just marinating in the juicy sauces of joy (ETA on October 27: What the fuck is up with this imagery here?  What was I doing with that, exactly?), I thought I’d make myself a tiny little bit more miserable by revisiting parts of the past.  Let’s do the time warp (again?)!

It seems a little melodramatic to start with January, but it’s…the beginning, so I’ll just dive right in.  January was rough, y’all.  I remember very vividly one single night smack-dab in the middle of the month that involved desperate midnight crying, a momentary turn to Jesus, and alot of talking to myself, practicing breathing exercises.  Okay, so basically like every other day around here, come to think of it.  Moving on.  It was the start of a new semester, which offered some hope, but I think that by this point in the school year, I was resigned to a bitter, awful ride til the end.  I was not wrong.  February…uhhhh, I don’t remember alot about February.  Two years ago in February, I read Crime and Punishment, if that counts for anything.  Probably not, huh?  I do remember getting a box of Valentine’s candy from my mom, because I will never really be cool.  And I’m not ashamed to say that I can’t wait to get yet another Valentine’s box this year.  Best! tradition! ever!  March was my birthday month!  I was hungover.  Not for the whole month, just for my birthday.  My friends went to lunch with me and then left for Dayton, and I spent my birthday chilling in my room, watching other people I didn’t like get drunk, and editing other people’s English papers because they were too stupid to pass their class without me.  I am still a little bitter about this past birthday, but then again, I couldn’t even tell you what my best birthday was.  I think it may have involved Marian’s, which is not too shabby, but I am not a “let’s celebrate my birthday, because clearly the day I was born is monumental and epic!” kind of person.  I am not one who likes the limelight, although saying that makes me want to peer over my shoulder for someone pointing at me and shouting, “WRONG, you lying, attention-whoring princess!”  That person may or may not be one of my sisters.

Oh my God, anyways.  Do I remember anything else about March?  Nothing comes to mind.  Some things probably happened.  Was this the month I wrote a paper drunk and then had my professor call its prose “enviably beautiful”?  Oh no, that was April.  Whoa, maybe I am an attention whore…  Things seemed a bit more bearable in April, because I knew the end of the school year was coming.  However, there was the weekend where my ex-roommate’s little sister appeared on a Sunday night to stay and hang out that night and the next day because her spoiled sophomore-in-high-school ass had the Monday off.  Anyways, I had some sort of panic attack that night and took a walk around campus by myself at 1:30 in the morning, which in general is something I guess you’re not supposed to do.  I did not get raped.  I also distinctly remember the evening I wrote said drunken paper.  It was about 7:00, and I decided to walk to Starbucks, because I knew I had a long night ahead of me.  That walk may have been the happiest I was all school year.  Is that overly dramatic?  I just remember that the sun was setting and it was a beautiful day and there was this boy I liked, and I wasn’t worried about my paper and I knew the end of the year was coming soon so things would be alright.  I still remember that night alot, because it was one of precious few memories I enjoy from last school year.  Other than that, I think my favorite April day was my oldest sister’s birthday, April 29th.  I was sitting in my bed on the phone with her, taking down the things I had hung up on my wall to remind me of home, and I just remember this incredible feeling of happiness, of, of, of relief I guess, of a return to wholeness, like finally, I made it, things can go back to normal now.  Two days later it was May, and it rained and I moved out; I remember sitting on the unmade, unlofted bed of the girl across the hall from me, in her unfurnished room thinking to myself : “I’m going to remember this for a very long time”.  I suppose there were a lot of things that were ”un-” that day, but happy is not one of them.  And I remember very well the ride home because GOD I was overjoyed.  I’m sorry, I know I sound like a melodramatic baby with all the talk of the horrors of freshman year, like girl, why didn’t you just move your ass out of there at the first, second, or 75th sign of trouble?  And I can tell you that the reason is because I am a pussy.  Seriously, I am the biggest wuss about standing up for myself.  The first step, I hear, is admitting you have a problem. 

So, May.  In May, one of my close friends had a beautiful baby boy named Alan.  He only weighed four pounds when he was born, and the day he was born I didn’t even get to see him becuase he was in a special nursery, but now, he’s just fine.  He’s better than fine.  I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I also went to New York with my three best friends in May.  That’s one of the single most important highlights of the month, and probably of the year, but it’s only September right now, so maybe someone will surprise me with a 4.0 or a free pony or a home-cooked dinner or something.  I am ever hopeful.  But seriously, I think that’s basically all that happened in May, and I remember thinking that when I came back, things should probably start happening to me, like this is the point in the movie where I get swept off my feet or offered a life-changing internship or get hit by a train.  Come on, New York!  Spit me out something good!  June meant more minor traveling, like to Yellow Springs for a camping trip and Kentucky for a sister trip.  June was a pretty perfect representation of what summer should be like, all lemonade and heat.  I’m pretty into June. 

To be continued….

Constructive Summer

This summer…. man, how can I even begin to explain this summer?  This summer was probably the best one of my life so far.  This summer was a respite, first and foremost, from the awful.  This summer was everything I needed and had been looking forward to from August to May.  I’d have to say this summer really delivered.  This summer brought the arrival of a beautiful new baby boy into the life of a not-so-close-anymore friend.  This summer saw the realization of a lifelong dream, and it was better than I ever ever ever could have imagined.  This summer I walked down Fifth Avenue, ate lunch in Central Park, drank in a cramped Manhattan apartment with one of the most interesting people I’ve ever met, hailed my first taxi, and had a magical moment on the Brooklyn Bridge.  This summer another dream was reaffirmed.  This summer was work, almost daily sometimes, mostly with people I love and adore and miss to death right now.  This summer was constantly being with my three best friends, whom my heart hurts thinking about sometimes, because the three of them are together and I am here.  This summer I met some interesting characters.  This summer was driving, driving, driving, and loving every minute of it.  I miss that.  This summer was a mini-roadtrip by myself, just me and the open road, to visit someone I loved.  This summer was freedom and money.  This summer was spent partially sleeping on my best friend’s hardwood floor.  This summer was my first shot in a bar, so this summer was sort of illegal.  This summer was the burning of some significant things, things that still cross my mind from time to time.  This summer I cleaned, I cooked, I read not nearly as much as I told myself I would, I stayed up late, I drank, I saw and spent time with everyone I loved.  This summer there was a boy, just as there has always been a boy, but this summer the boy-crush turned out to be a little more lasting and intense than I expected.  Shit.  This summer involved discovering lots of new music at my new favorite music store.  This summer was The Hold Steady, The Hold Steady, The Hold Steady, The Hold Steady.   This summer I totally jinxed myself.  This summer was late night decorating for one of the most wonderful people I know.  This summer was drunken camping and lots of girl talk.  This summer was a mystery knock at the door and the best surprise I’ve ever gotten.  This summer brought the death of a kid that I didn’t even know, yet still brought me to tears during an absolutely bereft moment late one night.  This summer was a walk in the rain.  This summer was worrying about a friend who sometimes seems to be changing too fast for me to keep up with, so this summer was kind of anxious and sad.  This summer was terror at the thought of August, which means this summer was ignoring the fact that August 24th even existed.  This summer was the Olympics, and the Rinehart Olympics.  This summer took me to Florida for some quality sister time, and one relaxing, perfect week with people who share the same ideas about vacation as I do.  This summer was my first flight, but for a very good reason.  This summer was some damn crying into my ice cream in the middle of a Florida street, so don’t think this summer was not occasionally embarassing.  This summer I think I must have met more people who intrigued me or made me laugh or fleetingly crush than any other time in my life.  And finally, this summer literally ended with a bang.

I can’t wait til May.

See You Around Town…

Whenever I start to feel like I’ve been having a completely lazy, unproductive summer, I just remind myself that I already accomplished a lifelong dream in May: I visited New York City.  Ok, so that’s not really very productive of me, but it’s not average, either, which is sometimes what my life veers into…  Anyway, the trip itself was perfect.  I mean, seriously, I could not have asked for anything more out of it.  I got to go with my three very best friends: Kimber, Claire, and Emily, we had mostly lovely weather, no fighting (except for some cold shouldering that lasted about three hours, but we don’t talk about that), tons of sightseeing and amazing food, a night of drinking and debauchery (…okay, more drinking than debauchery, but I love to sounding like the bad ass I so obviously am not) and TAXI RIDING!  And honestly, most of the negative things I had ever heard about New York were proven false.  Everywhere we went, people were lovely, not rude or snide or too in a hurry to notice any measly tourists.  Waiters and waitresses offered to take group photos on our cameras for us.  We struck up a lovely conversation with two men on the subway late at night.  We didn’t have to ask for directions on the subway on Sunday because a very nice Hispanic man in a poncho walked up and helped us of his own accord.  Even the ones who hit on us or cat-called did so in utterly charming ways that made me want to sit and talk with them instead of ignoring them like you do a regular creeper, like calling us “mamis” or identifying us by shirt color. I didn’t find the city to be any dirtier than downtown Dayton, and honestly, as far as the smell of the city, I’ll repeat what I told my mother: the worst-smelling part of the city, in my estimation, came from standing outside of the Fifth Avenue Abercrombie and Fitch and inhaling whatever rancid pubescent boy cologne they were brewing inside that managed to waft out onto the sidewalk, assaulting the nostrils of us unsuspecting tourists.

While in New York, we were lucky enough to become acquainted with two of Claire’s charming family members: Aunt Madeline and Jeremy, a cousin.  We stayed with Madeline in Brooklyn, and she was the perfect hostess.  She offered to parallel park the car when we arrived and had a bottle of wine waiting for us upstairs in her gorgeous apartment, where she had written in charcoal all over one brick wall, just little phrases; my favorite: “I liked it the way I found it”.  It just rings true to my whole experience in the city.  Seriously, we’re so lucky we got to stay with Madeline: she showed us how to ride the B train into Manhattan, didn’t mind when we came in at 6 A.M. obnoxiously drunk and woke her up, and sat and drank coffee with us on one of her precious free evenings, asking us about our lives back in Dayton and telling us about hers, which includes travels abroad at the age of 18 and dating various news anchors.  Yeah so I’m pretty sure she’s rad. 

And then there’s Jeremy, or Jeremiah, as he has come to be known.  Jeremiah is awesome for many reasons: he has a hat full of bones in his tiny one room apartment, the skin of a puff adder that he skinned himself, outrageous polka-dotted flip-flops given to him in a small African village, and a vast knowledge of anything you ever wanted to know or were just wondering about, ever.  In the space of about three days, he taught us about Manhattan schist, the building of the Brooklyn Bridge, the art form that is slingshotting, demon hunting in Mexico, and many more valuable lessons that I’m going to be selfish with and keep for myself.  I will say that after a night spent drinking beer and whiskey with the guy, I came away with five new injuries, but a whole new appreciation for trilobites and ammonites.  Everyone needs to drink with a biology professor at least once in their lives.

 

Honestly, every time I’ve tried to write about New York in the past two months, it’s come out as incoherent garbage that’s basically me spouting various quotes or anecdotes and not doing any actual writing, but I guess this’ll have to suffice.  Don’t worry, I have a list of all the things that make me smile or laugh out loud when remembering them, as well as hundreds of pictures, but I will keep them to myself because I know how boring it is to sit and listen to someone blather on about their hilarious stories and oh my gosh remember that one night right after we got off the Brooklyn Bridge?!  Oh my GOD, that was just too funny OH WAIT YOU WEREN’T THERE YOU TOTALLY DON’T CARE.  This is probably bad enough as it is, so I guess you’ll just never have to sit through the telling of the cute boy with the Narnia tattoo….