Can I talk my shit again?

I couldn't think of a better title for this.  I'm talking shit, I'm doing it again, and because it's my blog, I'm allowed to do this.

Let's just start with the basics.  I have been dating someone for three weeks, almost a month.  Things moved really fast.  We were exclusive within three days; official in five; he met my family on the seventh.  This is something a relationship person does, not something a commitment-phobe is open to.  But apparently I give in to peer pressure rather easily.  At first I was really excited (remember when I talked about wanting one so badly?), but now?  Now I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about anything.

This is so teenage angst of me I can't stand it.  I've never had a boyfriend, so this is something I should've gotten out of my system ten years ago.  But I didn't, so it's pouring out now.  Basically, I compared being in a relationship to buying something on eBay: it's great when I find that listing and make the bid.  I want it.  I think of all the fun I'll have with it.  But as soon as the clock starts ticking and then I win, I immediately regret it.  I don't have room for it, or it's too much money.  It's an inconvenience.  I want my old life back.

This leads to me being a bitch for no reason.

Anyway, so I'm dating someone.  I don't plan on marrying him.  I don't want to get married.  I don't want to have kids.  We're dating.  That's it.

Onto bigger things:  I'm still not sure what the fuck it is I'm doing with my life.  I'm here in Jacksonville, working at my dead-end job, dreaming about bigger things.  I'm definitely a grass-is-greener person, so when I think of other places--Athens!  Charleston!  DC!--they're perfect.  They're beautiful.  My life would be completely wonderful if I just had the opportunity to leave.  But once again, in reality, they're a bit too eBay as well.  I also have defined myself a failure as of late:

• Savannah - Failed!
• Grad school - Failed!
• New job - Failed!

I can't get past it.  I know each new beginning is fresh, but it doesn't matter.  People are beginning to tire of my dreams and ideas.  Every week it's something new, and nothing ever pans out.  I'm left here, day after day, watching Mad Men, texting like a fiend, and thinking "what if?" endlessly.  I don't want to stay at this job.  There's no future and I'll have to work there for at least another five years to even make enough money to move out on my own.  Why am I not jumping at the chance to do something new?  Why?  I'll make enough money to do what I want, I'll still be in town, why can't I just suck it up for a few more years and do it?

Because I'm tired of sucking it up.  I'm tired of taking jobs just because they're there, just because someone wants me to.  Where have I gotten?  I have a degree.  I graduated with honors.  I have five years of experience, including managerial experience.  I am making $11.50 an hour doing the work of a robot.  And even if I took the job I was offered today, I'd be making $17.00 an hour doing the work of a slightly more intelligent robot.  When do I get to do something I want to do?

I consulted Steven while having this little meltdown because, if there's anyone who can verbally slap the shit out of me, it's him.  He told me that if I already hate the idea of the job (proofreading mortgage loans), I'm going to hate it more once I start.  Things don't get better.  And should I follow my dreams, whatever they are?   He says yes.  These were his three questions regarding any plans of moving, especially to DC:

1. Do you want to move?
2. Is there a solid job opportunity where you want to go that's at least as good as one you could get at home?
3. Can you afford it?

Beyond that, I'm overthinking.  

Emily.  Take a risk.  Stop thinking you're going to fail.  You've learned so much in the past year.  Yes, you're still in Jacksonville; yes, you still live with your parents; yes, you're just as confused as you were.  But you know what?  Everyone does this.  You are not your mother.  You are not married and pregnant at 23.  You are making your own decisions, you are listening to your own heart, you are responsible only for yourself.  Fuck your parents, fuck your brother, fuck your boyfriend, fuck your friends.  Stop using them as excuses to feel bad.  This is it.  In ten years you will be 33 and you will regret not going for it.  You do not want to be 33 and still processing payments.  You want to be someone, you want to do something.  If that takes three years of living in DC, so what?  Is that so awful?  You love it there.  It has seasons.  And when you're done, you'll be making buckets of money and you can go wherever you want.  While you're there, you'll travel.  You'll see old friends.  You'll sleep with men and you'll drink with women.  Why is this so hard for you to do?  Why are you so scared?  Why can't you just face your fears, take a shot and march on?  Why be such a hardass up front if you won't follow through?

Just do it.  There's no other option.  Just go.

Savannah

There was a poem I studied my last semester of college about a young girl attempting to murder her baby dolls, and one of the lines that always stuck with me was, "Have you ever wanted to give someone all your money?"

I didn't really understand it then. Today I went to Savannah with a couple friends and as we were walking through a square, carrying our beers and our touristy purchases, there was a peace protest going on. One person stood on each corner of the quintessential Savannah statue found in many of the squares. They didn't say anything, they each just stood with their posters suggesting peace.

There was a really old woman--like my grandma's age--standing on one corner in her twinset and slacks, holding a sign saying standing there would increase peace in plain block cut-out letters. And I wanted to give her all my money. Something about her tugged on my heart so heavily that I still remember exactly what she was wearing, though I don't remember the others. I wanted to make her happy, to solve her problems, to find out what drove her to protest in the square in the first place. They weren't looking for money, they weren't even looking for encouragement. All I could do was smile at her and hope she understood what I was trying to do.

I don't know what I'm trying to say with this. I don't know this woman, I'll probably never see her again, but something about her stuck with me and I had to get it out.

Shameless Self Promotion

I hate doing this, but whatever, I'm going to do it anyway.

I recently fell in love with thrifting and Goodwill in particular, and after a successful day today, I decided I needed to share what I bought with the world.  I think some people do this on YouTube--the New York Times story about it always pops up on my Google News--but I'd rather not be pictured and honestly I do not like my voice enough to share it with millions.  The written word will have to do.

http://i-told-you-so-emily.blogspot.com/

Anyway, check it out if you like good deals or if you hate them.  Comments of either variety are still comments.




PS, I'll eventually write again in here.  I just haven't had a whole lot going on lately and I'm trying to move forward while staying focused.  Harder than it seems.

This isn't drama.

This is the truth.

In the week since I last updated, nothing has happened.  I'm no further in the moving process than I was then.  I'm no closer to sex, scholarships, fitting into that small skirt or learning how to use my new camera.  People have come and gone, I've gotten paid, I've been reading, but nothing has moved forward.

I want change so badly I'm pushing it away without even knowing.

Interstate 10

I've been on I-10 since 8 this morning. All I can think about is this interview at 4:30 and how I'm torn about it. On one hand, I'm driving out here so I must want it, and an art museum is my ideal job. But on the other hand, what if the pay sucks and I have to wait until January? And what if, secretly, I want to wait until January? Would that be so awful? Yes. No. Both.

I'm going to put it into fate's hands. I know my limits. I just want to see where I can go.

The Questions Continue

So I'm still having problems.  Do I really want to go to grad school?  Is this the right choice?  What if I fail?  I can't stay in Jacksonville--my job goes nowhere, I don't have any friends left here, much less any prospects for someone to sleep with (am I really asking for too much?  I don't want a boyfriend, for God's sake)--but my only option right now is to go to grad school.  In Pensacola.  The only person I know there isn't too fond of me, or, if he is, it's for completely the wrong reasons and even if my paranoid suspicions were false, that doesn't make me a priority in his life or anyone else's for that matter.  And you know, for what it's worth, what if my parents are right and I can't afford anything?  I've been through Savannah once and I can't do it again.  It wasn't fun, it wasn't anything but a learning experience, and I've learned my lesson, okay?  I get it.

I'm almost twenty-three and no one has faith in me.  I don't have faith in me.  I should've been able to do this already. I should've been doing this since my freshman year of college.  Why am I so hesitant?  Why am I so afraid?  I can't do this, unless someone has a bucket of money they'd like to throw my way.  That almost happened with undergrad...and unfortunately the worst of the worst happened.  I think I'm completing my karmic retribution by being so selfish my senior year of high school/freshman year of college, but it's not like I've learned anything.  I rush into things, I expect too much, I set myself up for failure, and I'm all alone each time.  Even if my parents are there, even if I know my neighbors, I'm all alone.  When will I learn?

Also, I obviously have lost my writing skills, and that's really shitty because I'm probably going to need those soon.

Also

Let's be frank here, because it's my blog and I make the rules.  It's been over a year since I last had sex and things are getting desperate and sad.  I don't know how it got like this and I don't know how to get out of it but things aren't looking up and there's only so much that can be done before I resort to hiring someone or spending gas money to visit a man I haven't had feelings for in a very long time, just to get the job done.

I had to get that out.  Things are rough is all I'm saying.  And not even in the fun way, because if that were the case I wouldn't be complaining.

headache headache headache headache

I'm so uninspired lately.  And I'm starting to doubt my choices and decisions.

Will anything really change ever?

Am I wrong here?

Is it wrong to try to extend a peace offering?  I'm not even the person in the wrong here.  So why am I asking for forgiveness?  Maybe it's because I want my underwear back--I spend a lot of money on those, and while I'm not exactly starving over here, it's the principle of the matter.  Maybe I still hope I was wrong.  No wait, there's no maybe there.  I really do hope I was wrong.  I doubt I was.  Maybe I just need a friend.  I think you shouldn't make people hate you in a city other than the one in which you live.  Especially if you're moving somewhere soon.  It messes up my energy and if I move to Pensacola with negative energy greeting me and Eleanor, I really don't stand a chance.  I just want peace.  That's it.

In other novelties, I remember a Saved By the Bell episode where Zack, my first and only love, declared world peace had broken out.  I don't think I believed him even when I was six, but because he's the only blonde man I could fall for, I guess love is both blind and deaf.

I've been physically ill for the last two weeks.  I'm sorry if that's unpleasant for you but it's unpleasant for me too.

I've been addicted to tumblr.  It's just so damn easy.

I have to wait four more days to hear about a possible job in my new home.  Wait--would it be a home?  Weird.  I think I throw that word around a lot.

Today in Pilates class I thought about how funny it would be if I ended up ditching my grad school plans and became a Pilates instructor.  Oh no, not funny.  Fucking insane is the better description.

My parents were watching Forty Days and Forty Nights tonight.  Multiply that by twelve and I believe you have my life.

My hair has been doing amazing things lately.

I would kiss someone for fried green tomatoes or La Nopalera right now.

I guess it's not really irony

So I told my parents my plans for grad school last night.  They didn't really freak out at all, which was surprising, given their opinions on school in general.  They were pretty supportive, and pretty much told me what I already knew--that I needed to find a job and a place to live before going there.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that, in the last week, I've learned I have to move to Pensacola in August instead of January.  This is a little bit of a shock.  This is also why I figured my parents would flip out, but miracles do happen apparently.  My anxiety kicked in last night and I started wondering if it was worth it, if I should even go out there at all or if I should just stick around here.  In case I don't find a job, I emailed UWF to see if deferment was available at all.  I can't live there and not have a job.  Unfortunately there isn't a trust fund waiting to bail me out.  My dead relatives were addicts and poor people.  We are generally not a wealthy family but what we lack in riches we make up for in dark humor and baking skills.

Anyway, I'm just waiting now.  I applied for jobs last night--honestly, how cool would it be to be a paint mixer at the Home Depot?  That sounds like a dream and I'm not joking--and I've begun looking for places to live.

Here we go.

I'm literally shaking right now

Goddamn you.  Goddamn you for making me trust you with my emotions.  Goddamn you for thinking it was okay to string me along while you were getting close enough to someone else that you fucking proposed to her.  You told me you weren't ready to be in a relationship, that you couldn't handle it.  When I asked if there was someone else, you said there wasn't, that you had been cheated on and it's a shitty feeling.  That was three months ago.  I know you've known her for more than three months.  Don't think I can't find something out.  It's the fucking internet, don't be a fucking fool, you asshole.  And when you post pictures of the ring and exclamations of acceptance on Twitter of all fucking places, I'm going to find it.  I'm a smart girl.  I know how to find out the truth.  You're not the first person to end it with me on a social networking site, so maybe you should try to be a little more unique next time, huh?  You're thirty, you can handle that I'm sure.  I mean, you can handle a double life and all, so why not creativity?

What hurts the most is that, two nights ago, we talked like nothing was going on.  We've both been busy lately and haven't talked regularly in like three weeks, but that stuff happens.  It does.  But I felt like maybe we were possibly getting back into the groove, and I hoped this week we'd be back to old times.  Apparently that wasn't on your agenda, because while I was sending you dirty text messages and pictures, you were buying an engagement ring for some woman I never knew existed.  That's so romantic of you.

Listen, your fiancee will know about me.  I will send her every text, every instant message, every picture you've ever sent me.  I'll tell her all about how you swore there was no one else, how you told me I could trust you.  I'm sure she'd love to hear about it, and because you hurt me, I'm more than willing to hurt you.  Seriously.  You don't even need to dare me, I already have a plan of attack.

If I get accepted to grad school in your hometown, I will go, and I hope you see me everyday.  I hope I remind you of just how shitty you are.  Someone needs to.  You can't have your cake and eat it too, and you're no different than the other men who've deceived a woman.  You guys never win.  I'll make damn sure of that.

Oh good jesus

I just sent in my grad school application.  I also sent my FAFSA.  This morning I mailed my formal letter, as well as my transcript requests to my two undergraduate institutions.

Needless to say, I'm kinda freaking out right now.

I'm not a religious girl, but some part of me likes to hope there's some god or goddess or even my Papa Joe looking down on me and listening to my concerns.  So I said a little prayer as I dropped my letter into the mailbox.  The USPS mailbox, not my parents', so I wouldn't be able to retrieve it.

I'm worried I'm too stupid (and I hate that word).  I'm worried they'll laugh at me.  I'm worried I'm already too late for the spring semester.  I'm worried the prerequisites will get in the way and they'll stamp one of those NO stamps in red across my name.  I'm worried I used the wrong font.  I'm worried the white paper isn't white enough, and the black ink isn't black enough.  I'm worried I'll bomb the MAT, because there is nothing online to tell you what you should get or what colleges expect.  I'm worried all these worries are holding me back, but I'm worried about being optimistic if I get rejected.

I've privatized my Facebook so you can't even Google me and find it, and locked my Twitter so no one but my followers can read it.  My Tumblr and this blog don't have my name associated with them, at least publicly.  Unfortunately, my flickr is still public, but the most of me you see on it is my legs and feet from packing last summer.  I may like the naked pictures, but until I have a decent fake name to use, they're not meeting the internet.

My parents and brother still don't know about it.  If they do, they haven't let on, and they're not very good at lying.  As horrible as this sounds, I've gotten much better.

I bought a litmag and Dead Poet's Society today, so I think I should go study for the MAT more and indulge in one of those.  I'm having other anxiety too (boys are just so confusing...my thirteen-year-old self agrees), but I can't do anything about that.

Whoever reads this, please help me out with some positive thoughts.  I've been pushing myself to have those lately, as they don't come naturally, and I'm hoping they help me.  And, Papa Joe, if you're still listening, help your little girl out.

Edward Hopper's The Automat

Time to move on

I really should be studying for the MAT right now.  I'm serious.  I have to take it June 1 and there are numerous tests in the back of the book.

But I don't feel like it.  I will.  I promise.  Maybe.  Seriously, what else am I gonna do while the boys aren't calling?

I still am a little disappointed that I didn't win the Four Corners Store contest, even though it was random.  Boo.  I could have used some new film or a sweet new Russian toy camera.  I really do need some film though.

I have a debit card and a credit card on their way and, while my money has been redeposited into my account, I have no means of buying anything.  I guess this is a great time to learn how to use my parents' super fancy digital SLR, but I feel like I'm cheating on my toys with it.  Holga and Wide and Slim, I'm sorry, I do love you, but you're really expensive to maintain.

I really would like to go explore and photograph this weekend.  I'm not sure if anyone's reading this, but if there are any ideas out there for a short road trip in order to satisfy my aesthetic needs, I'm open.  Also if anyone would like to join.

Okay really, I need to study.  Analogies are harder than they used to be.

(that's mine, by the way.  an iPhone picture.)

This is what happens when someone takes advantage of you

Bad dreams
Can't sleep
Don't want to eat
Bounced checks
Overdraft fees
No money
No debit card
Might affect my credit
Depression
Anxiety...even more than usual
Stress
Tears
Temporary relief that returns to anxiety in the morning

A small list

If there's one thing I hate, it's being ignored.

If there's two, it's being ignored and being reminded of my unintentional celibacy.

Thanks Wednesday. Go away now.

It Feels Good

Check out that sexy to-do list.  I decided to finally write things down, and within the last 24 hours I've accomplished four things.  While I'm still having anxiety and mini panic attacks, at least they're well-organized and listed according to priority.

That's kinda nice.

Steven told me he believes in me.  I've never heard that before.  It feels really good.





I'm still trying, I'm still getting out there, I'm still hoping.

I'm awful at math

6: administrators and faculty who know my name at the grad school
3: family members I've successfully pissed off today
1: parties I forgot to go to
9: books I bought today
4: former friends I said I'd keep in touch with after seeing them again
7: months until I can leave--should I be admitted to grad school
2: tickets being sold on Craigslist this week
48: hours I should sleep
200.1: calories burned on the treadmill
1: meal eaten today
0: people who will read this

Ugh I'm just so, so done.  I hope for my future and my happiness I get into grad school and for once everything goes smoothly (highly unlikely, given my experiences with applying to college), but if for whatever reason I am rejected, I'm leaving and forgetting my name.  I don't think anyone wants me to be associated with it anyway.

(source)

Here come the emotions

(source)

(source)

(source)

(mine)


There are a lot of secrets being kept right now.  Secrets about my future, about the futures of my friends, about money and about intentions.  I've never been one to keep my mouth shut; in fact, I've loved gossip since I could talk and I always feel the need to share whatever information I have.  I need the approval: "That is fantastic news!" or "I can't believe you heard that!"  Just knowing that someone listened to what I said was enough to make me feel happy and included.

I'm applying to grad school for the spring 2011 semester at the University of West Florida.  I'm incredibly fucking frightened and excited all at once.  My brain keeps telling me I'll never get in, I'm not smart enough, I didn't work hard enough (a 3.6 isn't what it used to be), what business do I have to go back to school?  I'm not telling my parents about it until I hear the results simply because at least one won't approve, but more likely they'll both think I'm throwing away money and time.  Neither went to college and did just fine, thankyouverymuch, so why don't I just get a real job in the government and work my way up?  I've heard the speech, I know the deal.  It's not like I'm worried they won't pay for it.  They didn't pay for my undergrad, so my hopes aren't being crushed or anything.

I chose UWF because of its price, its size and its offerings.  And for other reasons that are being kept secret (there's that word again).  If I get in, and I really, really want to, despite what my more pessimistic side believes, I want to study Public History with a certificate in historic preservation.  This is where my heart is, where my brain loves to be, what I've wanted to do since I was thirteen.  This is not a fleeting passion, nor a passing fad.  This is my soul, as weird and new age-y as that sounds.

I don't know how to be charming or convincing, and if someone believes I can't do something, I start to believe it too.  It's a mixture of low self-esteem and being told to blend in as a child.   I would love to be able to write a fabulous letter of intent and get in with my wit and smile alone, but unless someone tells me how to do that, I won't be able to.  I work hard and I don't believe in failure, but the other side of that is you can't fail if you never try.  I want to try, and I will, but what will happen if I'm rejected?  What do I do then?

I have already talked a friend into moving out to Pensacola with me.  She too is looking for a way out--don't get me wrong, I know what's truly going on in my life--and is all too happy to jump into my life with me.  We have been best friends for fourteen years, we have a secret language at times, and best of all, our mothers have no idea what's going on.  What they don't know can't worry them.

Right now, I'm feeling confused, excited, happy, scared, sick, and worried all at once.  I want and need help with this process.  I don't know anyone who has gone to grad school besides my cousin.  She attended Winthrop University, got a job there, and got accepted into the grad school as an employee.  That isn't the typical route.  My friends are entering this stage or shunning it, as I once thought I would.  I have no one to look for for help or advice, and if I tell too many people, my cover will be blown and I will be found out.

If anyone could help me I'd really appreciate it.  Any little bit of advice would outweigh all the doubt.

Goddammit

Are you really thinking of grad school again? Really? What are you running from, Emily? What makes you think things will be better if you go back to school? How will you afford it? How will you even get in?! Your old professor said they'd laugh at you and you're so afraid it's true, why would you ever try? Mom and Dad would think it's a joke and you're trying to convince everyone you're something you're not.


Just...just think it through. I know there's a manic streak running through your blood right now, but try to ride it out before you do anything drastic.

I miss using my Holga

I think it's time to go pick up some 120 film and head out into the unknown, or, as I like to call it, using my Holga.  I haven't used it successfully since October.

The only thing is, there is one place in Jacksonville that develops 120 film.  They're about 25 miles away and only open 9-5 Monday-Friday.  I work 8:30-5 Monday-Friday.  Balls.

I need to find somewhere online where I can send it until I move somewhere with an accommodating photo lab (such as the wonderful Bay Camera Co. on Habersham in Savannah--seriously the best camera people I've ever met).

So:

-film
-photo lab
-somewhere stimulating
-someone stimulating

I just don't get it

When I click "Next Blog," I always get Christians and mommies.  Does Blogger group this form of browsing by similar topics, or is it random?


Seriously, what the hell.

That picture has nothing to do with confusion, it's just what I feel like doing right now: falling asleep in my undies on my big bed.

[source]

I'm thinking at least a million by now

Waiting, waiting, waiting.  If I got paid by the hour to wait like I do to work, I'd be a millionaire by now.

My whole life I've waited for something better.  I never wanted to settle.  Wait for the better guy, the one you want.  Wait for that better job, you'll make more money.  Wait for the better computer, this one will be outdated in a month. Just wait.

This is all great in theory, but in practice I'm impulsive and physically cannot wait.  I dated guys who had no interest in anything but sex, and I'm hurt because I expected differently?  I took jobs as they came and had to leave the city I love because I no longer had money.  This computer was replaced with those shiny aluminum iMacs three weeks after I bought it.

And even now, I'm waiting.  I'm hoping for news on a job, and quietly socking away money and positivity until I hear.  I'm waiting on the boy every night--will he text me?  When will he have a weekend to get together?--and I go to bed sad and disappointed when he doesn't get in touch.  I wait for old friends to remember I exist, and new friends to discover me.

This is all very passive, and for someone who wants so much out of life, so much more than marriage and babies, it's a pretty shitty way of showing my strength.

Forgive yourself if you think you can...

...go to sleep, go to sleep a man

It's weird that things can change with one conversation.  That's all it takes sometimes.

I applied for about 4 more jobs tonight, all with seven locations within each job to take into consideration.  My name is out there, world.  Pick me, pick me!

I always wish someone would make me the subject of a painting like this

source

cut me some slack.

I'm looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can't-live-without-each-other love. And I don't think that love is here in this expensive suite in this lovely hotel in Paris.












It's been a rough day, so let me quote Sex and the City in peace and go to bed at 10:30.  Just let me.

...and just like that, it was over.

"Just so you know" and "by the way" are two of the harshest phrases in the English language.  They imply the conversee doesn't care enough to look at the details, he or she will overlook important events of the past, and that there is an overall lack of trust and honesty in the conversation/relationship.




This really sucks, and I don't know how else to describe it.  So there it is.

Off of More Adventurous

I've been listening to this song nonstop lately. Rilo Kiley becomes my favorite band this time of the year--The Execution of All Things is a fantastic album to listen to with the windows down, before the humidity seeps in--and I'm not sure if it's the lyrics or the violin that affects me more, but something sticks with me whenever I listen to it.


Unfortunately, YouTube doesn't have anything with the album version, just the live, so if you can hear the studio version I 
definitely recommend that.


Any ideas for a good road trip where I can take some pictures? I'm headed to Savannah in June and Tifton in a few weeks,
but I need some new material.

Oh and hey, while we're at it.

Remember when I used to write?  I do.  I haven't even opened my portfolio since July.  I wish I could still articulate thoughts and make valid points as I once could.  Hell, I wish I could even read my litmags without getting bored halfway through.  I still buy them, because I apparently love to spend money on shelf decorations, but I just admire the covers and never get around to reading and thinking.

I worked for four years--just as an undergrad, not counting all the high school prep work--to get a degree that would mean nothing to me.  If I could do it all over again I would.  In a heartbeat.  But I can't, can I?  It is gone forever, and I'm going to sit here and just accept it.  There's nothing left to do but move on.

I used to be attracted to intellectual men.  I still like the look: glasses, sweater with a button-up underneath, slim jeans or chinos, and a beard to top it off.  That look is everywhere today, luckily for me and my hormones.  But after dating some of these smarties, I've realized they're all kinda assholes.  Sure, they're great as friends.  I love to be an asshole around my English friends because we can all laugh it off.  But I'm not sleeping with them.  I don't have to listen to them wax poetic after they hit the pillow still in that orgasmic state and I'm not only unsatisfied but I'm growing more pissed off by the moment.  But I've dated a few dummies too, including one who had his own initial tattooed on his back (I'm guessing for identification purposes?).  The sad thing is, I've finally met a man who is smart without being condescending, wants me to be happy and fulfilled both with and without him, and who can hold his own in wit and charm, and yet, he's too far away and married to his job.  I stick with him because I'm afraid no one better will ever come along.  It's been almost six months and there's been nothing physical (no time) and we're limited to high-energy, high-libido conversations (why bother with anything else).  If I had met someone else who met both of these qualities in the past six months, I would have told him goodbye and moved on.

But I haven't.  And that's what bothers me.  I am twenty-two and completely incapable of meeting people.

Maybe this is the source of my English-related emptiness.  No one wants to hear about a sexually frustrated twentysomething who can't seem to get it together long enough for even a kiss and a grope.  Last year at this time there were more men and more emotions.  I can't fake that stuff, and I can't make up men to fill that void, as much as I would love to.  I ache for new scenery just to make new friends and have those possibilities open to me again.  For right now, I am stuck in this environmental purgatory, neither good nor bad, just white noise to my life until stimulation comes along.  I am so antsy and on edge because I don't like it.  I am far too manic for limbo, and my life refuses to move as fast as I desire.

Also, I go to bed early now because there's no reason to stay up.  That's the definition of adulthood.  When I was young, I would stay up until 4 talking to Andrew and think it was the most fun in the world.  The last time I saw 4 am was when I had a stomach virus last January.

Today's hope is for a new home.

where we are

i envy those
who live in two places:
new york, say, and london;
wales and spain;
l.a. and paris;
hawaii and switzerland.

there is always the anticipation
of the change, the chance that what is wrong
is the result of where you are. i have
always loved both the freshness of
arriving and the relief of leaving. with
two homes every move would be a homecoming.
i am not even considering the weather, hot
or cold, dry or wet: i am talking about hope.

all photos were taken by me over the last six years.

The Obligatory Hello.

Because I deleted my old Google account (because it had been hacked) (because I hadn't used it in six months), here I am.  A fresh blog, one that is unknown to many old followers whom I didn't want there anyway.

I think first entries are always odd, no matter the blog's intentions.  So I'm going to make this one short and sweet:

There will be more posts.  There will be less censorship.  It's titled "hope." because I am the worst title-er ever, despite holding an English degree, and because that word defines my life.  I am nothing if I am not hoping.  Whether or not those dreams and wishes and plans all come through is another story completely, but I am always wanting more.

Can we move on to the second post now?