I was reading Gretchen Rubin's Happiness Project book on the plane, and she had some ideas for lists and because I actually think she has some good ideas and it's probably wise for me to stop being so skeptical about all of the things all of the time, I decided to make myself write some. If there's a thing I need right now it's some grounding. I'll let you know how it turns out, unless I just stop talking about it altogether, in which case, well, carry on.
I have sung five songs at karaoke in my life, and besides the dreadful mistake that was Wooly Bully, they are four of my favorite memories (I am an excellent Peaches AND Herb, put it that way.) If I were to imagine my most epic karaoke of all time, it involves The Winner Takes it All, by ABBA, an octave down. (that piano at the end is tinkly heartbreak.) Also Frida is my musical muse. Tell me I Know There's Something Going On was not one of the best songs of the 80s. Go on. TELL ME.
I know I will move to a new city in the next two years, but I have no idea which one. I'm undisturbed by this.
A lot of times I think I'm a fuckup with impulse control problems, unmanageable moods, and a pathological aversion to patience, but I look around at my life and the quality of the people in it, and I think maybe a bad person couldn't have attracted this many awesome people as friends. I am so lucky in this area of my life.
I do not remember large chunks of my childhood and it freaks me out sometimes, but given what little I remember from college, my neurolinguistics class did impress upon me the brain's survival gift of self-censorship, so I roll with that.
I love Maryland. It's weird and small and in the middle of lots of other things, but it's charming in its own way, so I'm not at all sorry that I'm from here or that I've lived here for so long.
I like most dogs way better than most human beings.
I was nearly fluent in French when I quit taking classes, and I still frequently hear certain words and phrases in my mind in French first. I have never been to France, outside of the airport for a layover. This is a thorn in my traveling side.
I've written through my relationship with my grandmother in a way I feel has helped me to grieve more effectively and has also honored our relationship. I'm not saying something about her won't come up in the future, but I feel full circle with it now, and it makes all of those times I felt so awkward and repetitive hitting "publish" feel worth it. Blogging made this possible, so I appreciate blogging.
I believe that my feelings are readily visible, like a stock market ticker on my forehead,and it bothers me much of the time. Two of my best friends have told me in the past three days that I am difficult to read. I am confused by this. Also apparently I'm dumb as ice. This is reassuring.
I took this picture of a man eating fire.
I would have married exactly four people in my life so far. I dated three of them.
My life is completely different than it was before the Internet, and I still geek out about it every day. I will never not be amazed by this screwed up communication revolution. You guys. THE INTERNET.
I'm a lot funnier in real life than I am online. I think so anyway. So I've been told. Now I don't feel funny at all. If you want to make yourself feel unfunny, type that you're funny. What a drag.
I got a depressed friend through two years of our waitressing job in college by constantly repeating "We're not here for a long time, we're here for a good time," because after the first time I said it she asked me to say it again all the time. It was a strange arrangement, but it seemed to help her, so whatever. I think I'm going go start saying it more, to me.
When I need to calm down on a plane, I listen to Belle by Al Green, Lodi by CCR and all of Hem's No Word From Tom. Lodi on repeat is excellent for meditation (for a weird kid born in the 70s, I guess. Throw some Rhiannon in there and I'd be good for several hours.)
Writing drives me crazy and if I was able to function without doing it, I would. I think constantly in partially formed, editable, language and it has to come out or I'm unpleasant and not funny. It's kind of like runners who don't run (so I understand. I'm totally okay with not running, ever. I hate running. It may be a worse compulsion than writing. Maybe.)
This is what I look like when writing is driving me crazy. It isn't cute.
My happy places are hockey games, the beach, sleeping in with a person who makes coffee, brunch, and concerts. I cannot, however, deal with standing-only, general admission shows anymore. It finally happened.
I don't think I can come up with one more not-riveting thing about myself, except that I'm the most left-handed person I know, in all ways physical and psychological. That's probably the best place to leave off at this point.