Hello, darlin, nice to see you, it's been a long time..

Geez, I've kind of abandoned this poor little blog that I started over a year ago, and I feel badly for it. However, I've gotten addicted to MySpace, and it's to just blog a quick thing every couple of days on there.
You know, recently I was thinking about how men suck. Not individually, because I have some awesome male friends that I wouldn't trade for anything, but as a whole, the male population consists of a bunch of ass clowns, and are they really punished or criticized for it? Not really.
Point in case: I was watching a commercial the other day for this new show "Love Monkey" with that guy from "Ed" on it. The entire premise of the show is that he's a bit of a cad, the title of the show referring to the fact that he "hops" from branch to branch because he's scared of commitment. And we're supposed to watch this, and think, "Oh, how cute. The sexy little man uses women like Kleenex," and this is supposed to be entertaining?
I admit, I'm a tad bitter right now, having just had a break-up after a year-long, quite frankly puzzling relationship, and it's entirely possible that I'm jaded beyond rational thought right now.
You see, I meet A LOT of "Love Monkeys," so pardon me if I don't think it's particularly cute.
And in these shows and movies, etc..where the guy is deathly afraid of commitment, there's always an A-HA (exclamation, not the '80s band) where they meet that one amazing woman who changes them, allays their commitment fears and everyone lives happily ever after, more or less.
So, am I to believe that I'm incapable of being that amazing woman for these commitment phobes, that invariably they'll go about their lives without me, jumping from branch to branch until they find that goddess of perfection they've been looking for? It sounds whacked and paranoid, I know, but what the fuck?
I think I'm pretty amazing, actually, but damn if I don't keep getting kicked in the teeth by relationships and left questioning my worth and future afterwards.
I am trying beyond all rational thought not to become bitter, but so far, that has not been terribly successful.
I have men currently interested in me, and all I can think is "What's the point? It will all turn to black hell eventually." I mean, that can't be a healthy attitude.
I know for a certain fact that I don't want a commitment to anyone right now. I'm still quite raw from my last relationship, and I may still be smarting from the last 3 years, in fact.
But, the bottom line, is that I do want all that cheesy crap. I want a man who "gets" me, and I him, and I want children, and I don't want to make the mistakes in my own family that I've witnessed growing up.
Perhaps the truth is, that deep down, I'm not ready for all of that, and God is letting me know that by sending me people unworthy of my time and heart.
I don't know, really I don't, but I know that I have to do things that are best for myself and myself alone, and if being a serial dater for a while is what I need to do, that's what I'll do.
But I can't help missing that feeling of security I get when I snuggle up to sleep with someone that is familiar and safe and that I know would bring me soup if I were sick, whose shampoo or cologne clings to my sheets well after he's gone and makes me smile.
Okay, apparently, a Danielle Steel novel has taken over my body.
Enough of this sappy nonsense. Jesus, I have a reputation.

Me and Sam at my office Christmas party..how hot are we??

Have yourself a neurotic little Christmas

I haven't written in so long. I've become obsessed with MySpace, and I've been cheating on blogspot. I feel badly, but, oh, well. I'm back to write a more pensive entry about the state of affairs in my life, here, where I can ramble, and hardly anyone ever reads it.
I've been back in Mississippi for about two months now, and I am in a weird mindset about it. On some levels, it's comforting beyond belief, and on others, more terrifying than Pennsylvania was. At least there, I felt like I was accomplishing something. I mean, I know that I'm working toward something here, but I miss feeling like I had risen above my roots, so to speak.
There's nothing wrong with my roots, mind you, but I just know that I am meant for something more. The key is, figuring out what the hell that is.
And I miss people. I miss Simon, and I miss Mark, and Amanda, and I miss Rachel and Jason, and I have no clue when I'll see them again, and that makes me sad.
I never thought I was one of those people that Christmas affected adversely, but I think I am. I've been awfully depressed the last couple of weeks, like I'm doing something wrong or not doing enough to change my attitude. It's frustrating.
And that whole "I'm going to die alone" thing becomes more and more prominent when it's Christmas, and I'm 28, and I have no husband or children to celebrate with. I'm going to be the crazy, eccentric aunt that my sister takes pity on in the future and invites to holidays after my parents "pass on."
And I KNOW how ridiculous that sounds, but I can't help it. I'm not rational when I'm kinda depressed.
Anyway, I'm at work, so I should probably, you know, work.
I hope everyone has a great holiday and is in a better mood than I.

I mean, come on, sometimes it's too damn easy..

Now what is he thinking?? "Damn, I wonder who I have to invade to get one of those cool hats?"

That giant sucking sound

I'm pretty sure I have ADD or something. Maybe not ADD, but some kind of personality disorder that causes my moods and general well-being to violently fluctuate for no apparent reason. Sounds charming, eh?
I genuinely don't know what my problem is; one minute, I am perfectly content with the state of affairs in my life, and the next, I'm questioning everything all at once. Maybe I should major in philosophy in graduate school. That way, I could go ahead and self-sabotage myself into a life of true insanity..I jest.
I dunno, maybe it's just that with all of the choices a person of my age (22, of course) is confronted with, we have no option but to question, second-guess, and then fool ourselves into thinking that everything is fine for the time being until we start the questioning, second-guessing part all over again. It's maddening. No wonder pharmaceutical sales of anti-depressants have skyrocked in this country.
Sometimes, I truly envy people with simpler minds, who seem perfectly content to follow the prescribed path in life: Go to college, major in something that won't threaten a potential life partner, meet your husband, get married right out of college and then pretty much shelve your goals to raise a family..
Now, here's the thing. I could probably do that until the part where the kids go off to college, and then I would have an American Beauty-type breakdown where I would question what I had done with my life and probably start working out in the garage, listening to Frampton and smoking pot while fantasizing about my son's hot soccer teammate.
That seems to be more of a recipe for disaster than just trying to figure shit out right now, you know?
I do wish I could turn my brain off sometimes, though. It's exhausting just to listen to some of the thoughts I have on occasion..and dreams..good Lord, the dreams. I have had dreams that really ought to be studied by a team of doctors in Sweden.
And the result of this overactive brain thing seems to serve to sabotage stuff for me as well. I am a girl who just says, text messages or e-mails whatever pops into my brain and then, about 70% of the time, I feel a fair amount of regret, but it's too late. I've already changed my mind about whatever it was that I unleashed, and I can't pull it back.
I guess what I'm saying is that I have no personal self-discipline. I have always been too passionate a person, listening to my heart way more than my head and usually paying a price for it. And wondering how in the hell others can be so frustratingly logical while looking for an appropriate Shakespearean sonnet to sum up my feelings.
At times, I think, well, I would much rather be like me and actually feel stuff and experience love and the requisite hurt and pain that can accompany it, and then there are those times when I'm in the throes of that lovely hurt and pain, that I think, "Emily, your brain is there for a reason. Start listening to it rather than your stupid, wide-open heart."
I dunno which way is better. Without passion, there would be no great poetry, music, art or love, but do you ever notice how those artists, writers and musicians who felt all of that exquisite pain and passion die horrible, gut-wrenching deaths because no one could ever fulfill their expectations?
Something to consider..

A little bit of everything and a white trash family tale

This will be another ADD post, because there are many things rolling around in my brain today.
First of all, I saw the Johnny Cash movie last night, and it rocked beyond any expectations. Joaquin Phoenix had an eerie resemblance to the late Man in Black, both aesthetically and emotionally. I highly recommend it. I drove home after watching it and thought a lot about it, as I do when I see a movie I either love or hate, and really thought, "Hmm..Johnny Cash took a while to really get his shit together. Should I really be that hung up on my own perceived shortcomings?" I mean, how awesome is the line "There's just something about a Sunday that makes a body feel alone?"
Second of all, having come to a financial crossroads due to being unemployed now for over a month, I am in full acceptance of the fact that I will have to take whatever job I can, as long as it starts as soon as possible. It's almost cathartic I guess, to be as a big a professional snob as myself, to realize that I may be working at a Quik Cash sometime soon, because being charming, winsome, and a social butterfly doesn't seem to pay the bills as it may have at one time. Oh, well.
And lastly, and completely diverging from any sane train of thought, I was thinking about one of the trashiest things I ever witnessed a few days ago and realized that I simply had to write about it, because it's too funny to keep to myself and the select few that have already heard it. Here goes:
In high school, I was friends with people who were somewhat shady. All of my really close friends were basically okay, but there were people on the fringe of our crowd or friends of my friends who were ready for Jerry Springer before there was a Jerry Springer show. In fact, they may have since been on there. I digress.
One day, my friend Melissa was giving me and my friend Jessica a ride home. I had a car, but rarely was allowed to drive to school, so it was always cool when I could ride home with someone. The two of them had been friends before I came to that school, so I was really new to their friendship, but we were getting along swimmingly until this particular day.
Melissa and I stop to let Jessica out at her house, and the two of them began to argue, about what I don't remember, and suddenly, they were both out of the truck, clawing, slapping, pulling hair. (In retrospect, I should've found the closest group of guys and sold tickets, but I wasn't as enterprising in those days)
Anyway, me, not having any personal stake in the outcome whatsoever just kind of sat in the truck, stymied over what to do. I think my best effort was a halfhearted, "Um..guys? Maybe you should stop." Can't imagine why it didn't work.
Finally, the girlfight stopped with Melissa jumping into the truck, crying and freaking out and Jessica yelling at her at the top of her lungs. Well, I wasn't thrilled about being driven home by a panicky mess, but her truck was a stick shift, and I never had redneck initiation into driving such a vehicle, so we tore off, 70 mph down curvy, steep roads in rural Mississippi toward a mutual friend of Jessica and Melissa's, the notorious Jones (names are changed to protect..me) house.
Okay, here's what I know about this family. There were anywhere from 10 to 15 people living in this 4-room house, there was no indoor plumbing, they always had drugs, and therefore, rather unruly parties, and they were all related to each other somehow. Two of the guys were brothers; the rest were cousins, uncles and aunts, I dunno, but I attended one party of theirs where I'm pretty sure a crack pipe was passed around, and there were at least 3 babies being breast-fed at various times by aforementioned crack partakers. Classy stuff.
So, Melissa and I head over to this house so that she can talk to one of the cousin/brothers and presumably get high at the same time. We arrive, she heads off into the back with one of them, and I opt to hang out in the living room with another brother/cousin and his mother, along with someone's 7-month-old baby who is in a car seat on the couch, breathing in more second-hand smoke than some people ever do, let alone an infant..and I start to hear this exchange between mother and son:
Mother: "Curtis, I'm gon' cut myself! I am!
Curtis: "No, you ain't! No, Momma!
Mother: "Baby, I got to; I ain't got no choice!
Curtis: "Momma, don't! I'll punch you out to keep you from cuttin' yourself!
At this point in the dialogue, as I sit on the couch, trying to wave the smoke from in front of the baby's face, they notice that I'm sitting there.
Curtis begins to explain (why, I don't know, because I was perfectly content to be left out of the "cutting conversation) that his mother is on probation and is scheduled to see her probation office that day. Apparently, for medical reasons, like maybe glaucoma, she might not entirely so much pass the required drug test. So, in Momma's infinite wisdom, she decides to cut her arm with a butcher knife so that she will have to go to the emergency room and therefore postpone her meeting with her probation officer. Clearly, it's brilliant on many levels, but Curtis doesn't seem to like the idea. They resume yelling:
"Baby, I'm 'gon do it. Ya ain't gon' stop me!"
"The hell I won't! You do it, and I'll knock you clean out the door!"
Well, really, it goes back and forth for some time, and at times, I desperately wanted my friend to come out of that room so we could leave, and at times, I was sucked into the white trash train wreck and really just wanted to know what would happen.
Here's what did happen. Curtis and Momma came up with a compromise. He would cut her arm in a superficial way, but enough to draw a fair amount of blood and perhaps require stitches. It seemed that Momma had been medicating her glaucoma that very day to the extent that she likely would have lopped off her arm had she administered the knife herself, so they made a compromise.
About 15 minutes before my soon-to-be-ex friend came out of the back of the house that Clorox forgot, Curtis and Momma made their way to the emergency room with Momma's left arm swathed in a bloody towel. The last thing I heard was, "Baby, I feel lightheaded."
I have no idea how their plan turned out, and thank God, I never saw any of those people again after that day, but I often think about the pure love that boy clearly had for his Momma. Because Lord knows if I ever want to get out of a drug test with my probation officer, I want a son who will knock me clear out of the house to protect my safety.

It's all about me..as it should be

You know, lots of people who know me really well would probably say that I'm self-involved..and they wouldn't be wrong, really. I tend to freak out about stuff more than the average bear, and if something affects me in any slight way, it's possible that I have a stronger reaction that necessary. I've been to therapy, I've been on anti-depressants, and clearly, I've established this blog to kind of serve as an outlet for the crazies that creep in when I can't do much to stop them. But the thing is, I am actually not all that self-involved when it comes to the important stuff.
I have postponed career paths, educational paths, hell, sometimes just weekend plans, to accommodate others' needs, even though it might not be what I personally want to do. There are certain people that I've made changes and allowances for, because I'm being quite the opposite of self-involved, and if there were some sort of support group, I think this would be the "moment of clarity," where I stood up and said, "Hi, I am Emily, and from now on, everything really and truly is all about me."
For instance, I have been stressing for months on which grad schools to apply to, in order to make family, significant other, etc.. happy. Why in God's name have I been doing that? Do these people have to attend said grad school? Fuck no, I do, so decision #1 in pleasing Emily's goals is to go where I want. I'm the one who has put this off more times than I can count because it wasn't the right time, not just for me, but for others' agendas, and I'm done..DONE. I haven't decided 100% where I'm going, but rest assured, when I do, it will be because it's where I want to go..me, the one going..that one seems as though it should have been fairly obvious, huh?
Also, I'm done being a good girlfriend. Not to point fingers at any men I may've brushed up against for too long in the last few years, but Compromising and Understanding Emily has hung up her jersey.
In fact, I'm really done with being a girlfriend..period. I've come to the realization that I've been in an irrational hurry to get married because I want children so badly, and the whole turning 28 thing this year freaked me out to that end, but good God, do I really want to be in an unhappy, unfulfilling relationship so that I can then end up being a single mother, most likely? Ummm..lemme think..no.
I've decided that I am settling for no less than someone who wants to write a personal thank-you note to God for creating me and allowing me to be with him, and until I find that, I'm not settling. Why should I or anyone else have to? Dating should be viewed, I think, as more of a learning experience than anything else..that whole "you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince" philosophy. And God knows, frogs have overpopulated the planet at an alarming rate since I started dating..but I'm not going to dwell on that. It's all back story and life experience for the many best-selling novels I will write.
I will say this, if I've ever dated you and you've pissed me off, I would be very concerned..just a caveat.I feel I should be fair before taking some people off at the knees. I can't completely go cold turkey with the pseudo-selflessness thing, I guess..
So, anyway, to sum up, Emily (who, in fact, will be referring to herself in the third person from now on) is about to get serious about what makes Emily happy. It's been trial and error so far, which is about the best any of us can hope for, but I am no longer concerned with the feelings of others if they interfere with what I feel is my path.
It's an Emilyaissance, so to speak, and we'll (also the royal pronouns) see how it pans out.

The Third of a Life crisis

Well, I've been back at the teat of my parents for approximately 3 weeks now, and here's what I've figured out about myself thus far (in no particular order):
I am a 28 year-old woman who doesn't own anything of value, I have no job, gray hair, laugh lines, my face has suddenly reverted to adolescence by breaking out inexplicably; I can't do anything girly like decorate to save my life; I have less than $200 to my name unless I start selling eggs or a kidney, and I want children so badly, my womb aches when I'm around them, yet the thought of marriage really and truly scares the bejesus out of me. Oh, and clearly, I live with my parents..
And yet, I'm not particularly suicidal over all of those things, because at long last, I think..I think I've figured out that nobody else has all of those things particularly figured out, and that is quite frankly, what life is. Also, I've had time to think A LOT (which is never really all that good at thing) about what things are right with me and what things are wrong.
I have always been a social kinda gal, one who thrives on what people think (whether I admit it is another story), almost defining myself through the eyes of other people, be they boyfriend, friend or casual acquaintance, and quite frankly, I've been left feeling empty most of the time due to that personality quirk of mine.
While, yes, it makes me easily comfortable with different kinds of people; I will know no stranger at a party, etc..it also has left me with odd feelings of loneliness, which would seem to be the opposite of what a social person would aspire to feel.
I guess what I mean is that when you adapt your personality so heavily to those around you, going along with what they want, you forget or ignore your needs and wants, and you end up feeling, as I have come to recently, that you don't know who you are or what your wants and needs are anymore.
Further, I think that I have a problem with relationships sometimes because while it takes quite a bit to really get me, in that Jerry Maguire "You had me at hello" kind of way, once I'm gotten, I turn into a mouth-breathing Stepford person, and that's no way to be either.
I'm setting some goals for myself while in Mississippi, because frankly, there's not a whole hell of a lot else to do, but I digress.
I figure that I've returned to my childhood home, the scene of the crime, so to speak, so if I don't work out some issues I have with myself while here, they will never be worked out.
It's a bit of an undertaking, yes, and I don't claim that I will "Dr. Phil" myself in less than a year, but I think this is a truly rare opportunity to figure out who I am and what I want before I move on to the next thing.
I wish I had a Magic 8 ball to pose life's big questions to that would tell me what my path should be, but I think that's part of the problem.
I've been expecting that Magic 8 ball in some form or another since college and continue to be disappointed by its elusiveness.
Not to sound like a complete kook, but I am my own Magic 8 ball, and all of those answers are within me. Clearly, it would be an uncomfortable ordeal to shake myself around each time I have a big question, so it would probably be wiser to stick with introspection in that regard.
See, I can be funny when having an existential crisis.
All that being said, just for my own edification, there are some awesome things about me, too, that I will never change and make me feel good about myself.
Those being in no particular order: My niece Jillian loves me a lot and refers to me as "her best friend" sometimes, (see above text about children making me ache -- this is why) I am an excellent Trivial Pursuit player and bowler, having at one point been in a league..bowling, not Trivial Pursuit..however, if there is a Trivial Pursuit league, do let me know, which leads into one of my other wonderful traits..I am a DORK. I like to explain how to diagram sentences, I love listening to NPR, especially Terry Gross, I liked the Lord of the Rings trilogy, Batman Begins, AND the last Star Wars movie, and I'll take you down if you make fun of me...and last, but not least, and really probably not last..I am irreverent, sarcastic and downright obnoxious sometimes, and I don't care. In the event that God hasn't cursed me relationship-wise, and I do end up with grandchildren, my grandkids will tell friends about their grandmother who flashed at Mardi Gras and St. Patty's Day when she was younger, did ridiculous karaoke with her closest friends, sang "Proud Mary" with a band on Beale Street, "Me and Bobby McGee in Jacksonville, Fla., not to mention Mississippi, and used the word "Fucko" as both an insult and term of endearment.
All hope is not lost.

Home again..am I in Twin Peaks?

Well, it's official, I have returned to the South, as of two weeks ago, and I feel like I fell down the rabbit hole, to some extent.
Not to sound like a prententious snob, but I can barely find decent coffee here, I went on a job interview, lamenting the fact that I don't have a business suit anymore, only to be met with people who were literally in street clothes, and I've been to Wal-Mart twice and marveled at some who are a little lower down in the evolutionary chain..okay, maybe I am a pretentious snob.
What's funny is when I was in Philly, I looked down my nose at them just as much and thought about the more genteel way of life down South. The grass is always greener, I suppose.
So, I've been unemployed now for about 3 weeks, and I'm starting to get antsy. And, funnily enough, it turns out that in Philly, I was grossly underqualified, and in Mississippi, I'm grossly overqualified. Ain't that a kick in the head? I'm sure I'll find the humor soon, after my bank account stops dwindling at a somewhat alarming rate.
I have made no progress toward graduate school, but that's because I'm currently plagued with a terrible Internet connection and a computer that has what looks like diet Dr. Pepper spilled on the mouse pad..(thanks, Dad)and a number of viruses that my parents "accidentally" download. OY.
I am still going to graduate school, no flaking out here, but I do think I have needed a proverbial fire lit under my ass. I believe a mere two weeks in Mississippi has ignited the flame.
Don't get me wrong, I'm enjoying my family and my friends, but it is clearer to me than ever before, that if I were to stay here without an endpoint in sight, I would end up in Ye Olde Padded Room by the age of 30, which I don't mind saying, isn't that far away.
So, I'm regrouping, saving money (just as soon as I get that whole pesky unemployment thing out of the way) and trying to take it a little easier on myself than I did in Philadelphia, both physically and mentally, before I embark on grad school and really throw myself into another different world.
I've been down the last couple of days, wondering if I made the right decision, but I can't second guess myself anymore. I do that too much, and it makes me want to jump out of my skin and smack myself.
As I mentioned before, I'm almost 30 years old, and it's time to decide what I want to be when I grow up.
I think I'm a damn good writer, or have the potential to be, and that's what I want to work toward. Maybe no one will ever read anything I write professionally, or maybe I'll be on the bestseller's list, but what I can't and won't do is look back for the rest of my life and wonder "what if" because I didn't pursue this with ever fiber of my being.
I may have made many ill-advised decisions in my life, but I refuse to ever wonder what might have been. This results in my getting hurt a higher percentage than a lot of people, but one thing I will never shy away from is following my heart and my passions.
If I died tomorrow, I have no doubt that a collective comment about me would be, "She always did things with passion and was full of life and had strength and courage," and that's not a bad legacy to leave behind at all.
However, I hope to add as much to that as I can between now and age 70 or 104 or whatever age I am when I leave this earth after taking the world by storm in some way or another.

Homeward Bound

Well, perhaps I should change the name of the blog soon to "Independent Loose in Mississippi," because I will be returning to the fair Magnolia State at the end of October. It is a temporary move, but by temporary, I could be talking 7 to 8 months, so if you're a fruit fly, I guess it's pretty damn long.
What prompted this, you may ask?
Well, it's a myriad (GRE word) of reasons, quite frankly.
I moved here toward something. I wanted to work for John Kerry's campaign, but honestly, Kerry, was about as peripheral to me then as he is to the rest of the country now.
I knew that Mississippi was not the place where I would be born and die in, and there would never be any in-between. I was terrified beyond terrified about leaving everything familiar I had ever known, and so, I remained stuck there for longer than I feel comfortable admitting while all the while wanting to know what "the unknowable" was all about.
So, I made a decision, a fairly quick decision about how I wanted to leave there that came in the shape of fundraising for John Kerry, and I never looked back.
Now what has happened since the finale of that election has been another story. I have liked living in Philadelphia way more than I have disliked it, but I also have been railing against the harsh reality that I have not flourished here, mainly because I wanted to prove to someone, perhaps myself, that I could make it outside of Mississippi.
The funny thing about what I've finally come to realize, is that I can make it outside of Mississippi. I have totally made it outside of Mississippi, and for that, I kick absolute ass.
What has changed, perhaps, is my realization about the way my life is going to go in the next few years. I will be in graduate school next fall, where I don't know, but that's a story and stress inducer for another day. It will be well outside of Mississippi, that I can guarantee. But when I go to graduate school, at the ripe old age of 29, I will be committed to that for at least a couple of years, and that is pretty much it for any significant amount of time I will be able to save money, connect with friends, travel and generally avoid adulthood, as I have been wont to do lo these 28 years.
And who knows what may transpire in my life between now, next fall, and the conclusion of graduation school? The possibilities are endless. If you had told me 2 years ago that I would be sitting in my apartment in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, discussing moving back to Mississippi, I would've scoffed and pointed out your obvious drug habit.
Life takes you on many twists and turns and planning for them is utterly pointless. So, finally, maybe, I can just enjoy the ride and stop having to have every single detail mapped out for me. Because, frankly, that sounds boring, and I have been accused of many, many things, but boring has never topped the list.

An amalgamation of evanescent grandiloquence

As you may be able to tell, I'm deep within the confines of studying for the vocabulary portion of the GRE, and I've come to a few conclusions:
1. I am perhaps not as smart as I thought I was..shocking, yes, I know, but I believe it to be true. I can't decide if it's part of the gradual dumbing-down I feel I've been going through since leaving college, or if it's part of the ego deflations I have seemed to encounter lo these last months. Well, the latter is actually not an excuse as to why I'm dumb(er), it's merely an offering as to why I can accept it now.
As a sub-topic of being dumb, I think I may have been misusing a great many words for the last few years, which is somewhat more distressing. We snotty literary types have all had a giggle at those plebians who use the wrong words from time to time. Personal favorites are "supposably," "revert/refer back to," and "for all intensive purposes," and now I discover that those snottier than I may've been lording it over me that I thought "austere" meant strong, or "truculent" meant lazy. I won't even get into what I thought "alacrity" meant. It's better left unsaid.
So, naturally, the first night that I began my studies, which I thought would be a breeze, I got frustrated and wrote at the top of my page, "I'm too stupid to be accepted to graduate school," which I personally felt was a normal reaction.
However, after thinking about it, I guess it's conceivable that I'm just going to have to study that much harder instead of giving up immediately. Geez..exhibit follow-through? I guess it's worth a try.
On a different topic, after being in a super-cranky mood for the last week or so..(I plead hormones), it looks like perhaps I am snapping out of it, which is encouraging. Do you ever just plunge into a mood so foul that you cannot imagine not experiencing it? That's what we're talking here. I'm not even certain that I fully appreciated my 3-day weekend because of it, but I will damn sure appreciate my 4-day work week now that the fog has lifted.
I get like that sometimes, and, sure there are reasons why I was ill-tempered, but it seems as though my reaction may have been a little strong. I have mentioned at various points in this blog that my coping skills are not so hot, and they really aren't, but I think they're getting somewhat better. At least I recognize that I'm doing it now.
At least with this last hormonal/homicidal episode, I was just cranky, rather than crying at every sappy commercial I saw on television, which I have been known to do in times of despair. No, no, this was more of a focused, I-want-to-maim-everyone-I-see kind of a thing, which is by no means better, but at least takes less of an emotional toll on me. And, really, it's all about me..
I also rediscovered my David Gray "White Ladder" album yesterday and can't believe I had forgotten how awesome it is.
I will leave you with a line from my favorite song, "Hello, Goodbye"
"I put up with all the scenes. This is one scene that's going to be played my way."

Insomnia and anxiety..we meet again, old chaps

Ohhh, need to sleep so badly and can't. I've been doing well with the insomnia problem for the last couple of weeks, and tonight, I am so cranky, hormonal and utterly exhausted, that I can't sleep or be still, and it's driving me mad.
I feel like a huge baby considering what's going on in the southern part of this country to say that I've had a week that seemed Dante-esque in its ickiness, but I can't help it.
And frankly, the events in the South are a large contributing factor to the way I feel right now. I'm dumbfounded at what is going on, and I honestly don't know what to do or say about it that will do any good whatsoever.
I may be able to volunteer next week, I'm just waiting to hear, and maybe that will help me stop feeling so impotent and like everything I have been doing in my daily life this week is so pointless when so many people need help.
That being said, there were other things that have contributed to my shitty, shitty mood; my job is wearing on my nerves faster than a Fox News program, and it's starting to get to me.
I went through waves of denial after the initial "Yay, I got a job with insurance" thing wore off, thinking, well, "It must get better. It can't truly be this mind-numbing." Umm..actually, it turns out it can and is, which makes me all the more determined to get into graduate school in the fall. I don't care if I have to go to Sasketchewan University to get my degree, I'm going back to school to study creative writing. I think I'd rather be happy and poor than comfortable and miserable.
What else am I cranky about? Hmm...in no particular order..
a. People who take people for granted. 'Nuff said. That is never an okay thing to do, and I grow weary of it.
b. Getting cut off in traffic about 50 times this week. They're called turn signals; look into them, drivers of Philadelphia.
c. The fact that I can have about 3 drinks now during the week and literally feel as though a truck has run over me the next day. Getting old is not all that pleasant at all. Also, a sub-note of that, I now get circles under my eyes if I don't sleep well, which I never did before, and I think readers of this blog know how well I'm sleeping, so happy f-ing 28th birthday to me. I'll be an alligator bag-face by the age of 30.
d. The cost of gas. That's all I'm going to say about it, but I think I'm going to start commuting via Razor Scooter.
Alright, I think that about covers it.
On a brighter note, there were things that made me happy this week: Finding out that all my friends and family were safe after the storm hit made me extremely grateful; Simon talking about kicking the "footy" and getting into an argument about where to buy Red Sox gear for someone who really loves the Red Sox with a crazy Phillies fan saleslady. I didn't think it was funny at the time, but now that I have a little perspective on it, it's actually really hilarious. Sports fans in Philly are so nuts, they really should have special wings of mental hospitals.
Good night (hopefully).

A loss of comprehension

I wrote yesterday about my initial impressions of the effects of Hurricane Katrina on my home state and surrounding areas, and I have to admit, I had no idea what I was talking about when I posted yesterday.
I have felt, since Sunday, that I was in an information vacuum, and had no real idea of how extensive the damage was.
The city of New Orleans, which I personally would wager to say, is the best fucking city in the country, is in dire straits. The levees have been breached in two places and because of the extensive water pressure on those places, the Corps of Engineers has not been able to repair them, which means that the city continues to be deluged with water, and the situation of what may happen next becomes more and more critical.
Because I'm in Pennsylvania, I have limited access to local coverage as to what is happening, although, clearly all news media is focused on what has happened there.
But the thing is, the coverage is centered on the coast, and because they weren't really able to get in there until yesterday, it's been sporadic.
So, as of yesterday morning, I had no idea that the situation was as bad as it was, and I was just glad that I was able to reach my dad last night to find out that they were okay. But then that presented a whole other set of problems, because the last time a major hurricane made its way up to north Mississippi, hundreds were without power; some lost their homes, and I wanted to know where my friends were, but I still couldn't get through because of limited phone service.
I have gotten through to everyone now, and I'm so grateful. I feel so bad for New Orleans and the cities of the coast that were the hardest hit, that I really can't even express it.
The thing that warms my heart, is that I know the resilient nature of a Southerner. We don't take no shit, and we don't admit defeat. Look at us, 140 years later, we refuse to admit defeat in the Civil War in earnest.
I have endured serious accusations of abandoning the South for "the Yankees," without a hint of irony, when I moved to Philadelphia.
It will be a long, costly, arduous process, but the cities will rebuild and the citizens will exhibit more strength than most of us are capable of, because that's what Southerners do.
And I've never been more aware of that fact until now, being over 1,000 miles away from that place in which I grew up, and truly, that's where my heart is gonna be for the next few months, or longer, until they are back to their fighting weight, but I have no doubt that they will eventually be, so that's what comforts me, if only somewhat, at this point.

Helpless and nostalgic

I have been watching the news coverage of Hurricane Katrina that ripped through my home state and some of my old stomping grounds, including the Mississippi and Alabama Gulf Coasts and New Orleans, and I have been thinking about the time I've spent at the various locations that were hit the hardest and how sad it makes me to see the rubble they've become.
First of all, there is no worse feeling than the one I had yesterday when I didn't know where the storm was, knowing how devastating the winds could be even as far up into north Misssissippi where my parents and a majority of friends live, and I couldn't get through to anyone.
The news coverage of anywhere but the coast has been deplorable, as my parents, way the hell up in north Mississippi, had been without power for 20 hours, not that I would've known it, because the national media didn't mention the small towns throughout the South that were affected.
Now, I'm worried about friends I can't reach, although through local news there, I do now basically now that they're okay, but any of you reading this that I haven't spoken to, need to call me. I mean it, bitches!
I hate that helpless feeling, and I hate even more knowing that amazing areas of the South that colored memories of my youth are virtually destroyed now and will take weeks and months to rebuild.
We always went to Orange Beach in Gulf Shores for our annual family vacations, and, honestly, I have no idea what shape that area is in, but for other vacations, we went to Biloxi, and it was hit hard.
I remember Biloxi before its biggest boon was casinos, and it was a beautiful beach town. The beach left a lot to be desired at the time, because not nearly as much care was put into as has been since the casinos popped up, but it was a sleepy Southern beach town that afforded Mississippi families who wanted a short trip within their state a place to go, have fun and come home feeling satisfied.
New Orleans is a whole other story. I never went to New Orleans until I was in college, and I regret that I haven't been there more often.
New Orleans is easily the best part of the South with perhaps Memphis as a bit of competition, and it literally hurts my heart to see what shape not only the city itself, but the people are in right now.
New Orleans is a picture-perfect blend of quaint Southern charm and the naughtiness that non-judgmental Catholics can enjoy.
The architectural alone is enough to make you sigh, but then you experience the city, which has an actual pulse, and you're hooked.
I regret that I've only been there during Mardi Gras which is no way to fully appreciate such an amazing place, alive at all times with jazz and gypsies and who knows who else might be strolling down a street in the Garden District.
If you've never been there, give them about 3 months, and I know without hesitation, that they will rebuild, restructure and come back with a vengeance.
I was listening to NPR today to a guy who rode out the storm in his 160-year-old French Quarter apartment, and after the eye had passed, he went out exploring the immediate neighborhood. He encountered a few bars that had stayed open, boarding their windows and spray painting on the boards, "We refuse to die sober."
That city ain't going out into that good night..

Smug bastard

No sleep for the weary

I have recently become a world-class insomniac. I used to hear people say they had insomnia and think to myself, "HA! I can sleep through anything..suckers." Now, I think the fact that I had those thoughts is manifesting itself with some sort of karmic retribution, and it is not pleasant.
I am tired for most of the day, daydreaming about when I can come home and take a nap or imagining going to bed at a normal time and sleeping the sleep of the content. But that has only happened about 4 times in the last month, and it's starting to wear on me a bit.
I think of that line from "Fight Club," in the beginning, about how when you stop sleeping, you never really know what's real and what's not. I probably screwed that up, but you get the general idea.
Seriously, after the first couple of weeks, I would just sort of feel like I was underwater for a large part of the day, and then I would get a second wind, but still not feel quite normal. It was an odd euphoric feeling, that would still allow me to be able to sleep for at least the first part of the night, and then at 2 a.m. was when the fun would start.
Now, I don't know what to think. I'm pretty cranky all the time, which was hard to recognize as a symptom for a while, I have headaches, and when I do finally sleep, I wake up so many times that by the time my alarm goes off, I'm never really sure if I was asleep or not.
It's kind of a maddening way to live. I've tried to pinpoint what may've set this into motion, and I honestly don't know. Sleep and I have always had a very fond relationship.
Had a rough day? There's my old friend Sleep willing to step in and lend a 45-minute power nap-hand to help out.
Been burning the candle at both ends for a few days in a row? Sleep knows what to do. A nice 12-hour refueling, and everything is back to normal.
I'm trying to decide if my body has suddenly realized that it's 28 and no longer wants to accept caffeine after a certain hour, which is what my sister suggested, but I refuse to be one of those people who says that drinking a Coke after 1 p.m. will keep them awake for the rest of the day. I'm not THAT old, Jesus.
I will never forget one of the funniest memories I have of my friend, Brian. We had been dating about 3 months and had taken our first overnight road trip to Huntsville, Ala., to see my friend Layla.
We had been out having a few beers and had headed back to our hotel for the night. As we're going in, I stop by the vending machine, as this was during the "Mountain Dew..to hell with my kidneys" phase, so that I could dose up on its sugary goodness.
Brian says to me, without a hint of irony, "You're getting a Mountain Dew. Well (insert old man voice here), don't keep me awake all night after you drink it," as though I'm going to finish drinking it and immediately start pole vaulting around the room.
I found it so funny, in fact, that I laughed, rather loudly, for about 5 minutes, the entire way it took us to get to our room, and I'm fairly sure that I kept laughing well after we got into it.
Now, who's laughing? Now that I dread actually putting head to pillow at night, because I lie there (blink, blink), tossing and turning for 2 hours, I may actually have to conduct a series of experiments that may involve cutting off caffeine in the afternoon to see if that's what the problem is.
I'm off to bed (again). Wish me luck.

A woman obsessed

I have a compulsive personality, I'll admit it. When I choose to engage in certain behavior, I do it obsessively until I'm tired of it, which could be anywhere from a week to a year.
Previous obsessions have included karaoke at least once a week, sometimes twice, fried cheese with ranch dressing, having to check my alarm clock 8 times before I went to sleep, and reading anything Kurt Vonnegut ever wrote.
Now, these are not all bad things to be addicted to, mind you, but having just spent nearly a full two weeks watching basically nothing but The Sopranos and only really stopping because I ran out of episodes and Season 4 won't be delivered until Tuesday, I realize now that I have some "issues," to put it mildly.
I once watched that show "I Love the '80s" on VH1 for an entire 8 hours, even though I had stuff to do that day and was actually expected somewhere about an hour before I got there.
That show is a perfect way for me to hone the compulsion. It has short, attention-grabbing clips, and when one show ends, the next one just kind of morphs into being without so much as a commercial break. So, even when I was thinking,"Okay, must get into the shower now," another show would start, and I would be held captive for the next half hour or 3 hours, however long the marathon went.
I did this with "Sex and the City" as well. When I had both a VCR and DVD player, I was a woman possessed with having to watch every episode back to back. I have 3 seasons on VHS and 2 on DVD, but now I only have a DVD player, so basically I have the seasons that I do own memorized, which is not such a good thing.
When a person is telling me of relationship trouble, or I'm discussing my own, and I say, "Well, it's like when Carrie and Mister Big did this...or said this..," that can't be good.
I've gone so far as to actually call certain men in my life Mister Big and give detailed reasons as to why I think that. I have a problem.
But now, the sickness is clearly focused on The Sopranos. I love, love, love James Gandolfini. I've mentioned that in a previous post about my fascination with the Mafia, but I think my feelings for him veer over into "I-Want-To-Start-A-Fan-Club" territory.
When he walks down the driveway to pick up the newspaper in his little terrycloth bathrobe, I want to molest him. Or even when he yells at his kids because he genuinely doesn't want them to turn out like him, *sigh*, my heart breaks just a little.
My name is Emily, and I'm addicted to Tony Soprano

Confessions of an eternal flake..and other stuff

Remember when you were in school, and you had to engage in that vile academic absurdity, Parents' Night, where your parents would come and meet your teachers and get an update on your progress? I assume it's much different now, what with teachers being afraid to scar children by failing them now. They call it what, grade-promotionally challenged or something.
Anyway, the comments from teachers were any of the following "Doesn't pay attention," I'm fairly certain my sister got "Talks too much," some kids might've gotten "May grow up to be a serial killer," you get the idea.
Anyway, mine were always along the lines of "Has enormous potential, but doesn't apply herself fully," and if the saying "Who you are at 3 is who you are at 30," I'd have to say some teachers I scoffed at once upon a time may've actually gotten something right.
I have a tremendously hard time following through with anything. I'd like to think it's because I'm so incredibly brilliant that I can't be bothered to limit myself and therefore feel the need to dabble in a number of different things.
However, that is me being full of shit.
Let me just recap for you:
1. Was utterly convinced at the age of 16 that I would one day be a lawyer. I thought, "I'm argumentative, and I sure do like that movie A Few Good Men. How cool would that be?" So, I maintained that path, majoring in political science to give myself a strong background before I began my career as the next Johnnie Cochran. I didn't necessary want to be as sleazy as Johnnie Cochran, but I think I liked the idea of being a rhyming lawyer.
Anyway, that lasted until the middle of my sophomore year when I began to find political science to be a bit dull, plus one of the only two professor that taught me was intensely annoying.
So, I changed my major to journalism. I had always liked to write (still do, obviously), and I could see myself dashing in and out of the fray with a brown trenchcoat and stiletto heels like Ingrid Bergman or Katharine Hepburn while I brought down City Hall.
Uhh..yeah. I ended up at a school that had little focus on news reporting and became the Entertainment Editor of my college paper. Incidentally, it was the most awesome job I've ever had, so I have no regrets for that, but it kind of set a scene, if you will, about what professional direction my life ended up taking...However, this leads me to..
2. I was engaged to a giant ass clown when I was a mere 20 years old. I don't know what malfunctioned in my brain chemistry for me to ever have agreed to marry this person in the first place, but one week before my 21st birthday, I accepted a ring, and off we were.
So, as a result of that unholy pairing, I transferred schools, which is where I ended up as Entertainment Editor. But over the course of our courtship, I slowly began to realize what an emotional fuckwit this person was and then ultimately had it confirmed when I had to go to the emergency room for a kidney infection, couldn't locate my beloved until the next day when I was greeted with, "Where was I? Oh, I had a date last night." !@?!@? So..yeah, that was that.
I had just finished college, was still working part-time for the college paper and was temping while trying to find actual employment.
What next followed is what I have regretted for longer than I realize and basically just have to let go:
I was so distraught by being kicked in the teeth by this person who wasn't worth it, nor did he ever deserve me, I realize now, that I promptly fell apart. I was only 3 hours away from home, which is put into sharp perspective now that I'm 20 hours away from where I grew up, and I thought that it was too far away for me to be sufficiently coddled, so I packed it in when I had a really good job and went running home to my parents and my former life, thinking that would solve everything.
This leads me to the worst career move I ever made, taking a job as a copy editor at a paper that offered me nothing professionally positive. The best thing to come out of that job was that I met people that mean more to me than they may ever know, but that is it. I languished for almost 4 years, really merely gaining a distaste for the news business and picking up proficiency in some software that I truly hope I never have to use again.
A caveat to this bullet point is that in NO WAY should I have married that asshole. That's not the thing that I regret not following through with; I regret that I let the emotional toll of the break-up have me give up a job that paid well in an area that fostered what I wanted to do.
I think what took me so long to get over that break-up was just that. I let this person that I never should've been involved with in the first place dictate what I did with myself, and I will never fall prey to that again...
Compromise is a great thing, when it's the right time to compromise, and I hope to God that I know the difference now, with some age and wisdom.
3. I am sad to report that I have temporarily given up the guitar, which is a little bittersweet.
The thing of it is, my teacher was a pretentious meanie, and I'm not putting up with that crap. I promised myself that I would pick the guitar up again, and I will, but right now, I'm focusing on something else that I feel is more important and will be the thing that breaks the "flake curse."
I am going to graduate school next fall to pursue a master's degree initially and then perhaps a PhD in creative writing, but, mark my words, that is the last thing I will do, and I will follow through with it.
I will write my novels, and I will end up as a professor, perhaps the female counterpart to Robin Williams' character in "Dead Poets Society," except maybe I'll sleep with my more promising ingenues..I'm totally kidding.
Anyway, I'm breaking the cycle. There will be no more of "That Emily, she just bounces from one thing to the next."
Or, who knows? I might get bored.

Now, that's a hot group of girls..

These women..

I just returned from the most awesome, sanity restoring weekend I've had in a while.
I went to see my best friend in the galaxy in Miami, and I have never meant it more when I say, "It was exactly what I needed."
Ms. Amanda Meadows, Esq., and I have been friends for an amazing 12 years, and I simply shudder to think at what I would do without her presence in my life. We've only had about 3 arguments that I can think of and none of them ever lasted for longer than it took for us to make each other laugh.
The truly wonderful thing about a friendship like ours is that we have both essentially "grown up" together, or as close to it as we're going to get anytime soon, and I've gotten to watch her do fearless and wonderful things and continue to become a genuinely awe-inspiring person the more I know her.
In addition to being able to have much needed girl time with her, I got to reconnect with a group of friends that she's made throughout her time in law school and their friends' friends (ya got that?), and I have to say that there is no better way to spend 3 days than in the company of smart, funny, amazing women that are a positive force in each others' lives.
Too often, and I'll be the first to put forth this opinion, women don't serve to support each other; they tend to be catty and suspicious and insecure, which is a huge reason that I've always had mostly guy friends.
But, maybe, as we get older and realize that men are rarely a beacon of anything that resembles anything close to helping us stay sane, we understand the need for that support system of giggly, advice-giving girl fun and how there is no equal for that.
Don't get me wrong, I love men, too much I think, sometimes, and I don't want to denigrate what they provide either, but it makes me truly sad when I see women who only do things with their boyfriend/husband/male friend with benefits..what have you, because they will never know the comforting embrace of estrogen-filled Saturdays spent watching bad movies and making fun of commercials after a night of carousing.
These are the people that will bring you a Bloody Mary when you have a hangover (it works, really), will tell you, no matter what the circumstances or what you may have done in a relationship, "It is NEVER your fault," will call you on a particularly low Tuesday just to cheer you up, will sing you a birthday song on your voicemail within minutes of the day actually turning over to your birthday and will pick you up from the airport blasting Justin Timberlake while shouting, "OWWW! Shake it!" much to the delight of the harried pilots waiting for their shuttle buses to their crappy hotels.
Frailty, thy name is woman, my ass.