Laying Low

The return of reliable high-speed internet, among other things, has somewhat diminished my desire for socialization. The characters on Lost and Friday Night Lights are so much more interesting than non-committal and/or angry people I deal with most of the day, and certainly cooler than any nonexistent romantic prospects. Relationships with actual fictional characters are easier than relationships with imaginary people I haven't met.

It's been great playing soccer again, especially when I get to be a bit of a bad-ass ringer, scoring multiple goals a night. Go indoor. Too bad I left this week's game with a mild case of whiplash. Oops! The people are cool, but the late Monday night games doesn't exactly inspire socializing. It's okay, because I'm officially laying low.

Cervantes has to have surgery, which I can't really afford--another reason to keep things simple. Poor guy, he's had a rough winter with the exploding hind-quarters.

I'm having trouble motivating myself to pursue my career (such as it is), and have had quite the conundrum trying to figure out what the next step is. Well, that's really not it...I know what hte next step is, I just harbor an unwholesome dread of the GRE and graduate school applications. Aah, the familiar paralyzing fear of rejection. Maybe if I just keep out of sight, it will all just go away?

Sounds like a plan, at least for the time being.

Apparently a hot dress will not change your life.

I wish it were true, but alas my fantastic sartorial acquisitions have had zero impact on the current state of affairs.

In fact, they may or may not have brought on a blizzard, the awesome Brooklynbretta's closing (and owner moving to Vermont), my cat's rupturing rear end (with accompanying vet bills), and a series of pathetically lame and un-romantic encounters. I would be truly sad if the magic black dress has actually altered the course of human events. Perhaps we shall test the theory this weekend in dc...its powers are so strong, I don't know if I dare tempt fate.

back to the vet. Poor Cervantes. =(

Unease

Right now, I'm tired. My emotions have been run through the wash, spun dry, and frizzed out in the drier over the past month, and I don't quite have it in me to talk to people right now. Klu, if you're out there, I've opened up my phone a dozen or so times and tried to call, but for some reason I haven't gotten to it. Same goes for my older sibling up north. And Sarah.

I think I'm still reeling a bit and trying to readjust to my life down here without Dave. Being apart now isn't the same as last year; we've both got jobs that require to be up and about around the same time the sun rises, and we have households to maintain. We're becoming disconnected already, and I don't know what to do about it.

What I really want to do is retreat further from my relatively social existence down here. The people in my immediate vicinity are pretty amazing, and I enjoy hanging out with them a lot, but I'm getting to that point where I feel stifled by anyone, even people I like. My thoughts as of late have hearkened back to the old days, when I'd spend a Saturday engrossed in a book, then go watch a movie and cook dinner by myself. This weekend was like that, and it did me a world of good. Unfortunately, there was only about a day that belonged truly to me, and I need more than that.

School is, well, school, and things aren't really getting that much better. I was on campus by 7:00 am this morning for a parent conference for a a kid that thinks that his gold teeth are going to make him the next 50 Cent; I was stood up. At some point during 6th period (nobody's really sure when) a child put a wad of gum in my ponytail. It took me over an hour to notice it, and that was only after a well-meaning student pointed it out. The children in the class after them then put a 5-piece gum amalgamation on the seat of my chair in the hopes that it would stick to my ass when I sat down. I took one look at it, stuck it in the middle of the whiteboard, and proceeded to ignore the entire class for 35 minutes. The charming instigator of this stunt is a girl who showed up to class after 3 weeks of school, was absent for 2 weeks, then returns to class on a Monday morning. She proceeds to whip out a bottle of hooker-hot-pink nailpolish and paint her nails. This should not be normal, but hey, that's my life. But hey, at least I don't cry once a week after school, right? That's at least something.

I cried at the end of "Emma" last night. What's wrong with me? Maybe I should restrict my Netflix viewings to comedies and historical dramas.

Another factor that's subtly unsettling me is the encroaching birthday. After last year's success, I have this premonition that something horrible is going to happen, to bring back the litany of wretched September 18ths that plagued my young life: fights at pool parties; soccer girls and private school girls spreading rumors at slumber parties; lonely middle school parties; scum-like ex-housemates throwing spitballs in freshmen math classes; deadlines; unrequited love; etc. Rationally, there's not much that can top the things that have happened, but I'm on the lookout nonetheless.

The most exciting event, no question, is what I've been looking forward to for about a year; this afternoon, I drove home atop a 2006 Vespa LX 150, "aurora blue." Feeling the crepuscular light on my forehead as the wind blew whisps of gum-free hair past my temples, I felt miles away. My beautiful scooter whisked me home and off to dinner at our favorite cafe, and then we took a couple of laps around the apartment complex just for kicks. I mean, shit, if it gets 65 miles per gallon, I can afford a few victory laps. Happy birthday, me [grin]. Hell yeah.

So I'm driving the Vespa to school tomorrow, soccer practice be damned. My cleats can fit in the the bottom of the seat. The only problem is that my helmet is on back order, so it could be a week before that comes in. Oops =). Perhaps I should reevaluate tomorrow. I guess I'll sleep on it.

It's late already, and I've got forms to fill out for the District before bed, so I'm outie. Bleh. Something still just doesn't feel right.

Antisocial

It's bad when I don't want to talk to people. Not that I don't want to talk to the people in my immediate vicinity; I get along fantastically with my roommates. It's the tenuous electronic and telephonic links with my long-distance family and friends which are beginning to dissolve into an abyss of apathy.

There's a lot going on in my professional and academic life right now; I consider myself doing "okay" if I only spend an hour or two each day thinking about how much my life is going to suck in the next few weeks with the implementation of the Zone. None of the children have schedules, there's an extra hour of class, I'm teaching 2 more preps (one of which I don't even know what it is), and I have mandatory professional development every day this week after school which is going to make me miss one of my grad classes.

I don't want to talk about it. There's enough bitching about it in this apartment, and that's *without* having to explain all the gruesome background info. Right now, I just can't summon the energy required to tell someone about my life if they haven't spoken to me in 2 weeks. Unfortunately, according to those restrictions, that's my family too. I know that now of all times I should be connected to them, up on what's going on with my aunt, but I just haven't. There are many reasons, none of which matter much.

Instead, I bury myself in fiction, true Williamson style. It's like high school again, but in some bizarre Twilight Zone effect, I've become the teacher. I retreat into words, chosing to write about my frustrations: excise them through paper and pen (or internet and keyboard), rather than involve other human beings in my messy, confusing dilemma.

My problem is that when I talk to people, all they tell me is bad news. Phone calls from unidentified or infrequently dialed numbers just bring more complications, more things to stew over on a Monday night while I sniffle through the end of a head cold. I don't want to muster the forces and make myself reestablish those lines of communication; right now, cost-benefit analysis looks pretty dismal. [semi-random shout out to DDH, sparked by economic argot: Entertainment Weekly used the word "sartorially" last week. They must be cool.]

I'm pretty damn happy down here when I can spend a rainy "winter" evening curled up on my vintage velvet couch with a book, kill 2 hours in the mall with Mary and VA because the traffic going north made us miss the first showing of "In Good Company," and talk to my loving (or at least hungry), entertaining (some would say psychotic), and very feline cat. If all I have to worry about is feeding myself, dragging my little professionally dressed body to NW 95th street every morning at 7:00, and exercising occasionally, I'm fine.

The problem is, being Thea: daughter, friend, colleague, coach, student, correspondent, is much more difficult than all that.

I should know myself better

I've been back from Spring Break for a week now, and even though I always profess to be so self-sufficient and stoic, my little introverted heart sometimes needs to be reminded that "yes, people do indeed like you. You are not abnormal. Well, you may be abnormal, but some people still like you."

It's a Saturday, culturally stereotyped as a "social day" but as of late I haven't really been psyched to the sorts of social activities available to me at present. I've also been a little ticked at Haverford for not welcoming me back with open arms (teachers and students alike), and have felt a little on the periphery of my ordinarily peripheral social network. [Note subtle use of present perfect tense...]

Today, I unexpectedly [and clearly due to the Spanish earrings with magical powers] reopened the lines of communication with several good people whom I miss. Ran into Marni outside the library on a glorious sunny afternoon; finally sent an email to Sarah so we could make plans; received a concerned IM regarding an ambiguously irked away message. When I put it up I suppose I was, a little consciously, asking for someone to pay attention to my semi-turbulent state of mind, stressed about thesis and not excited about spending Sat. night working on it for two unrelated reasons. 1. I have no other plans, and 2. because my thesis stresses me out. I'm worried that it might not make sense, that the connections don't go together, and that my advisor(s) don't 'get' what I'm trying to say. That and well, PoMo LitCrit is tough [postmodern literary criticism, for the uninitiated, or non-pretentious. I am neither, lately].

I knew that I needed some attention, and yes, in that whiny "look at me! I've got so much work to do!" kind of way, so sue me. I knew that I needed some time out by myself, so I took it. Made myself a dinner worthy of more than sweaty workout clothes and my desk as a dining surface, but hey, it still tastes the same. The creamy fontal cheese from the farmers' market and sharp parmesan melted over my pasta in my first ever Sauce Mornay, a triumph, if I do say so myself, of rich white goodness and just the right tang. Then to prove, no it's NOT just about color, a nice dark glass of merlot to accompany and ground the richness with "overtones of berry and an earthy feel" or some crap like that. Whatever it was, it sure as hell made my night, and I feel a little more ready to dive back into my writing project.

That, with my new buttons for my thrift store jacket to replace the gold anchors [ick], makes Saturday a success, no matter how the rest of my night goes =)

Today Blows, a Pseudo-scientific Proof

and it started off so well, for several reasons: it was 60 degrees outside, so not only did I get to wear flipflops, but my fun grey skirt. Had several Marilyn Monroe-esque moments on this windy afternoon which were fun. However, these things were not enough to counteract the following crappy events which shall be hitherto enumerated.

1. Received yet another job rejection. Yes, I know the economy sucks, yes, I know you have 20% more applicants this year, yes, I suck and you don't want me.

2. Have nearly resigned myself to my boring mediocrity. I do a great many things passably well, but can't quite manage to excel at anything.

3. It dropped about 15 degrees while I was at class, so when I left to check my mail (and receive said "wedon'tlikeyouthea" letter) I froze my exposed tootsies right off.

4. Am inexplicably tired and achy in spite of *very* good night's sleep last night, and nearly fell asleep at work tonight in the athletic office whilst alphabetizing envelopes.

5. My room is in bad shape. I'm talking execrably messy, papers strewn everywhere, and long blonde hairs floating around due to our completely ineffectual air filter/ventilation system.

6. Need to do fucking laundry. Damn clean socks.

So I'm going to go shower, shut myself up in an exceedingly steamy cubicle for a little while, and think about my fantastic friends, both of whom I will see in a week. Some things never need to change. Some people, after having been there for you (okay, "me", but we're talking hypothetically here) through all the bad times and melodrama, make sharing the good times with them that much more special. A demure shoutout to Cambridge and Blacksburg, if you're listening.

Grr.

Reasons why being back at Haverford could be dangerous to my health

1. Am overcome with desire to wear nothing but the Red sweatshirt and jeans, every day.

2. Feel compelled to listen to old school depressed Shakira

3. Feel compelled to blast old school angry Ani until my weakling iMac speakers threaten to break

4. Have selected masochistically difficult theses topics requiring knowledge of semiotic philosopy

4a. Am not semiotic philosopher.

5. Remarked only half jokingly to roommate this afternoon that her playing songs which include the lyrics I'm gonna be lonely for the rest of my life... repeated several times in a row was not exactly beneficial to current psychological state.

6. There are still 7 weeks of school left until Winter Break.

6a. Roommate astutely obeserved that within those 7 weeks are 15-20 pages of theses each (4 total, in apartment 2C. We like to feel sorry for ourselves), two federal holidays, and exams.

7. Have given up the use of extraneous subject pronouns and helping verbs.

8. Need to sleep more.

Buzzkill

So I'm not sure what it is about October that just wants to piss me off so badly...it's only been two days. Maybe it's the weather. I feel like I'm trapped in that Shakira song:

Si es la lluvia de todos los dias que ha aumentado su nivel
ya la musica no tiene el mismo efecto que solia tener
que no se ni que idoma hablo...
Y por mas que yo lo intente,
no me escucho ni mi propio voz.
Ya no sé si he vivido diez mil días
o un día diez mil veces....

Maybe its that it's been raining more,
because music doesn't have the same effect
as it's supposed to.
I don't even know what language to speak in...
And as much as I've tried,
I don't even listen to my own voice.
And I don't know if I've lived a thousand days
or just one day a thousand times.

Only problem is that the Spanish pop goddess is talking about love (the song's called "I Need You" for christ's sake), and all that's getting me down is life in general. I feel that "oh-shit-i'm-overinvolved" vibe coming on, like I've been blowing off schoolwork to deal with ostensibly 'real life' stuff, and eventually that's going to be a problem.

Part of the problem is that I hate looking like a slacker. I'm a procrastinator, to be sure, and I may not be the most organized person in the entire world, but I do my work. Having my Spanish prof. think that I just don't care enough to find a thesis topic kind of blows, because that's very much not the case.

Having my photo prof. think that I just have "sloppy" composition only because I can't afford a tripod also, as they say, blows. Especially since I spent an inordinate amount of time taking what I thought were really cool pictures of coffee, and worked really hard on the assignment; too bad the class thought that i 'failed to execute' what I was attempting; usually the teacher says "Okay ____, thanks for showing us your pictures. Let's move on." With me this morning, all that I got was her looking at the grade sheet, tilting her head with a sort of quizzical "hmm...." and some arched eyebrows. Give me a fucking break. They weren't that horrible, were they? Other people in the class just did theirs the night before!

Having the Watson committee eat pizza on the dean's couch in his cluttered office didn't really impart the seriousness I had hoped for in the interview, and I just want to go in and shake them all, yelling "look, you stupid people, I put a lot of work into this, and I know half of the other applicants just threw their shit together the week before!"

And of course, having to objectively look at all that shit and realize that none of it's really that important, and that if I'd been just a little more organized, a little more observant, and a little more aware of the fact that I'm not going to get by on just my *charming* personality, I could have remedied all of the aforementioned situations before they squashed me down a bit. What's that, Thea having problems with overconfidence? That's a new one. It has not been a good week for my interactions with authority figures, which worries me. Usually, I have difficulties enough dealing with my peers, and I can handle adults just fine, but when that falls apart too, it's a bit of a downer.

Fortunately, I have in the cupboard what I discovered in Sevilla is the remedy for any and all bad moods or buzzkills: Nutella. Crusty, slightly warmed french bread and sweet chocolate hazelnut spread tempers bitterness quite effectively. I am a little perplexed as to why professional basketball players are advertsing it; apparently I should "TRY KOBE'S FAVORITE." Whatever, man. I don't ask questions as long as it keeps tasting good.

Hopefully this weekend will be fun; big plans for First Friday in Old City, and much productivity with regards to work.

Dampness

It's been raining now for three days here at good old Haverford. All of my class schedule books, syllabi, and other assorted paper products are thouroughly saturated with humidity, and the newly affixed pictures on my wall are starting to curl, as are the unruly flyaway pieces of hair at my temples.

Senior year begins, full of unexpected obstacles, which I should have anticipated. The entire network was infected with some virus and crashed two days before school, so nobody had internet until a few days ago...but all the professors still wanted to contact you through (you guessed it) EMAIL. Some of them are not quite as technologically savvy as we'd like them to be. Work on thesis development and fellowship applications are is in full force, the due date for the Watson conveniently falling right after my birthday [sarcasm]. Oh well, I guess I can wait until the 22nd to celebrate.

Being back in an American college setting is quite a contrast from my life of the past 9 months, and I'm not quite sure how that's going yet. I like my self-imposed isolation in the apartment; Klu and I actually had a nice little sit-down dinner last night in the 'dining room' which felt relaxed and pseudo-grown-up. We're so cool, 'cause we made gourmet salad and I had a glass of Pellegrino, perfectly chilled, to accompany it. I'm all about the little things.

Unfortunately, I am 'all about' the little things, and tend to get distracted quite easily from the greater task at hand. It has been brought to my attention of late that I have "unorthodox" organizational methods; when unpacking, my roommate came in to hang out while I proceeded to

1. Made a collage of Spain pictures, stopping halfway to
2. put away a sweater
3. organize my CD's
4. make a playlist on the computer
5. put up some more Spain pictures
6. unpack my shoes
7. put away another sweater
8. reposition the couch

So I don't exactly think in a linear fashion...It all gets done. Eventually. Most of the time. Personally, I find it charming and endearing, one of my 'cute little quirks.' Others may not agree =).

Since my class shedule is officially fucked (that being a technical term), today will be spent running errands in typically non-linear Thea fashion, and hopefully I'll go to bed this evening having accomplished something worthwhile on this moist, misty September day.