2014

Greetings and salutations for the first time in 2014!

As you might have noticed, 2013 wasn't really The Year of The Blog for me. To be truthful, there were more than several occasions where I contemplated just hitting the private button and leaving this little internet portal to my soul to collapse upon itself. Why, you ask? A combination of factors, mostly: it's a bit of a timesuck; it's a bastion of rampant narcissism; it's embarrassing to think of people I went to high school with finding it and reading about my thoughts and my weight; I maybe had a glass or two of wine one night and sent the link to some family members (like my dad, who is the actual writer in the family in that he is gainfully employed rearranging words) and, perhaps most importantly, because I had completely lost any interest in or passion for it.

Anyone with a blog knows the pressure it brings -- it's a constant battle between, "give the people what they want!" (mixed, of course, with the awareness that "the people" is a group limited to a very small group of IRL friends and strangers of the Twitter universe) and, "why would I want to put this on the internet? Who cares about it? Does it serve some kind of need aside from my own incessant need to ponder the world, and myself, to within an a hair's breadth of insanity?" These questions have been driving me nuts over the past year. I have a veritable mortuary of posts sitting in my drafts folder, some gasping their last breaths with hope that I'll eventually come back and others that made it two stellar sentences only to be declared dead on arrival. All are a mere finger-click away from disappearing into the Internet Abyss forever.

But enough of that.

As I mentioned, 2013 wasn't the Year of The Blog. It was, however, the Year of a lot of other aspects of my life. The Year of Putting My Foot Down. The Year of South Beach. The Year of Grant Proposals. The Year of My First Marathon. The Year of My Ten-Year High School Reunion. The Year of My Wisdom Teeth.

Though they might not seem like much, those were all very significant events in my life, for a variety of reasons. Essentially, it was a year of both setting and pushing boundaries, which is something I have struggled with for a very long time. I faced some of my biggest fears in 2013, which is more than I can say about 2012 and all that I can hope to continue into 2014.

With that, I bid you all a Happy New Year, and promise to check back in with some regular life updates soon!

One Day

I've spent a full year trying to figure out how to frame this post; it has been in my drafts folder since September 10th, 2011. This subject has eluded me not because I don't care, but because I can never get the words right, can never strike that balance between overly sentimental and pessimistically preachy. Obviously, the subject of 9/11 is touchy to begin with -- a political hotbed of accusation, a stark and painful reminder of the day that changed everything. Eleven years, it seems, have flown by in an instant. For the past week, I have been filled with an odd sensation, just thinking about how, eleven years ago today, I had no idea that in a few short hours -- 144, 96, now just under one -- my life, and the lives of every other citizen of this world we call home, would be irrevocably altered.

The loss that we endured on that crisp September morning eleven years ago... the loss of lives, of our sense of security, of our perceived national innocence.... was, and remains to this day, impossible to capture in words. The sacrifice of countless innocent lives since, of men and women, mothers and fathers, sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, friends – it seems senseless in a way that I can't describe. The world as we knew it spun off course that day, and sometimes it feels like it hasn’t stopped since. The hatred and vitriol spewed across our televisions, facebook and other social media is increasingly alarming, particularly during election years such as this. I fear that as time goes on, the tragedy that occurred just eleven short years ago, a series of moments that most of us can recall in the minutest of detail, will be swept up in the tide of partisan politics and other modern issues, joining the list of anniversaries that prompt us to ask, “where were you?” and then, without even stopping to hear the answer, go on with our individual lives.

It feels easy to mash them all together, doesn't it? To wrap the whole thing in a neat bundle in our brains, dubbed "the tragedies of our nation," and drag it out of our mental dustbins to be reflected on once a year?

That cannot happen. We cannot LET that happen. We owe it to the people who woke up that morning excited for a trip across the country. The people who, just going about their regular day, didn’t get to see tomorrow. The incredibly brave, strong, heroic people who stood up on that day, and have continued to stand for us every day since, to say, “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever again.”

In 2009, Congress passed a bipartisan act declaring September 11^th the National Day of Service and Remembrance. It isn't about political affiliation; it's about personal appreciation and respect for our fellow countrymen and human beings, for those here with us and those who are gone. With that in mind, I encourage you to step up today, if even in the smallest of ways, to show that you care. Donate blood, smile at a stranger, register to vote – whatever we can do to remember, to reflect on that day and to honor those people: do it.

We owe it to them.

Summer Reading List: Part the First

I've been on another insane reading kick lately, to the point that I hadn't even touched a television remote for DAYS before I went away on vacation. Since then, I've only used it to click over to Lego Harry Potter on the Wii (don't judge), and the only time I see it happening in the foreseeable future is when I tune in for the Olympics (because I am a total junkie who only gets a hit every two years, so I plan to drink all of it in while I can). 

Since most of my friends are compiling their list of summer books, and I know that you're all just champing at the bit to find out what has been piquing my interest lately, without further ado, here are my current reads:
_______________________________________________

- Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

[Source]

If someone had given me a penny for every time I declared my hatred of this book in high school, I would have been one rich lady. And if they'd taken away a penny for every time that I have declared my undying love for this book since, I would be on literary-induced welfare. About a month ago, I blew $45 over the span of a week by devouring trashy teen paranormal romance novels by the day. I loved them because they were cheap, easy and full of flashy moments. But rereading Wuthering Heights makes me feel like the mom in Bridget Jones -- after a momentary lapse in judgement involving the fancy infomercial guy, I've realized that flash and availability are no match for the substance and foundation on which my personal history is built. Plus, I would pick Heathcliff and Cathy over Christian and Ana in a cagematch, hands down.   

- Therese Raquin by Emile Zola

[Source]

My seventy-seven year old co-worker brought this in and insisted that I absolutely had to read it. At first, I put it off because really, didn't I put enough time into old European classics in college? Then she kept asking me about it, so I figured at 300 pages, it was worth a shot. Thank the Sorceress that I did, because this one is like an old-timey literary soap opera -- sex, intrigue, murder and uptight Parisians (my favorite kind!). I'm sure my fellow beach-goers on the Vineyard were impressed by the tattered paper copy of a 135-year old novel, too, so bonus smug bitch points for that.

- This Year You Write Your Novel by Walter Mosley

[Source]

I was first introduced to Walter Mosley's work during my junior year of college, when I took a course in Contemporary American Mystery Novels. At the time, I tended to equate anything termed "contemporary" with "beach read**", so I have to admit that Devil in a Blue Dress caught me completely by surprise. I found myself not only identifying with, but rooting for, protagonist Easy Rawlins, despite having virtually nothing in common with him besides our shared humanity. The ability to do this is, to me, the sign of a great author, and as such, I snatched up Mosley's short guide to fiction the moment I saw it. Jammed full of tidbits such as (and I am paraphrasing here), "don't be afraid to insult people; no one is reading this but you, and if you ever do get published, screw them if they aren't happy for you", it has yet to disappoint. 

- Writing Fiction: The Practical Guide from New York's Acclaimed Writing School by The Gotham Writers' Workshop

[Source]

If you live in a big city, chances are that you have seen those gaudy yellow "Writing Classes dot com" bins located on street corners next to your local neighborhood news. I'll admit, at the time I bought this book three years ago, I did not equate the two in any way. This actually worked to the book's advantage, because I'm pretty sure that I would not have picked it up had I known its authors were hawking their wares to every Tom, Dick and Harry on the corner. HOWEVER, I can admit when I'm being a judgmental jackass, and this is one of those times. This handy guide is a fabulous resource for those who want to break into writing fiction, but are overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of the endeavor and are seeking a place to start. Reminiscent of an intro-level college creative writing class, covering both fiction theory and construct, each chapter also has prompts to get you started and to help translate your thoughts to the page.
 ________________________________

For now, that's it. I'm almost finished with both Wuthering Heights and Therese Raquin, and while I have a strong urge to re-read some other classics (most of which are free on e-readers), there are a number of other, more contemporary reads currently waiting for me on my Nook. In particular, I'm looking forward to Heart of the Matter by Emily Giffen and American Wife by Curtis Sittenfeld, per my Twitter followers' suggestions, and I swear one of these days I'm going to get back into Game of Thrones (I've been on page 150 of A Clash of Kings for the past three months).

In the meantime, if you've read anything good lately, feel free to leave it in the comments so that everyone can rack up their book budget for the summer!

**Despite this comment, I don't want anyone to get the idea that I'm some kind of book snob in any way. As I've said before, I am actually a big fan of fiction of all varieties, including, but not limited to, so-called "chick lit" and mass-market paperback mysteries. I've read and enjoyed everything from the Shopaholic Series to the Fifty trilogy to Twilight (ok, maybe when I say "enjoyed" the latter I mean, "enjoyed ridiculing", but that's irrelevant). I'm a proponent of the idea that reading is reading, no matter the source material, and that is something that I very strongly promote. So, if you have any recommendations for must-read books that might or might not be considered, "beach trash", send 'em my way!

Maintaining Equlibrium or, Why the Word "Balance" Makes Me Want to Scream

Now is probably a good time to get all of the perfunctory holiday greetings that I so kindly skipped out of the way. Happy New Year and whatever religious-associated winter holiday you chose (or did not choose) to celebrate! I hope they were all glorious. I happen to be a Christmas celebrator myself, but that didn't limit me to accepting good will from whomever felt inclined to bestow it upon me. I wrote a whole post about that, actually, but then couldn't find just the right time to publish it. I also penned an essay entitled, "Why Rudolph is Ruining Our Children," but I never got it quite up to the standard to which I hold anything I put out on the interwebz. Then there are the  random thoughts clinging to my dashboard like half-dead bugs on a highway bumper -- for the moment, they are stuck, but I like to think that someday they'll fly again. 

Notice a trend here?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about how I was really going to buckle down and focus on getting back to a steady routine of making healthy choices. I feel like a lot of people out here in blog-land spout the same philosophy when it comes to this; if I have to read, "it's really all about balance!" one more time, I'm going to stab my eyes out with a raw kale stem.

Of course, all stupid sayings come from a kernel of truth. Healthy living is all about balance, but for most of us, that includes balancing not only the basics (food, water and nutrients) but also the social norms of our society (family, friends and happy hour) with the rigors of everyday life (work, exercise and a healthy dose of sloth). Helen Fielding knew her stuff; it really does seem that as soon as one part of your life starts going ok, another falls spectacularly to pieces. It's enough to drive one crazy, and by "one", I obviously mean, "me".

So it's a work in progress, this whole "balance" thing. I will say that, as cliche as it might sound, I was happy to wipe 2011 off the metaphorical books and have a good start to 2012. Over the past few years, I've noticed that how I spend my New Year's Eve tends to mirror the overall tone of the subsequent year. On Dec. 31st, 2007, I spent the night in downtown Boston in a sequined top. 2008 was, in a word, ridiculous. Last year, we spent NYE witnessing one of my bff's nuptials in upstate VT, sequestered from the rest of the world and ringing in 2011 with a handful of close friends and a bunch of virtual strangers. Last year, I kept my good friends close, but didn't go out of my way to make new friends or keep in touch with some of the ones I already have. This year, I want to be better at that. Starting with making more of an effort to keep up with all of my blog friends!

So consider this one of the first steps toward that goal -- hello to the oldies, welcome to the newbies, and here's hoping that in 2012, we all find that elusive equilibrium: balance!

Thankfully Back

Guess who's back... back again... (you're welcome for the earworm). I took an impromptu hiatus for a few weeks because I was feeling so stale you could have used me for stuffing, but now I'm rejuvenated and writing again. I hope that those of you here in the US had a fantastic Thanksgiving! Mine was... eventful, beginning with a 5k for which I was completely underfueled, progressing to a gig as Chief Spectator and Keg Girl for A's family's annual touch football game and culminating in a mad dash to the bathroom, mid-feast, due to a wily stomach virus courtesy of the two rugrats we babysit for.

A happy Thanksgiving, indeed.

Though it was (thankfully) only a 24-hour bug and I was recovered enough to eat my weight in beef wellington and 16-year old wine at the MIL's 50th birthday party on Saturday night, I'm still in a lot of physical pain as a result of my bout with The Demon. Perhaps it has something to do with the 22.5 hours I spent in bed between 3pm Thursday and 3pm Friday (half hour in the car to get home, 2 hours on the couch the next day), but for the past four days, my back has been absolutely throbbing.

I wish that I could blame it entirely upon the whole bed rest thing, but in reality, that's only half the story. The kink in my neck? Sure, that was from only moving my upper body enough to hit rewind on the DVD remote over and over again (I'll get back to that) while spooning wonton soup broth into my mouth. And it was easily solved with some ibuprofen, a couple hot showers and some active stretching on Sunday. The lower back/hip/glute pain, on the other hand, is a far more sinister presence with a few harder-to-fix roots.

It all started when I was 18 and kind of a bitch. On a frigid New England Sunday, not long after New Years 2003, I was sitting in my living room with my dad and stepmom drinking hot chocolate. I was a senior in high school, coasting into that last semester when the college applications are out, Early Decision results are in, and you're hedging your bets that you're going to get into the school of your dreams even though you got deferred as a legacy (damn you, BC). Per usual at the time, what started out as a nice little chat about the holidays and my life rapidly devolved into a screaming match of epic proportions. As my stepmother and I took turns screeching about my plan to finance my private secondary education through loans and black market sale of vital organs, my poor father just sat there with a vaguely dazed look on his face and the occasional, "HEY!" thrown in for good measure.

After hurling my final insult (something revolutionary and poetic, probably along the lines of, "I HATE YOU, WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE!?"), I proceeded with my next demonstration of maturity: grabbing my coat and storming out of the house in a fit of hormonal rage. Clad in my new couture Payless ankle boots and black leather jacket I'd saved months to purchase, stomping through the door without a thought to the artic temperature and fact that it had raining, it was an exit that would have made James Dean proud.

I think you know where this is going.

Those first 30 seconds were some of the longest of my life. As I lay prostrate on the front steps of my father's house, the icy slabs of cement nestled cozily against the soft tissues of my lumbar spine and neck, I had one of those moments that people experience right after they receive word of some life-altering event. I'd like to say it was some kind of divine enlightenment, complete with insight into the future and a desire to mend my ways, but really, it was something a little less spiritual than that. In fact, I remember the message with distinct clarity: "I just paralyzed myself over a fucking harpie bitchsnit."     

In those initial moments after I slipped, I couldn't feel anything. I couldn't even cry; these huge sobs were wracking my upper body but there was no sound, not even the faintest squeak. My brain said, "move!" and nothing did. After what seemed like forever (probably a second), my fingers and toes complied and I thanked the good Lord that at least I wasn't paralyzed. I was still terrified, though, and didn't move a micrometer for fear that I would somehow do more damage than I'd already done. My brother, having seen my failed double axel through the foggy glass window of his bedroom, flew outside with my dad on his heels. Together, they managed to calm me down enough for me to slowly (oh, so slowly) push myself up. It was better than the very best Christmas present, leather jacket and acceptance letter combined. I could breathe; I could sit; I could move!

Obviously, I went on an intimate emergency date with my doctor as soon as possible following the slip. I know I can be somewhat overly dramatic, but in 100% honesty, I'm very lucky that I escaped my little teenage tirade not only with the occasional flare of lower back pain, but with my life. The official diagnosis was a bruised spinal column at both the base of my neck (from hitting the top step) and the base of my back (bottom step). Ever the bedside specialist, my doctor bluntly told me that if I had fallen a hair to the left or right, I would have probably snapped either my spine or, even more horrifying, my neck.

Thankfully, it didn't come to that. With the help of a good chiropractor, some strong muscle relaxants and a sweet little device composed of electrodes and wires that made me look like ET post-discovery, I came away from it without a ton of lasting damage. Every so often, usually once or twice a year, I'll inadvertently do something that causes little spiderwebs of pain to radiate out of my lower back, around through my hips and crawling down my legs. It's hard to treat with regular methods, because most of the time I don't know where exactly the pain is coming from. Ibuprofen, heating pads, hot showers and rest are typically the only relief I get during these little spells.

As annoying as it is, I know that I am very lucky. I am thankful both because mine was a minor injury with negligible repercussions and because I don't live in chronic pain, where so many others do due to one reason or another. It definitely gives me a greater appreciation for what those people go through each day, and in a weird way it's a good reminder that while I act like a paper cut is the end of the world, there are people out there who deal with constant aches and pains on a daily basis. It's an interesting perspective that I think a lot of us don't stop to think about very often. Not to say that we don't hurt sometimes -- just that it's always nice to keep in mind that others do, too.

************************
Well, true to form, I started writing this post on Monday. It is now Thursday, and I'm happy to say that thanks to my friends IcyHot, Advil and Memory Foam, my back feels as good as it ever has. I even managed to go for another run on Tuesday, and it was honestly the best run I've had in months. Part of it, I think, was telling myself during the hard parts that it didn't hurt as badly as my back had, and also being thankful that I have the ability to run at all.

So yeah, that's my Thanksgiving post. A week late. Oh well. I hope you all had a great Thanksgiving and are now happily ensconced amongst the throngs of overly-caffeinated holiday shoppers out there clogging all centers of commerce. Deck them halls! ;)

Also, can we just talk about the Chuck/Blair scene from the Gossip Girl Season 4 finale for a second? I know I'm like an entire half season behind and all, but for the love of Bendel's, I couldn't decide if I should cry, scream or swoon. As much as I hate the stupid combo name, Team Bluck has my heart forever and always.

The end.

The Yellow Line

Yesterday, as I sat at my decrepit old desktop contemplating such important matters as, "if I could have dated one star from the 80s, who would it have been?" and "don't people have anything better to do with their time than engage in frivolous legal matters?", I was sidetracked yet again by the folder of my old college papers. Clicking randomly at documents I don't even remember writing, I realized two things:

1) There is a direct correlation between the decline in the quality of my writing and the advent of my 21st birthday,

and

2) I really like writing about mice.

Odd, considering that when my first apartment had a vermin problem, I called every one of my scientist friends and offered them a free under-the-table supply of specimens if they could get the damn things out of my house. Sadly, there were no takers.

In addition to the Tale of the Chuck, I found two more stories prominently featuring animals of the rodent variety. Here's one of them.

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“Whatever you do, never stand on or over the yellow line. I mean it. Don’t do it, ever!"

As I stand on the platform at the Park Street T stop, waiting for the Red Line to come whisk me away to my aunt and uncle’s house, the words my mother uttered over 20 years ago echo around me as if they are embedded in the walls. There are hundreds of people milling around the underground terminal, but as those words echo in my head, it’s as if I am completely oblivious to their presence. This is, after all, where I first heard that singular golden rule of public transportation in Boston; it’s also where I first chose to ignore it.

I must have been around six years old when it happened, because I remember how happy I was to be back in the city after moving to New Hampshire a few month before. Due to the fact that we had been “such good helpers” during the move, Mom and Dad had surprised my brothers, sister and me by getting tickets to see Disney on Ice at the Boston Garden. We had enjoyed the parade of ice skating characters, shrieking and giggling each time the villain was beaten, and afterwards the four of us examined our souvenirs as we waited for the train to take us back to our car.

The infant twins looked adorable with tiny mouse ears perched on their heads, held in place by stretchy straps of elastic under their chins. My three-year-old sister, Kelly, had picked out a light-up snow globe on a stick from a traveling salesman at the train stop and was flinging it precariously close to other passengers’ heads as she tried to make it illuminate. I was sitting at my father’s feet, leafing carefully through the shiny program that he had finally bought for me after a lot of begging and pleading on my part. A budding figure skater myself, I was content to look at the pictures and dream of one day performing in the show. Content, that is, until I saw a movement out of the corner of my eye and decided to investigate.

Luckily, one of the twins woke up from his nap and started crying at that exact moment, so no one noticed as I tiptoed closer to the platform’s edge to see what was down there. I watched for a few seconds, patiently waiting for whatever it was to move again. I had often come to this station with my parents and grandparents when I lived in the city, and knew that in the dank depths below, there was a tiny creature who liked to scurry across the tracks. In my naivete, I didn’t realize that the little guy was actually one of many rodents in the station, and I held my breath until I saw something run out from under a rock.

There he was! The Park Street mouse!

Of course, as the platform started trembling at that instant, I looked to the end of the track to confirm my suspicion as to the cause. A pinprick of white light had appeared in the blackness of the tunnel, and the red caution light had switched on. The train barreled towards the station, and in my five-year-old brain I realized that if I didn’t do something, my furry little friend was going to be run over.

The warning my mother had given me as soon as I was old enough to understand it rang through my ears: never, ever step on or over the yellow line at a T stop; the train conductor probably won’t see you and, if he does, he won’t be able to stop in time. “Oh well, I’ll be really quick,” I thought and, never taking my eyes off the mouse, took a step off the platform.

I realize now how lucky it was that my dad noticed I had left his feet. He caught me just in time, grabbing me by the arm and yelling at me to get the hell away from the edge just as the train roared into the station. I cried as he and my mom yelled at me for being stupid and not listening to their instructions not because I was embarrassed, but because I thought the mouse was dead. It was a really traumatic event for a child, to first be scared half to death by her father nearly dislocating her shoulder and then to realize that her furry ally had been squished into oblivion by a 30-ton train. Even though my parents later explained to me that the mouse was fine, and that he was used to the trains coming through his house and knew to get off the tracks when the vibrations started, I don’t think I ever fully recovered from what has become known in the family as “The Park Street Mouse Incident.”

The telltale vibration of the floor beneath my feet brings the station back into focus. I am abruptly shaken from my reverie, becoming aware of the other travelers in the station as the sound of my mother’s words sinks back into the walls once more. I look first toward the tunnel, and see the white light of the Red Line train hurtling towards the station. I then look down at my feet, and a slight smile plays across my lips as I observe the entire foot-and-a-half of space that I have placed between myself and the yellow line. A movement on the track catches the corner of my eye, and I imagine that the small mouse scurrying off of the track looks up and remembers me and my misguided attempt to save his life.

The train rolls in to the station, a long blur that stops with a screech in front of me. Laughing silently, I cross the yellow line and step into the car.
******************************************************

Fun fact: I still look for a mouse on the tracks every time I go to Park Street.

Blog ADD

I know I've mentioned this once or twice a few many times before, but I have a serious problem with blog post ADD. The way it usually happens is that I'll get all hopped up on an idea: "OMG! I HAVE to write about that! It will be such a great, thought-provoking/expressive/hilarious topic and I just can't wait! It will be the post that launches me into the orbit of the greater interwebz, and then I will be able to quit my job, sell a book, grant the rights to the screenplay and remind my readers every day via Twitter about how I'm livin' the dream!".

Of course, these bursts of inspiration always come at the worst times, like in the shower, on the bus or submerged in the Atlantic Ocean, tickling my toes with seaweed. Basically, if there's no computer around, I'm sure to come up with the perfect plotline for the Great American Novel.

So, I do what most people do and whip out my trusty little notebook (which I've been carrying in my purse for years now; it predates the whole blog thing by a LOT... apparently, when friends play the, "oh shit! I forgot Caitlin's birthday!" game, miniature notebooks come to mind? Awkward.).

I love me some technology and all, but there's just something about a brand-new, totally blank notebook that's somehow....refreshing. All those empty pages, waiting to be filled up with whatever my little heart desires. Lists? Sure. Story ideas? Why not? The blog post that lets me quit my day job? Sign me up! Putting pen to paper just feels so authentic and real -- a feeling that just can't be replicated by the clickety-clack on a keyboard.

Unfortunately, my little pink notebook is currently filling up with ideas, but when it comes time for me to actually sit down and write about them, nothing happens.

Blinking cursor, white screen. No words.

I admit I've been under a fair amount of stress lately, which I would normally be blogging about but since most of it is family or work-related, it doesn't really have a place out here on the interwebz. Because while I have no problem airing my dirty personal laundry for the world to see, I'm not so sure that my employer or, ya know, my family, would appreciate that same courtesy.  

Although it would be nice to finally say, "Well, mom, you always DID ride me about doing the laundry... so I aired yours, too!"

With the new school year upon us, it is entirely possible that Andrew and I will finally, grudgingly, give part of our paychecks up to Comcast and find ourselves with cable and internet at home. Homeslice has to do his homework, after all. I'm hoping that once that happens (or even if I just get a new laptop so that can record my random musings WITHOUT an old, rickety desk chair digging into my coccyx), quality posting on a regular schedule shall commence.

In the meantime, thanks for bearing with me. I know how irritating it is to have that, "...and THEN what happened?" feeling, and I'm probably losing a lot of readers with the constant question of whether or not I'll be in the posting mood on any given week, day or hour.

So thank you!! You guys are awesome.

On Writing

Some days,
   Some ways,
     Do you ever
              Just feel
                     ...right?

Obviously, there's a reason I don't Tumbl -- I feel like, at the moment, when it comes to very short works, Twitter is enough --- but the one thing I really want to do, more than anything else in the world, especially these days, is to write. And no, I don't mean blog. And I don't mean scribble. I mean actually, for the first time since college, to sit, and sip and click and clack and sip some more.

Free from expectations.

Free of narratives, both in my head and of my life.

Free of the pressure of a best-seller; from the need to make it all seem crazy, wild, larger than life.

Free to make things up, without repercussions.

Free to say them out loud.

Or not.

To share, and dream, and discover, even if it's just with a simple black cursor.

No photos, please.

Just 65 keys.

And 26 letters.

All scrambled and twisted and re-worked again, into something that takes on a life of its own.

That's all I want.

And it's what I need.

Now, about that damn laptop...

Eleven in 2011! Or, Kicking This Year's Ass: The Update

Last night, as I was lathering my hair with Tresseme (I ALWAYS do my best thinking in the shower), a sudden thought caused me to almost drop the shampoo bottle on my foot, which would have rapidly devolved into an SNL skit.

What thought, pray tell, could have POSSIBLY caused me to nearly turn my bathroom into the set of Psycho? 

HOLY CATS! 2011 IS A QUARTER OVER!

 WHEN THE HECK DID THAT HAPPEN?!

(March 31, genius).

So, I thought it would be a fun idea to check in with my 11 Goals in 2011 and share my progress with you all. In the event that I'm not the absolute most important thing in your life, and you therefore don't remember what I pledged to do (or, if you're a newer reader, and you didn't deem me important enough to drop everything and go through my archives), here they are:

Eleven in 2011! Or, "How I Plan to Kick This Year's Ass"
Kicking 2011's Ass: Part Deux

1) Fiscal Responsibility
    I actually think I've done a fairly good job with this one. My monthly calls to my legal loan sharks student loan company to scream like a woman possessed because they never, EVER apply the right amount of money to the right loan subgroup seem to be paying off. I've not only created some epic profanities (see? I totally put the $40k English degree from a state school to good use), but I've also managed to pay down the principle balance of the highest interest rate loan (Seriously? 6.8%? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!) with the extra $50-$60 I've been throwing at the bill. It's not much, but it's something. I also take a slim satisfaction in knowing that "Jennifer" most likely quakes in her skinny jeans whenever my name comes up on the caller ID.
     In addition, my 403(b) is thriving, I understand the point of my pension and I've managed to save 5% of my gross income each month to increase my safety net account a respectable amount. BALLA!
First Quarter Assessment: A. Basically, I make it rain.

2) Travel More
     Sooo... that trip to Austin? It never happened. B couldn't get the time out of retail hell, and, after assessing our current financial situation, it was decided that while we really, REALLY wanted an excuse to go to TX to attend these nuptials, a few days' hotel stay in tandem with airline prices to Austin during SXSW (wtfg on the planning there, Bride) just wasn't realistic. I HAVE been doing my due diligence for B's Christmas present, i.e. the weekend in NYC, though. While I was ALL FOR dropping $350 to spend a night at the Waldorf with furry slippers and room service, Mr. "I've Never Been to NYC" apparently wants to EXPERIENCE the sights and (gag) smells of the city firsthand. Go figure.  So, if anyone has any sweet hotel recommendations or knows of a way to abscond with cheap Mets or Yankees tickets for the end of May, hook a sister up, will you?
     I've also been trying to figure out our October venture to Indy for my friend Meghan's wedding, which happens to coincide with my birthday weekend. More importantly, I've spent numerous hours perusing vacationoutlet.com, and have almost flown myself to Vegas for the weekend on more than one occasion. Big money! Come to Mama! (I'm just trying to be economical here; I could conceivably wipe out goals #1 AND 2 with this idea).
First Quarter Assessment: C+. Hey, at least I'm planning.

3) Run a Half Marathon
     Well, I *did* stick to a training plan for almost two months, and I ran a PR 5k in 36:00! Let's all clap for the slow kid (I jest; I had 1,000 people finish after me, and choose to ignore the fact that it was a run/walk). The bad news? I spent the next three weeks completely out of commission with these babies:

The other good news? I did my first run back yesterday, on the Dreadmill of Doom, with NO SHIN PAIN! It was only a quick run/walk interval of 16:30, but I made it 1.33 miles in that time, which isn't too bad for my first run in three weeks. I'll take it! (Editor's note: Motherlover... I just realized I left my Dr. Scholls inserts in my cross-trainers after Zumba last night. That's what I get for gellin' like a felon).

Boo-ya, 5k witchessss!

     Next up? Getting my mileage back up to 5k at a normal pace, registering and running another one, then proceeding to the 10k and registering for the half in October!
First Quarter Assessment: B. No "A for Effort" here.

4) Get My Blood Pressure Back to Normal
     As you might have gathered from this post, as well as this one (my most popular post to date), things in the weight loss department aren't going so well. Shockingly, my bp hasn't been climbing as high as you would expect, though. Since I've been so frustrated, I've been trying to work on the little goals I had set to help me achieve this one -- namely, getting back to being properly hydrated (8+ each day), cutting back on my coffee intake, getting in at least 30 minutes of cardio at least three times each week, and doing a yoga class at least once a week. Those were all pretty easy to accomplish, actually -- it's the "cut back on drinking" and "use less salt" that is killing me (literally) these days. I'd forgotten how good salt makes food like pasta taste, and it's a big adjustment going back to leaving it off of everything. Le sigh. Stress has also been creepin' on me, which isn't helping the matter.
First Quarter Assessment: C-.

5) Eat More Mindfully
     Now that I have 27 days as a vegetarian under my belt,  you would think that I have made tons of progress on this one, right? Except I really haven't. No, a mindful eater would probably put two and two together and realize that beef jerky constitutes, you know, beef, and therefore has no place in a meat-free diet. Except I didn't, and ate an entire bag of it while hungover on Sunday, gobbling my Veggie Delight and congratulating myself on 25 perfect days as a Lenten Vegetarian. Then I had the worst stomach pain of my entire life, barring the time I lost 7lbs in 6 hours via Norovirus (so not worth it; trust me here), and made the whole "beef jerky - beef" connection 4 hours later. I also ate all of this in my car, out of the wrappers, while reading blogs on my cell. Eff em el.
First Quarter Assessment: F.    

Step AWAY from the jerky!

 6) Get into Grad School
     I can explain this one, and it's actually a good excuse. In case you missed it, I am whatever the opposite of a mathlete is -- Kevin Gnapoor would never date me (aside from my lily white skin and the fact that he only dates women of color, of course). As such, I have been studying for the GRE for something like 359248 years, because while I don't need math for the degree I'm going for, I DO need a high composite score in order to get into the competition for fellowships, which is the only way I'll be able to justify taking on more student loan debt at this point of my life. The GRE is being restructured starting in August, with access to a calculator on the math section -- and while I SUCK at math in general, I am great at memorizing what buttons I need to push. (This is talent in other aspects of life, too, which is why I entertained the idea of becoming a lawyer for the first 20 years of my life). Once the GRE is done, the rest is cake!
First Quarter Assessment: B+.

7) Write More
     Duh. Winning!

     Actually, since the laptop disaster, I have a refreshed love for writing. I even wrote in my journal last night by hand -- like the Flintstones!
First Quarter Assessment: A-. Still working on the "creative writing/update blog three solid times/wk" thing.

8) "Control My Reactions"
      This is, possibly, the hardest goal I've set for myself this year -- because it's been ongoing for the past 7 years, since I finally sought therapy for my chronic social anxiety disorder and found my mantra, "I cannot control every situation, but I can control my ability to react". Forcing myself to stop obsessing over potential outcomes, particularly those that will most likely NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS come to pass, and stop second-guessing myself and my decisions is sort of like LSD; once you start doing it, it never really stops living in your spine. For now, I've just kept up with the yoga, worked on the meditation, found solace in the quiet moments (particularly in church), and reminding myself that LIFE is a marathon, not a sprint.
First Quarter Assessment: B. Solid, with room for improvement.

9) Spread the Love
     As I've mentioned before, I'm pretty active in the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. A very dear friend has a little boy with this horrible disease, and I've got quite a bone to pick with the stupid gene that is causing this poor kid so much misery. Short of becoming a geneticist, though, which is slightly above my skill set (not to mention my pay grade), all I can do is help to raise awareness and dollars to help researchers combat this horrible condition that has robbed the world of too many lives already.

Making Great Strides to Beat CF

Be on the lookout for the link to my fundraising page for the CFF Great Strides walk in May, or if you're from the Boston area and are interested in a scenic 5-mile walk on the Charles, feel free to email me at caitieexperiment [at] gmail [dot] com and I'll get you the deets! I'm also working in collaboration with the CFF on another project in October!
     I've also been researching other volunteer opportunities, as I'd love to get more involved in another charity. My sorority is extremely philanthropically active with a million foundations, so I've been perusing their many connections to see if there is anything I find appealing.
First Quarter Assessment: B.
     
10) Push My Limits
     When two of your mini-goals were to "go vegetarian once a month" and "try new recipes", and you then decide to go vegetarian for 47 days and nights (save for one, plus the beef jerky incident), I'd say it's a solid guarantee that you're going to kick that goal's ass. Luckily, a lot of the mini-goals associated with my other goals are things that are outside of my comfort zone (like, oh, "publish blog," "smile at random strangers" and "apply to grad school"), and participating in them checks off this little box, too. I'm also trying to keep this goal in mind as I approach things that I am terrified of, and do them anyway -- although if you think there is any way in motherlovin' HELL that I am going anywhere near a spider, a balloon, a cannon or a snake, you, my friend, are one sick puppy.
First Quarter Assessment: B+.


11) Be a Better (and New!) Friend and Family Member
     First off, I planned and executed a baptism, which in my family makes one a legitimate contender for the Nobel Peace Prize. It involved flying my sister and niece up here from Corpus Christi, corralling my mother's AND father's sides of the family on a single date, dragging everyone to Church and keeping the peace through the planning stages of the reception, which might or might not have involved a few screaming matches and espionage worthy of James-Frakkin'-Bond. But look at the end result!:

So worth it.

     I've also worked on cultivating new "blends" -- shout out to all of you readers -- and, in the process, have strengthened some friendships I already had, because it gives us more stuff to talk about and commiserate over. Katie and I even ran, and then blogged about, the St. Paddy's 5K together! (Here's her recap).
     Last, but not least, I've been working very hard at making -- and STAYING -- in contact with my "friends from home", aka the ones I've collected since kindergarten straight up through college, with whom I've either lost touch or simply hadn't talked to in awhile. If I didn't loathe Facebook so much, I'd be praising it right about now. :)
     Oh, and I FINALLY bought a new camera, so I've had the opportunity to take tons of pics, none of which I have uploaded to the web yet, but which I've been picking and choosing from to share with you dolls when I need them. Kisses!
First Quarter Assessment: A.

That's it in a seashell (because seriously, after this vegetarian thing, if I have to think about another nut, I'mmacutsomeone. Just sayin'.). All in all, not so bad. Final Overall Grade: B.

So, tell me: Did you make any New Year's Resolutions or goals? How are you doing with them? Have there been any surprises -- things you expected to be hard but turned out to be easier than you thought, or vice versa? Got any sweet tips for NYC hotel rooms?

Ridiculous Yet Sorry

I'm actually really sorry I haven't been around lately. Normally, I'm all, "no, not apologizing for disappearing from the blog world for two weeks at a time; I have a real life to live if I want to have anything to blog about."

But this time, I'm really sorry.

Yes, my computer finally went to that big dumpster in the sky, but that was over a week ago. And I have had opportunities to blog since, but I just haven't been taking them. Scratch that; I've written at least 3 posts that, for whatever reason, I either can't finish or can't get worded just right, and I refuse to put anything out there that I'm not proud of or happy with. Seeing as this isn't college, and I'm not getting graded with a chance to re-write for a better one (and I only ever took that opportunity once, to turn a B into an A), I'm not ok with simply slapping up posts because I feel like I have to -- I feel like that's cheating myself, as well as my readers, out of my full attention and good content.

You folks deserve better than that (ESPECIALLY if you're still reading after this little unplanned hiatus!).

So, you may be wondering, why have I felt so totally, utterly uninspired lately? It's spring, warm weather and sunshine are in the air, the Red Sox are back in action, the Bruins are in the playoffs, sundresses are coming out, and Cape Cod mornings and afternoons on the boat are so close you can almost taste them. I should be in a great mood, like so many of my friends and colleagues and brethren of the blog universe.

Yet really, I just want to slap them.

Is that bad?

I've never really been much of an optimist -- in fact, I'm a pessimist by nature. I've spent the better part of the last seven years trying to get a grip on my cynical worldview and channel my negative thoughts into positive actions and emotions. Every so often, though, I lose that battle and find myself drowning in a sea of negativity -- about myself, my body, my world and my place. It's a lot like old-school Meridith Grey... dark and twisty. While other people found Mer annoying as all hell, (and yes, I did, too), I also found her to be a very relateable character; she was annoying me because I was annoying myself (does that even make sense?).

Lately, it's been more of the physical aspects getting me down. I've gained 22 lbs since last May, when I quit counting calories. Which, if you've been following for awhile, puts me at roughly 14 lbs below my all-time high weight. I go back-and-forth on whether or not I really want to go back down the only road that, in my adult life, has gotten me back to the good side of healthy; yes, my weight, blood pressure and overall body image improved while I counted calories, but I mentally terrorized myself to the point of self-implosion, where if I didn't find a way to eat a chicken wing guilt-free, I was going to wind up on the news as "Woman Goes Berserk; Stabs Bar Patron With Chicken Carcass."

B loves me, but I don't know that he loves me enough to bail me out of that one, particularly considering that he would have been in closest proximity to me and therefore likely to have been said victim.
     
So, I guess that's out. 

Seriously, though, I'm trying hard to yank myself out of this random funk that has now lasted, oh, a year. Honestly, I think the last time I was really, truly happy with myself was June -- and seeing as it's March, that's a LONG. FRAKKIN'. TIME. Faking it 'til I'm making it just doesn't seem to be working, and I'm not sure why I thought it would; the last time I went through an extended period of angst, I was faking it, but I had professional help on the making it side. I (unfortunately) don't have that kind of time anymore, though, so I have to work with what I've got. Which is a strong support system of friends, family and bloggers, a kickass gym membership, and control over how I cope with each day... and today, I'm coping with words instead of white chocolate.

It's not much, but it's a start.