Art School Semester #3: Check.

This is it. I leave the city early tomorrow morning. I only have one semester of art school left. (Of courses, anyway - we have another 3 years to do our thesis, I plan on only taking one). I cannot believe the semester is over. In some ways this has trudged by - I remember the first day of school and thinking, "why are there so many first years in my classes?" because I didn't recognize anyone. And now we're making plans to workshop pieces, send book lists, hang out, etc. I had two amazing professors this semester, Eileen Myles (whom BUST magazine called "the rock star of modern poetry") and Rebecca Godfrey. Both had syllabi that introduced me to compelling new writers that broke the mold of the "literary canon" that's been full of dead white men. And the occasional mention of Virginia Woolf. And I felt more like an "artist" this semester than I have....ever, I think.

High Points of the Semester:
1. Having Eileen Myles as a prof and actually like, having conversations with her.
2. Meeting author Laurie Weeks (also mentioned in Hot Topic song and was a screenwriter for "Boys Don't Cry") and having her tell me to *trust myself*, even though you'll be told not to.
3. Reading. In public. With the rest of Eileen's class. We put it together at a gallery, had Bob Gluck come, Cecelia Dougherty was there (another Hot Topic mention), and we had a pretty big turnout, if I do say so myself. I was terrified, but I did it.
4. Becoming facebook friends and email buds with Lidia Yuknavitch, whose memoir is just so kick-ass-tastic and called Holden Caulfield a "whiny little bitch." ha!
5. Visits to the Strand.
6. Getting to know more first-years, who are a pretty great bunch.
7. Having two Australian roommates who are normal and not crazy and actually eat Vegimite.
8. My discovery of Old Navy performance fleece. Why did no one tell me about this before? Why wear anything else?

Low Points of the Semester:
1. Still trying to figure out thesis....illness/death memoir of aunt, Southern lit's influence on me.....we shall see. Maybe I will just write ALL THE THINGS.
2. All this medical stuff which has, as of right now, been diagnosed as Essential Tremor. It used to be called Benign Essential Tremor, but it is far from benign. It's a progressive neurological condition that causes, you guessed it, tremors. I have bad ones in my hands, legs, and a slight one in my head, that the neuro picked up. But my doctor is wonderful - he is one of those doctors that you really just want to thank for being who he is - never rushed, thoughtful, personable, treats you as a person.....too bad he's married. Cause I think he's Jewish, too. :(
3. Financial cost of living in NYC.
4. Dropping the famous J-school book seminar I earned my way into.
5. Having one of the meds my doc put me on have the same effect as Ambien does on me - I woke up the next day to a "thank you for your order" email from Old Navy that I had no recollection of. Thankfully, my medicated me simply did holiday shopping for other people's gifts. Practical, even when drugged.
6. My pre-Thanksgiving subway/cab/running adventure with a first year, Hal. It was like a bad holiday movie. The subway was held up, we got out and tried to get a cab, no luck, we're running through Penn Station.......yeah. He offered to hold my bag. He's quite the gentleman. But he's like, 22. A fetus.

I'm actually surprised there are more high points, because it's been a rough semester emotionally and physically, but I think the ET has had a lot to do with it. When you have a chronic condition but it's invisible, people think you're fine. No one would ever give up a seat on the subway for me, even though sometimes my legs shake very badly. (But I'd give it to an old person first). When I bail on events because I have to come home after class and nap because a two hour period of being "on" is exhausting, it's hard to explain that to people. Since we thought maybe it was MS in the beginning, I found a pretty cool group of young people on Instagram, Twitter, etc, who have MS. They completely understand when I feel like people think I have the DTs because I shake - because sometimes people think they're drunk if they slur or off balance. They understand the sheer fatigue that really no sleep can make better. And they have a wicked sense of black humor.

I have a lot to do over break. Write. Read. A lot. More. It was my goal to read 200 books this year; I've surpassed that and now am trying to hit 300, but I'm not sure it will happen. got some catching up to do.
good times.

gift to myself.

By the time I post this, it will be my birthday. My 32nd birthday. It almost doesn't seem real. Like, this means I am actually an adult. I am in my early 30's. Has life turned out the way I planned? Hell no. Am I happy with this life? Most of the time. I am happy that I am privileged enough to have these two years of writing, I am happy that I found a home in Chapel Hill, and I am lucky to have wonderful friends and family. I never thought I'd be an aunt by now, and for that, I am immeasurably grateful. But I've been thinking a lot about life, and I figured now's a good a time as any to make this announcement.

In three years, I will be 35. Or as OB/GYNs like to call it, "advanced maternal age." Having worked in maternal-child health, I know my fertility has already probably taken a nosedive before I turned 30. In fact, I like to envision my eggs bouncing around my ovaries with bifocals on, Depends, pushing walkers, and using canes. Some cracks here and there, but they're mine. I know women have had babies later in life. My own doctor had her daughter as a single mother at the age of 42. Sandra Bullock adopted in her 40s. So here it is: If I do not meet THE GUY before I turn 35, I am wholeheartedly pursuing single motherhood by choice. (SMBC). Lots of women do it. I know I would be an excellent mother. Without a doubt. I know it's hard work. But I am not willing to forgo the experience of being a mother just because I don't meet the right guy in time. If I have to have IVF, IUI, adopt - I don't care. I'd freeze my eggs now, if I had the money. My child does not have to look like me to be mine. Whether it comes to me or through me, whether it grows in my uterus or my heart, it really doesn't matter. My child(ren) are out there somewhere, and when the time is right, it will happen.

I've been thinking about this for a while, because there's almost nothing more that I want than to become a mother. Being with kids and taking care of them is one of the few things that comes naturally to me, that I don't second-guess myself at. It's a no-brainer. But it's not like you can really post this on your Facebook page or make an announcement at Thanksgiving dinner - hey, if I don't meet the right guy, I'm knocking myself up! Not quite. But knowing that I have a plan in mind, knowing that I do not have to give up being a mother if I don't find the right guy, makes me very happy. It makes my heart settle. And maybe things don't have to follow the order of that childhood rhyme we were all taught - maybe a baby can come first, then love, then marriage. In the end, does it really matter, anyway?

18 miles of my heart

After living in the city for more than a year, I have come to know that I need places of refuge - places where I can go and lose myself and forget everything around me. One of those places has become the Strand. Tourist snark aside, what's not for me to love? It's a musty, old, sprawling bookstore with 18 miles of books, new and used. There are hidden corners with tables stacked with books you never knew you needed, and most, if not all the books, are discounted. I recently found the $2 galley section, which was great, but they've massively cut that back, which is uber-disappointing. But seriously? I could stay here all day. Just wandering the aisles, smelling the books, marveling at how many stories are held in this building. And right across the street is The Bean, a really cool coffee place that has the best iced pumpkin coffee.
When I walk into the Strand, I relax. My shoulders drop and immediately I can breathe easier. I am among books and those who love them. It's like a treasure hunt, always looking for the next great book.  Or sitting in an aisle, people-watching and eavesdropping on conversations. The Strand has captured my heart.
And their tote bags are adorable. I don't care if they're touristy. So are backpacks. so there.

this song still makes me cry.

Tonight, as I walked out of my brother's house on our way to dinner, I smelled, for the first time this season, someone burning their fireplace. It smelled so good. You don't get that in NY. It's so nice, the relative quiet here. NY is jangling my nerves like no other. It is ALWAYS noisy, always over-sensory, alwaysalwaysalways.

so, I admit, I have ben listening to James Taylor more than I probably should, and looking forward to going down South to recharge. I need this. My body, soul and health need it.

thanks a lot

Trey and I, at our best.

So it's been a while. This semester has kicked my ass seven ways from Sunday. Everyone is feeling it, and Thanksgiving break could not come at a better time. This year, the holiday season is disorienting a little bit. Last year it was full of grief, sickness, anticipatory mourning, sadness and death. From Thanksgiving right on up through Jan 1. It is weird to be back in the "normal" world, if that makes sense. For the first time, I will not be going to my aunt's for Thanksgiving. This is odd to me. I'm still trying to wrap my brain around it. Because this time last year, each of us had our thing we were bringing for dinner. I think the whole thing still surprises me and catches me off guard.

That being said, I am very thankful for so many things this year.
1. as always, my nephew Trey
2. my family, for everything - really
3. my health - even with the recent Essential Tremor dx, I am thankful that it is not a bad tremor and that I am in the hands of such a great doctor
4. memories

It feels odd to make a list, because there's so much going on in my head that I am thankful for all of it and nothing is coming out right. Life has been discouraging and frustrating lately. But I'm alive. I still get a smile on my face when "Fame" comes on my iPod when I'm walking to school or on the subway. Or when "Sweet Child O'Mine" comes on, and I remember singing to Trey as a baby. I am thankful for friends who have stood the test of time, and for sorority sisters who, even after 10 years of no contact, will offer to drive you if you need to go anywhere because of your health stuff. I am thankful for my Narrative Medicine people. For professors who go the extra mile. For established writers who make time for "nobodies" - you guys are my rock stars, pretty much. For J.Crew, aka Garanimals for adults. For Starbucks red cups. For my Jeep. For the books whose pages I've dogeared and passages I've underlined so many times the pen bleeds through the page. For Carolina blue and being a Tar Heel. For monogramming. I'm thankful that my brother has made such a wonderful life for himself and is a wonderful daddy. For people who saw me apply to this MFA program 6 years ago and not get in, and are taking this journey with me now. I am thankful for music. For the feel of Trey's hand in mine and his excitement as we went to the "liberry" for the first time. I am thankful that I didn't give up this crazy dream of being a writer. I'm thankful for grace.

Grace.

Strand, I just can't quit you.

Yup, this year is definitely doling out an ass-kicking. I come home from class and either write for my job, read, or sleep. Lots of work this year, lots of writing....but then again, that's kind of the point, no? When things get me down, though - which has been a lot lately - I go to the Strand. Which is what heaven must be like, I think. Yes, it's touristy. But it's also 18 miles and floors and floors of books. Carts outside selling books for $1, $2, $3. And......this will be the death of me......they sell Advance Reader's Copies for $1.99. Yes. I found books that are coming out next year, that caught my eye on websites, for two bucks each. I left last week with 8 ARCs. For less than $17. I mean, come on - at two bucks, they're begging you to  buy them. :)

second-year slacker.

Okay, I've been really bad about updating. But let me just say, second year is kicking my butt, running me over, backing up and running me over again. Things just seem incredibly busy. I love it, but it's exhausting. And I'm writing for a NYC-based website, so I'm trying to get as much work done as I can for them. All this while still struggling with this ridiculous fatigue. It's rare that I don't take at least one nap each day. Which really lowers my productivity. Anyway. We'll see what happens.

I do miss North Carolina. There are days where the homesickness comes over me so quickly I gasp. But it's not a searing pain like last year. Maybe because I am holding out hope of getting a job down there next year? I am craving a Bojangle's chicken biscuit like nobody's business, let me tell you. But for now I will have to make do with Cheerwine.

My classes are amazing. This Tuesday, 2 classmates and I are leading a discussion of ZIPPER MOUTH for my genre class -- and the author is going to be there. Eileen (professor) goes, "oh, by the way, Laurie's a friend of mine, so she'll be joining us." I swear my jaw hit the table. No pressure or anything. but I'm super excited about it -- this is why I came here. I have a wonderful workshop group, and my anti-heroines class is awesome, plus I've been emailing with the author Lidia Yuknavitch about her books, one of which I'm doing a project on for that class. I kind of want to BE Lidia.

I've read some really awesome books lately. Vanessa Veselka's ZAZEN was a book I've been wanting to read for over a year now, and could never find it. My friend Carrie picked it up when she went to Powell's, in Portland, and sent it to me when she was finished. It is the most odd, most lyrical/magical/not-quite-dystopian/off-center book, and I loved it. Something about the writing kept me reading. It's about this girl Della, who had a breakdown in college a few years ago. While working in a cafe, she becomes obsessed with self-immolators, and starts calling in bomb threats to places. Except eventually, the places she once called or imagined calling, start being bombed or attacked. It's hard to explain. But it's worth a read. Wendy Lawless is having her publisher send me a review copy of her memoir that comes out in January, CHANEL BONFIRE. I'm super excited about it and am planning on reviewing it for the Columbia lit mag website. And of course, the newest BEST AMERICAN ESSAYS, 2012 edition. This essay collection is a great thing to read if you're a nonfiction writer. Some alums from Columbia were in the 2011 edition, and every year there's a different guest editor. I have yet to be disappointed in these anthologies.
Sheila Heti is coming to Columbia to lecture (as is AM Homes and Mary Karr - HOW PSYCHED AM I????), so I read her newest book, HOW SHOULD A PERSON BE?. It's gotten rave reviews for being experimental, edgy, genre-bending......and I had to force myself to finish it. It's a novelized memoir of sorts that combines stream of consciousness, playwriting style, etc, and basically explores the question of how should a person be - especially if they are an artist. I don't know. Something about it felt forced and overly self-conscious, almost like Heti made the decisions she did with the idea of being "edgy" in mind. Or being transgressive. Not to mention it felt immensely pretentious and self-absorbed. (Yes, I get that memoirs are generally self-absorbed on principle, but there's a wrong way and a right way of doing it). So I guess I'll go to her lecture, if only to hear this darling of the young literati talk about her process. I just wish I enjoyed her book more. Maybe I'll try her short story collection.

And on another note, my ten year college reunion was this weekend. I'm old.

First week done!

Well, the first week is over. My thursday class, Anti-Heroines, was great, too. I am super excited because the reading list is so kick-ass. Again, I can't believe I have to read these books. Although I'm rereading "Wuthering Heights" right now for the class and am slogging through, tempted to just get Clif Notes. Yes, apparently I still think like a high schooler. But seriously, the classes I have this semester feel different. I don't know if it's simply a function of being a second year, or what, but they feel more like how art school should be. I don't know if I said that in the previous post. The work is intense already, and I am feeling stressed because of thesis, publishing, jobs, etc. Have you ever wanted something that seemed unreachable, so much you could feel every cell in your body wanting it? That's me with writing. For so long I thought it wasn't "practical", so I abandoned it. But now I'm back. 

My nephew's first week (2 days) of kindergarten is done, too. I was so nervous for him. Maybe because every single morning of my kindergarten year, I would beg my mother to let me go to work with her, that I didn't want to go to school.....in my defense, I WAS ONLY FOUR. Gimme some slack. I remember so well pleading with her. But then, like, an hour after she was gone, I was fine. Every. Day.  But Trey? He took it like a little man and didn't even cry. I am so proud of him. I really hope he likes school and that he has friends and does well. He is so tender and sensitive and I hate to think of him dreading to go to school every day, for whatever reason. 

My tremors are getting more noticeable, and worse. Now I have a postural tremor in addition to the intention tremor, which means when I'm standing, my legs shake, just standing up. It gets even worse walking down steps. I'm terrified I'm going to face plant one of these days on Columbia's cement steps. I mean the shaking is noticeable when I'm wearing long pants, even. When I hold my iPhone, I can see it wobbling out of the corner of my eye. When I go to put on a necklace, I have to try repeatedly to clasp it because of the tremors. In class it's become embarassing, because it looks like I'm nervous or in withdrawl. To be honest, I just feel a general weakening. I don't like walking around anymore outside because I get tired so easily and my legs feel wobbly. Like I told my mom, I feel like Bambi. You know, when he tries to stand on his legs and keeps falling? The MRI was clear, I have a vitamin B12 deficiency, but the doctor doesn't know for sure if that's what's causing this. Basically, it feels like a loss of control of my body. I just watch my hands shake and it's ridiculous. 

Anyway......fall is almost here (though you'd never know it, with this heat and humidity). Pumpkin spice lattes are back, I'm eating pumpkin tortelloni, and I'm going to pick up apple cider. The farmers market will start selling the hot cider, too. yum. 

last first day.

Today was my last first day of school as a student. *I think I can hear my family cheering from here.* It's a nice feeling. Scary, but nice. I love how I've managed to combine my medical interests and background with something I've always done and loved, writing. I love the leap of faith I took. It causes me stress and is hard, but I think it will be worth it.

My nephew's first day of kindergarten is Thursday. I am scared and happy for him. I totally understand why parents cry the first day of school - I feel like crying. I know if I were there I'd totally cry. I can't believe he is old enough to finally go to school. Where did the time go? I'm scared because I know how mean kids can be, and Trey doesn't have a mean bone in his body. I hope no one picks on him or is mean to him. He can be really shy around lots of people, which I understand - but I hope it doesn't make him too upset. I hope he doesn't get too overwhelmed with the work, and hope he does well. He gets frustrated easily, but he is so smart. I worry about his heart. I don't want it to break any more than it already has.

And don't even get me started on thinking about kidnappers/safety. I think when I have a child I will be a wreck until they are older.

His going to kindergarten reminds me of the back-to-school shopping lists we used to get - pencil cases, glue sticks, scissors, calculator.....I remember going and picking out my Lisa Frank folders, my Trapper Keepers - had to get just the right one - the right pens, and of course, picking out THE LUNCH BOX. Back in the day, they were plastic and had a matching thermos inside. Do they even have them anymore? It was such a big decision, which lunch box design to choose. I remember one of mine, a pale pink one with a girl picking flowers on it. I don't remember the rest. (Because, naturally, you got a new one every year). To this day, the fall always makes me want to go to Staples or OfficeMax and get school stuff. That, and go to BedBathandBeyond. Such a rite of passage, all those years, getting ready for the year ahead. Parents selecting things for their kid's apartment or dorm, coordinating colors for things, etc. I love this time of year.

just another Saturday morning in the city.

I went to the Strand today for the first time since my aunt died. I only note this because the last time I was there was when I got the phone call that she was in the hospital, and to quote my dad, it was "the beginning of the end." I haven't been back since. Until today.
I know it's a tourist trap. I know it's somewhat kitchy. BUT. BUT. It is Heaven. 18 miles of books. Books from floor to ceiling, marked down in price, some as low as five dollars. Outside, books for $1, $2, and $3. In fact, I got a book I've been wanting for only $1 today. And the writing "seminar" tote for $4. My favorite is the downstairs, where they have the medical books, memoir, literary nonfiction and so forth. I like the tables on the main floor, and I admit, the tote bags are so so so so cute, touristy as they are. The collection of Moleskine notebooks, Anne Taintor wallets and magnets, and cute sarcastic change purses all tempted me. I could spend hours and hours here. In fact, if a guy asked me on a date to the Strand, I think I would ask him to marry me right then and there.
Yes, the employees can sometimes be too cool for school, but today they were fairly nice and helpful. And I don't know what all the reviewers are talking about - everytime I've been in Strand, it's never been uncomfortably busy. Maybe I just tend to go at off-peak times? I've rarely even had to wait in line.

Afterward, I went across the street to The Bean, a very cute coffee place with padded benches and pillows around the perimeter of the store so you can rest comfortably while working at a table. They have delicious looking gluten-free macarons and vegan treats. The baristas aren't obnoxious, and the clientele seems relatively normal and down to earth. The iced coffee with half&half was just what I needed on the walk through Union Square.

So it was a really nice Manhattan morning, I must say. A day where I was happy to be in the city. It's nice to know those days still exist for me. It reminded me of when I used to live in the city before, in 03-04, and would explore downtown 'hoods by myself on the weekends, not thinking twice about it.

In the afternoon I did some work for a new website I'm writing for. It's a NYC-centric website that posts news and reviews of neighborhood venues, area happenings, etc. I'm hoping to get more work done tomorrow on that. Finished up workshop reading and doing some writing of my own.....so I feel pretty productive today. I have been waking up the last two mornings, grinding my teeth, but hopefully that's just temporary, until I feel more settled in.

Also, September is National Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month. Familiarize yourself with the signs and symptoms of ovarian cancer, talk with your doctor about your risk for the disease, and listen to your body. This cancer is a relentless killer, and the majority of women are diagnosed at a late-stage, decreasing survival rates. So wear your teal ribbons, visit the website of Teal Toes, donate to OCRF or the gyn-onc department of MSKCC....something. Anything. Other cancers like breast cancer have done wonders with fundraising and research and political/medical change - this needs to be done for ovarian cancer now.

anticipating the crazy.

Okay....there was quite a hiatus there. I am back in New York - just got here today. I have two new roommates, both from Australia, and they seem really nice. We're all students at the School of the Arts, so this should be interesting. I can't say that it's great to be back - it's hot as hell here, 2 small bags of groceries cost me over $50, and the thought of paying money to do laundry is ripping my heart out. BUT, that being said, I went to the School today to visit a friend of mine who was working in the Writing office, and ran into two other friends. My one friend snagged me a CU SoA tote bag - and lord knows, I can never have enough tote bags. Plus, it's my 100k tote bag. I deserve it, I think. :)

Classes start Tuesday and I already have 120+ pages to read for workshop on Tuesday, plus get my own submission ready. And figure out what I am submitting for the thesis anthology. The anthology that agents and publishers get. argh. I am ready to get back on a schedule, though. I also have a part-time writing job, writing "best of" reviews/articles on places in the city. Ironic, no? And hopefully continue to work for Healthline as needed.

I do feel more at ease than I did last year, which is to be expected, I guess. There's still that self-imposed pressure to DO SOMETHING, BE SOMEONE, PUBLISH LOTS OF STUFF, but at least I know what to expect this year. I am anticipating the crazy.

winding down.

So. I leave Chapel Hill on Thursday to go to my dad's house for a few days. I'll hang out there, pick up some clothes and books I left at his house last year - including my Naot, since I feel guilty for wearing Birkenstocks. We might head to North Myrtle Beach for a day, but who knows. It will be a nice end to my time down South this summer.

The main reason I came to NC was because I desperately needed to get out of the city. It is not good for me to be there, nor is it healthy for me. It can be a lonely, uninviting, isolating place, especially if you've gotten used to a friendly community. I needed to be in open spaces again. In unpretentious environments. Somewhere where I didn't feel self-conscious every time I walked out the door, or sensorily assaulted walking down the street. I needed to return to myself, if that makes sense. Did I miss the friends I made in NY? For sure. I missed them a lot. But it was also nice to just kick back and relax here. I came down here to work and to write. I did both, although less than I'd intended. I got to read a lot. My moods were rocky, I will admit. Whether that's something personal or whether that's just part of a writer's temperament, I'm not entirely sure yet.

But as an MFAer at Columbia, can I (guiltily) tell you that it is SO NICE to be somewhere where people haven't heard of Karen Thompson Walker and her 7-figure advance for her debut book? Where people don't know Junot Diaz or could care less about the new Richard Ford book? There is something refreshing about that. There is something refreshing about a place that takes the NYT book reviews with a grain of salt, but takes pride in displaying North Carolina writers. The lack of pretention is like a cold spray of water on a hot day. I know that when I get back, I will be just as anxious as everyone else, about Thesis Workshop, what the future holds after this year, whether I will ever sell a book, and who in our cohort will make it big. I feel the pressure already, probably much of it self-imposed.

I didn't get to eat ice cream at Maple View, sitting outside on the porch in the rocking chairs, but that's okay. I got to sit outside Southern Village's Weaver St and see my co-op worker friends there. I got to have drinks and dinner with my old coworkers and will be doing that this week again. I had coffee with my running coach, who has become a dear friend. I've spent a lot of time alone, for various reasons. I think it was good for me. Writing can often be a solitary pursuit, and after living in NYC, where you can be lonely but never alone, it was good to actually be alone.

And to end my time in the South, when I get to my dad's, I will be eating the Trifecta of bad-for-you Southern food: CookOut, Sonic, and Bojangles. Gluten be damned - chicken biscuits, hushpuppies, Cheerwine ice cream floats, and other Southern-fried goodness, here I come. Don't worry, I'll take pictures.

life choices.

I don't usually follow this celebrity gossip, and try to refrain from being snarky or judgemental, but I've been reading stuff about Diem Brown, the former MTV Road Rules competitor. And you know, it's stirring up some really strong, conflicting opinions. At the age of 22, she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, and they removed one ovary and several lymph nodes - if I'm not mistaken, I think it was Stage II. In June, she faced a recurrence of the disease. When she went public, she made a comment on Twitter, saying  she "didn't realize ovarian cancer could come back." Does anyone else find this odd? Didn't her oncologist tell her there could be a chance of recurrence? I mean, that's what follow-up visits are for.
So she is 30 right now, and unmarried, and has already frozen eggs. She is curently postponing surgery and chemotherapy to undergo one more round of fertility medicine and egg harvesting. She feels very strongly about having a biological child, and is willing to take the chance at the risk of delaying treatment.
Okay. I certainly, most definitely understand the desire, the inborn instinct to want biological children. It is so powerful. I'm 31, and it is always on my mind, that my time is running out. But, I also wonder if she'd be so adamant about having a biological child if adoption were seen differently in society. So often, people say they want "their own" children. Adoption or biological, it's *still* "your child." Adoption is too often seen as a back-up, or second best. I don't know. Ovarian cancer is a killer. Is it worth delaying treatment for the chance of having a biological child? Of course, only the individual can make that decision. It's an individual choice. We fought for the right to choose, after all.

But I cannot help but think, what the fuck are you doing? I don't know. If I were diagnosed with a reproductive tract cancer, I would do everything I could to survive, or give myself the best chance or survival. If it meant not having biological children, I'd be fine with adoption. I can't take care of a child, biological or not, if I'm super sick or dead.

I have a friend who had lymphoma in her early twenties, putting her into early menopause. After she got married, they hired a surrogate with a donor egg, but she miscarried. So what did J do? Using her husband's sperm and a donor egg, they implanted a fertilized egg into J's uterus. And she gave birth. Is the child any "less hers" because it's not J's egg? Of course not.

There are many, many ways to become a mother. Is having a biological child worth your health or survival?
That's for you to answer.

more lit snobbery.

So.....litsnob post #2. Sometimes I am amazed at people today. And maybe this is just me - someone who reads probably way too much - but if you work in a bookstore, especially an independent bookstore, you should probably have a wide knowledge of books, no? Especially important ones? I was in an indie bookstore here (not the one I used to work at), and a girl went up to the counter and asked for "Things Fall Apart." The clerk was like, "Things that fall apart? Who's the author?" The girl corrected the clerk, but didn't know the author. I had to stop myself from saying "Chinua Achebe." Sometimes I am not so controlled and jump in when I hear a person not remember an author. It's like instinct for me. But it's like.....I don't know. If you're making books your life, know your books. Or maybe I just want to own a bookstore and read for the rest of my life.
Of course, there was no helping the lady that came in and - I swear to G-d, this is what she asked - said, "I'm looking for a book...the author usually writes short stories but this is a novel....I can't think of her name." Yeah.

In other news, I'm reading a book that is actually challenging me - David Mitchell's "Cloud Atlas." I've been trying to slog through the first part since the end of April. I just got through it today. The first part, not the book. It's an experimental, mixed-genre book that I'm not sure how I feel about yet. But it's not an easy read, which I appreciate. I have stacks of books surrounding me right now, including an ARC of Zadie Smith's upcoming novel, NW, as well as the collected stories of Flannery O'Connor. Part of me just kinda wants to hole up for the rest of the summer, order in meals and read, read, read.
But then there's the little thing called a thesis I have to think about. Yeah. And the nonfiction book seminar at the J-school in the spring. argh. Exciting stuff, but it also gives me a stomachache just thinking about it.

If G-d's not a tar heel, why is the sky Carolina blue?

Finally, more than halfway through my stay here, I am feeling more at home here in Chapel Hill and starting to write again. Maybe it was a bout of existential anxiety/depression, maybe it was just typical Type-A adjustment time. Whatever it was, i'm glad it is ebbing away. Yesterday was a perfect, "I love Chapel Hill" day. Beautiful clear blue sky, not too hot, etc. I went on campus for a little bit, drove around...as beautiful as Columbia is, UNC's campus....no comparison. But of course, they're very different. Perfect example of why I love it here: I was at Caribou Coffee, and I asked the lady sitting next to me if she could watch my stuff for 5 minutes, as I was just running to the restroom. The place was fairly busy, with students doing work, and she said yes. I went up to the women's restroom door, knocked, and tried to open it. The door wouldn't budge. So I went back, and when I sat down, another girl turned to me and said, "That door tends to stick a lot, it's really hard to open, you might want to try it again." And just as she said that, a guy stood up and pushed the door open and looked over at me. I got up and laughed, and was like, does everyone know about the sticking door? He laughed and said, "Only the regulars."
Or how I was at McIntyre's, and we were all making fun of "50 Shades of Grey," and a customer joined our conversation and mentioned how interesting it was, the differing viewpoints and opinions between the 2nd wave and 3rd wave feminists. Which started a whole new conversation.

I was driving down Franklin St yesterday, remembering the first time I drove down that street, five years ago. Hard to believe that I had no idea how this place would get into my blood.

In other thoughts, there's that whole "book snob" and Steven King thing that went on. If you haven't read it, here's the LA Review of Books piece. This is a salon.com piece, supporting King. Now, full disclosure: I've never read a fiction book by King. The only thing I've read of his is his nonfiction book, "On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft." Which I thought was very good. This debate is exactly what I mean when I say literary versus commercial. This is what I mean when I say Columbia is literary. And while I agree with some points in the LARB piece, like how much of what is published is just really poor writing, I found the article to be really pretentious and obnoxious. I mean, we all have our tastes. This guy loves David Foster Wallace, whom I find to be incredibly pompous. I just didn't see the point in lambasting King and touting his booksnobbery. Who the fuck cares? Read what you want to read. You can't read Great Books all the time. Sometimes you need something light. Sure, we all buy The New Yorker and carry it around, and maybe - maybe - some of us even read it. I know the only time I really read and enjoy it is when Jerome Groopman or Atul Gawande writes something. But I also just as easily love Vogue and US Weekly and Garden & Gun.
Which made me wonder.....as MFA students, are we inherently book snobs? Are we being taught to be so? How does the definition of "literary" evolve, and what writers today are in the midst of changing it?  Why does my program not offer any courses on YA writing or genre writing? (also, side note, why is there a lack of Southern literature/Southern writers? I mean, Hurston, Welty, O'Connor, Faulkner....but that's a whole other blog post). Lots to think about.

Reading: On the Road (The Original Scroll) by Jack Kerouac; The Boy in the Moon by Ian Brown
Listening: The Decemberists, Eisley, Guster, Chris Pureka, Neko Case

growing pains.

So. Slowly.....verrrrrry slowwwlly, my writer's block is getting smaller. I've been pushing up against it and have managed to at least get ink on the page, which is more than I've been able to do most of the summer so far. I have been reading a lot. And good writers read. A lot. (Columbia believes this, too, which is why our reading lists are so crazy). It's taken me a bit to really get settled in, and I think I'm only really starting to get back to "normal" here. Up until now, i've almost felt...out of place, oddly. I've made the boundries of my life here very small, and haven't done many of the things I wanted to. I think I needed to establish a routine and just get back in the groove. I went to an indie bookstore here in Chapel Hill the other day to sell back some books, and the girl there remembered me, that I worked at McIntyre's. (We had gone to dinner with the Random House reps and authors last July and had a wonderful night). She remembered my name and asked how my program was going. I was stunned that she remembered. But that's what happens here. I got into a long conversation with the coffee guy at Weaver Street about the pro-choice buttons on his apron that said "I (heart) Pro-Choice Girls" and "I (heart) Pro-Choice Boys." People remember "regulars" and so forth, and it's just really nice. It makes me feel good that I can walk into Fleet Feet or Weaver St or B&N or Flyleaf, and be remembered and able to have really great conversations. It makes me feel like I belong here. That I have a life. But in several weeks, I am leaving again....and the cycle of adjusting will repeat itself in New York.

For better or worse, I've been feeling very "artist-y" lately. I went to the Bead Store on Monday and made my own version of the Tibetan Prayer Beads, since mine are in NYC. It's kind of like, while you pray or meditate, you hold the beads and roll them. I imagine it's sort of like a rosary? Although I'm not really sure what you do with a rosary. I collaged a composition book, like I used to do, and have just been a bit more...relaxed than I usually am up North. Not as tightly wound.

In other news, does anyone know anything about arthritis? Ever since late April, it's come and gone, this aching in my wrists, where I need to bend them and roll them, almost stretch them. Same with my arms and fingers. I'm sure I look ridiculous flexing and bending my knuckles, but I have to. Is this arthritis? Or simply aging?

Books I've Read Lately 
A Good Hard Look by Ann Napolitano. This is a novel about Flannery O'Connor, the celebrated Southern writer. I've only read her nonfiction, oddly, since she's best known for her fiction, but I loved this book. By the end of it, I was thinking that we would have gotten along well if I'd lived back then.

Memoirs of an Imaginary Friend by Matthew Dicks. This book comes out in August, and is told from the viewpoint of a 5-year old imaginary friend of an 8-year old. The 8 year old sounds like he is autistic, and eventually, he is faced with danger and only his imaginary friend can save him. Wonderful book that really was whimsical and well-written. I think it'll appeal to readers of all ages - older readers will get more out of it.

In my pile: Faery Tale by Signe Pike, A Million Little Pieces by James Frey (yes, THAT book), A Mango-Shaped Space by Wendy Mass....and tons of others. Definitely using this summer time to cram as much as I can into my head, book-wise.

Listening to: The Decemberists, Birdy, Eisley, Neko Case

neverending writer's block.

It's almost mid-way through summer (actually, for me, more than midway), and I have to admit I have been suffering from the worst fucking case of writer's block. Aside from the medical writing for work, I have not really written anything new since classes ended. I wrote 6 pages of complete and utter shit. That's about it. When I go to Starbucks to "write," I pull out my Moleskine (yes, I am that cliche) and pen, write some sentences, scribble them out, chew on my pen cap, stare into space while listening to my iPod, write something more, then cross it out again. I end up closing my notebook and opening up a book instead. So I guess there's a slight upside to all this: I've been reading a lot. Faulkner still remains unfinished, as does Adrian's novel, aaaaand Cloud Atlas.....I admit, I've been reading a lot of YA. Sigh. I don't know. My concentration isn't as good as I'd like it to be right now.

And, ever since going back to gluten-free, pizza is like crack. Everyday, I'm tempted to go on PizzaHut.com and get a thin and crispy pizza with breadsticks. A few times, I've fallen off the wagon, and like any addict, felt sick and remorseful the day after, vowing never to do that again. But it's sooooo good. I actually imagine how the pizza will taste. And smell. It's a bit ridiculous.

Here's to hoping it gets better.

tote-ally.

I'm sitting here watching "You've Got Mail," and reminded how much I love, love, love books. Like I could really ever forget. When I was in high school, a great Friday or Saturday night was often a trip to Borders or B&N with a friend, staying out until they closed, laughing and talking and reading books with friends. In college, we also would go to Starbucks during the summer.....smoking clove cigarettes with iced chai, rambling about things we thought we knew so much about. In many ways, not too much has changed in those respects. All throughout grad school, friends and I would go to Starbucks or some other coffee place and talk about our lives and things we thought we knew about and what we thought we wanted. We still do. Post-workshop, when many people in most programs go to the bar, some friends and I would either go to Vine, a yummy sushi place, or to Starbucks, to decompress.

Anyway. Lost my train of thought. Books. I love Chapel Hill, but in the indie bookstore department, it can be lacking. McIntyre's, where I worked, is wonderful and amazing, but not in Chapel Hill and not open too late. Flyleaf is good, but I don't really go there that often, I'm not sure why. Something is just not as warm as McIntyre's. I think because many times whoever is working there isn't really super-personable, unfortunately. But Manhattan, now that's a great place for indie books. McNally Jackson, BookCulture (formerly Labyrinth, which it was when I lived across the street from it), Strand.

Strand Books. I am so intrigued by them. They're downtown, in Union Square. It's huge, for those of you who've never been there. The smell of paper and leather and old books is everwhere in the store. The last time I went there was in early November. I remember what I was wearing that day. Mainly because that was the day that my aunt was taken to the hospital. It was, as my dad said on the phone that day, "The beginning of the end." When I left the store I saw that I had multiple missed calls from him. I had gone there before meeting my friend M for a writing afternoon. There's a cute coffee shop right across from Strand with yummy macarons and coffee and friendly people.
The Strand has used books, new books, and everything in between. They sell Moleskines, Out of Print tees, totes, souvenirs for tourists, etc. It's a huge, dusty, musty, warehouse. The employees are surly hipsters who are usually too cool for you and are frustrated because their Comp Lit degrees and MFAs have enabled them to work for minimum wage. But that's okay, because you kind of still want their jobs anyway. I remember leaving the store with something like 12 books, a pen and a tote for less than $90. Their tagline is "18 Miles of books." As my family knows, taking me to a place like that means I can spend an inordinate amount of time there.
But really, for all the touristy stuff, I love their tote bags. Because who DOESN'T like totes? Who DOESN'T need totes? Especially living in NYC, where you carry your life with you at all times. But they've gotten a touristy rap. Which makes me sad. Because they're strong and well made and really cute. I have two. But I feel like I can only use them when I'm NOT in nyc. A McJ tote, fine. The Independent Booksellers of NYC tote? I use all the time. A BookCulture tote? Seen everywhere around Columbia. But something about the Strand tote makes it too touristy. Sad face.

waiting.

This summer has been weird. I haven't written anything new since classes ended. I haven't worked on the freelance project as much as I'd expected to be able to. I mean, I work daily, but not to the extent I thought I would. Maybe I overestimated my expected prodicutivity. Which is so ironic to me because I still haven't been paid. Yup, working since end of May....and no paycheck yet.

I thought I'd be able to keep up my fast reading pace of 2-4 books a week at the least. Hasn't quite worked out that way. This malaise is so pervasive. Maybe the heat just feels extra oppressive. Maybe this ridiculous, unrelenting insomnia since moving down here has just disturbed everything and thrown my life off. Part of me just wishes it was the end of August already so I can get back to my routine. Maybe I'm just waiting for a breakthrough.

capturing cancer.

I've become quite the Netflix aficionado lately. My friend with whom I'm staying in NC has the whole Netflix on TV thing, and after not having television for so long, I admit, I've overdosed a little bit. Rewatched the whole series of "My So-Called Life?" Yup. Also watched 45 episodes of "Intervention" - great for insomnia, FYI. Watched movies and documentaries, etc. I saw one today that knocked the breath out of me. "Two Weeks" is a movie starring Sally Field, and I vaguely remember wanting to see it when it came out, but then I forgot about it. I venture to say no one's really heard of it. It's about 4 siblings who return home to their dying mother, which they think will only be a few days on hospice, but ends up being two weeks.

Well, wouldn't you know. Sally Field plays a woman who is dying from ovarian cancer. It was like watching a slightly altered version of what my family went through the last two weeks of December. Most movies don't capture death or dying very well. They gloss over it, they make it tidy and neat. Not this movie. It was spot on, from the hospice nurse doing her jobs, to Field puking in a plastic bucket because of the bowel obstruction, to the bodily signs of dying like arching your back, talking to deceased relatives, and reaching out into the air. Even the (mostly unsaid) conversation with the hospice nurse about the use of increasing doses of morphine to expedite the dying process was extremely realistic. The hospice nurse giving the pamphlet about the stages of active dying, and the "timeline." The siblings' reactions to dying and grief was well-portrayed, from the daughter going to the bookstore and getting all the information she could to disseminate it to her family, to the youngest boy being standoffish to hide his fear. The dimmed lights in the bedroom of Field, the music playing, the blanket over the body bag as the stretcher is wheeled out...even the plaid flannel pajamas - these all were in my aunt's experience, as well. What got me was the toast they had after she died. We did the same thing, around midnight, since it was New Year's Eve. 

But what it really captured well was the odd state of limbo one finds oneself in while a family member is actively dying. It is easy to forget that the world is operating normally outside the house. And to be blunt, there's a lot of waiting around when someone is in the last stages of dying. They sleep more and more, and when they are somewhat conscious, they're often really drugged up. There's only so long you can sit by their bed and talk with them. So you find yourself watching television. Or starting to comb through stuff. Or making inappropriate jokes about the situation that would probably horrify anyone not involved. 

It's much less dramatic than movies often show, and that was captured perfectly in this movie. But I think the most accurate thing was the scene when the oldest son goes into his mother's room after she's died, and she's lying there in the bed. He takes her hand and says that even when she was comatose, he still felt like she was there, like she was listening - but he doesn't feel anything now. He's right. You'd be surprised at the palpable lack of life energy there is when someone dies.

It's funny that I happened to watch the movie now, because something happened the other day that really hit me. So, I don't know if I've posted this before, but my aunt had a B&N card, that gives you a discount. All I'd do was give her phone number to use the card. I've used it for years. Well, the day of her funeral, I was at B&N and wondered if she still had it, and it's good until September. So I've been using it. And for a brief moment, things are normal. Well, the other day, I went to get coffee at B&N and was told that the phone number isn't in the system. I insisted she was wrong, since I'd been using it down here when I write in their cafe. She never found it and I left, all pissed off. Well, I go there again and this time, the cashier is a guy who REMEMBERS me from when I lived here, when I'd be there several days a week, doing my freelance writing. He knows I use the card, so when he couldn't find it either, we were both stunned. He asked if it could be under anyone else's name, and I mentioned my cousin. He plugged it in, and whaddayaknow. It was changed the previous day. And for some reason, this really bugged me. I called my cousin, and he said it'll be renewed again, and to keep using it with his phone number, but still. I was annoyed that he couldn't have just kept it the way it was. 

Anyway. Why are you still reading this? Go watch the movie.


ADDENDUM: I'm watching the movie "Griffin and Phoenix", about two people with cancer who fall in love. Amanda Peet plays the girl, and her character says her cancer "started in her ovaries and now it's everywhere." Well, for someone who is in her last months/weeks of cancer, she looks fantastic. Thin, no sign of a bloated belly, she's eating in restaurants, great skin and hair, able to function fully in life....THIS is the kind of movie I was talking about before. So not realistic. 

ramblings of a rainy Monday.

So I'm back in NC. And allergies are still killing me, maybe even more so here. It's been one of those "wherever you go, there you are" past few days. I'm still not writing anything but work stuff, and even then, not nearly as much as I'd like. It was great to see my old coworkers and get piles of ARCs, but there's this latent restlessness/agitation that just isn't going away. My paycheck still hasn't arrived here yet, which gives me an idea of how this is going to be the rest of the summer. (major fail). Super stressed about work, thesis, money, life.....it goes on and on. Nothing new, I guess.

I don't know if I mentioned this before, but on Facebook several people I've gone to college with have been posting about wait lists for preschools, etc. I don't get it. It's preschool. This will not affect your child's chances of getting into Harvard or Yale or Brown. The cache that preschools have, in my opinion, is total bullshit. THIS is what you're worried about? The "right" program where your child can babble with peers and parallel play with blocks and tinker toys? Eventually learn the alphabet? (Although I remember learning it in kindergarten, even though I learned it at home already). I don't know. Maybe it's just the NJ/NYC East Coast thing. I just have a feeling I'd want to shoot myself if I were one of those people freaking out about where my child was going to go for preschool. Safety, etc - yes, I get that. But the other stuff? Ugh. What ever happened to the local preschool? Have things changed that much? Or is this the whole Parenting, Inc thing again? 


Seriously, though, breathe. Think about it. We didn't grow up with competitive preschool admissions. (what a ridiculous phrase, "preschool admissions."). We didn't have thousand-dollar strollers the size of tanks, or videos purporting to make us geniuses. Our parents didn't have designer 3-D ultrasounds (or 4-D, whatever). Hell, my parents didn't even know if I was going to be a boy or girl. We played in the dirt and sometimes ate it. We didn't wash our hands 24/7. We wore - gasp - hand-me-downs. Because we were toddlers. We didn't care. And we turned out okay, for the most part. For all my enthusiasm with kid stuff and baby stuff, this just irks the crap out of me. I know it's a certain socioeconomic niche that I'm talking about, by G-d help me if I ever become like that. 

on the road again.

Well, I  moved out of the city last week and have been at my mom's in NJ. Spent lots of time with my family, including my cousins, who happened to be up from TX. That was nice. Tomorrow, bright and early, I will be hitting the road for Chapel Hill. I always dread the drive, but it's never as bad as I think it will be. It just gets tedious somewhere around Virginia. It feels like a big state. But I'll have caffeine and cd's, so all is well.

My freelance job is supposed to last through the end of July, and then the second phase starts. They said I'll be able to continue, which is good. So that's a relief. I can wear whatever I want to work and work on my own hours. Yay! I see lots of time in Starbucks and B&N in my future.

I've been exhausted to the core lately. Since going to NJ, I haven't been strictly gluten-free, and it's really thrown my body for a loop, I think. The difference in how I feel is big. Once I get down to NC I will be back on the gluten-free track.

One of the fiction MFAs and I might start a YA book club when we go back. There are really great YA books out there. I just read DIVERGENT, which was really well-thought out and has a very strong female protagonist. Sort of like Katniss from the Hunger Games, but more raw.

Anyway....should get back to work. I'm behind on stuff today, since my mom and I went last-minute shopping for K-cups. (And a new pink ribbon Tervis tumbler, which will hold my endless cups of coffee I will be consuming).

one last night.

I'm sitting at my living room desk in my apartment, cooking Annie's gluten-free mac-and-cheese and trying not to die from the heat. I'm listening to "Carolina In My Mind" and "Sweet Home Alabama." That's right....I go back to North Carolina soon!!!!! But more specifically, tonight is my last night in the city. Oddly, I'm kind of sad, but not so sad that I want to stay. I've been busy on a medical writing freelance job, and this weekend has been full of work and packing and cleaning. 


And - I finally met my next door neighbor. I held the elevator for her while she was locking up her apartment, and we got to talking in the elevator, because I had a bunch of recycling I was taking down to the basement. Banner day today. 
And ironically, her name is Faith. 


Still looking for a regular job down South. I emailed the guy at NCSU in the English department that Jill McCorkle told me to email, and got in touch with the Chapel Hill Library. *fingers crossed*. 
In all honesty, I need this time out of the city. I'm worn down, exhausted, have sensory-overload and need to recharge my batteries. I need to fill up my heart again.

But I did it. I survived the year. :)

books and deep thoughts.

Stack o'summer books

Magazines: The New Yorker, like any good MFA student; Publisher's Weekly; Garden & Gun; and the new J.Crew catalog - which they are now calling a "style guide"

So. Above are what I have to look forward to this summer. The bookstore around the corner from me gives store credit for books, and since I had a ton of books, I was able to make several trips to the bookstore and get credit. This is a very good thing, since I am trying to save money. Thrown in there are some ARCs I was able to get, and who doesn't like free advance copies of books? 

I am kind of stunned right now. My old neighborhood in Chapel Hill had an elementary school in it - it was right across from my first townhouse there. The neighborhood is a planned community, and it resembles Pleasantville. There is a village green, people see each other in the co-op and have breakfast together, and many of my professors and even my doctor lived in my 'hood. Each house had a porch to encourage socialization, and the homes were/are beautiful. There were houses, townhouses and apartments. It was perfect, and I loved it. I still do. There are parks, a dog run, green spaces and a running/bike trail. It's an awesome place, in my opinion. The family I babysat for would leave their house unlocked, and really, there was no crime there. I don't remember any, anyway. Well, today, a woman was shot multiple times by her significant other while in the carpool line, waiting to pick up the kids. The same carpool line that I would wait in countless times last year, waiting for the little boy to get let out of school. In broad daylight, in front of the other parents waiting in the carpool line, he drove up to her and shot her. You have to know, this is unheard of in this neighborhood. I mean, this is a place where little kids ride their bikes to school and park them on the lawn outside - and nothing happens to them. Everyone says hi and smiles. In the summer, there is music on the village green every sunday, and on fridays and saturdays, there's outdoor movies on the green. It is pretty idyllic. 

I know crime happens everywhere, but wow, I am just shocked. I can't even put it into words. 

ain't no doubt in no one's mind that love's the finest thing around....

I'm listening to James Taylor's "Carolina In My Mind," and without fail, it still - every single time - brings a smile across my face. It still astounds me how much I've fallen in love with North Carolina and UNC. I don't even know how this happened, or why it endures. After 10 months here in NYC, I am glad that I have not completely reverted back to that city girl. I still have my inner Manhattan compass, and I no longer expect people to smile or say hi to me while walking down the sidewalk, but I still make an effort to talk to salespeople and cashiers, and hold the elevator if I see someone getting their mail. And when I go to NC in a week or two, I will, once again, be greeted with strangers striking up conversations at Starbucks or at the library, people smiling and saying hi at the park, running with my running group, and the slower, friendlier life in Chapel Hill. There is something about that that truly warms my heart, literally.  It's funny, I kind of dread going down there, because I know it will be that much harder to come back to Manhattan.

Some things I want to do this summer:
- go to as many "movies and music on the green" as possible
- gluten be damned, eat my southern fried chicken, mashed potatoes and green beans at Top of the Hill
- sit on the rockingchairs at Maple View while eating homemade ice cream
- work on my thesis outside at the Carrboro Weaver St Market
- drink Diet Cheerwine ice cream floats and eat hush puppies (again, gluten be damned) from CookOut
- go to author events at Flyleaf and McIntyre's
- if I run into her, finally get my picture with Jill McCorkle at one of the events
- meet up with my MFA friends at NC State and UNCG
- go to a North Carolina BEACH!!!!! Would you believe I haven't been????

I can't wait.

I am.

Ten years ago this weekend I graduated from college. Wow. In some ways, it feels like I have lived several lifetimes since then, and in other ways, it feels like it was just yesterday. Ten years ago, the night before graduation, we all got back our letters to ourselves that the school had us write, on a college notecard, the first night we got there. And then I proceeded to get drunk, along with the rest of my class and our families, in the tent party the school threw for us. I remember it as a good night, and I have the pictures to prove it.
Ten years ago, I thought, at the ripe old age of 21, that I had my life figured out. I was ahead of the game. Only 21 and heading to a doctoral program in clinical psychology, I actually had "Jaime's Life Plan" written out. I swear. Little did I know.
Back then, I was consumed with the need to avoid making "the wrong choice." Like my life would take an irreversible turn if I did. I had no idea that some of those "wrong choices" would ultimately show me what I was and wasn't good at, and where my passions were.

I had no idea that the surgery I would have on my foot two days later would be the first of three, and result in chronic pain.

I had no idea that my biggest fear at that time would ultimately come true - I would not be a doctor, ever. And I am finally okay with that. Although I admit, I envied the doctoral robes I saw graduates carrying around here, with those velvet arm stripes.....

I didn't know that I would lose an aunt and a cousin, or gain a nephew, in the next decade. I never would have thought I would lose friends to cancer or see many more live with it.

I never imagined I'd learn to think of myself as an adopted Southerner, or grow to dislike New York.

I'd have scoffed if you told me I'd still be single. But when I see my old friends and those who are significantly younger than me move to their second - and even third - marriages, I am glad that I am waiting to marry. I only want to do it once.

I would have laughed if you told me that eventually, I'd get to be what I'd always wanted to be, but never thought was practical - a writer.

At 21, I thought I knew it all - as most people in their early 20s do. At 31, I'm beginning to realize that I may just be starting to learn what's most important. I am growing into myself. I know what I want in life. I also realize that I may not be able to "have it all," as we were told we could in the 80s. I have struggled more than I imagined, and for longer than I expected. But I have also started to listen to that voice inside that says, to quote Sylvia Plath, "I am, I am, I am."

I think that's called growing up.

There will come a time when you believe everything is finished. That will be the beginning. - Louis L'Amour

does breastfeeding suck? (pun intended)

Okay. I'm sorry, this is going to be a rant. It's just bad timing that it's coming off Mother's Day weekend, and I'm sure not everyone will like this. But here goes.

By now, most people have seen the now-infamous TIME magazine cover with the 3-year old breastfeeding, and the cover line of "Are you mom enough?" First, let's just acknowledge that if you've actually read the article, it's more about attachment parenting and Dr.Sears - which really illustrates that the title is merely incendiary and targets women and perpetuates the divides among women and mothers. Attachment parenting is PARENTING - which includes fathers. So why is there only a breastfeeding mother on the cover? And why doesn't it say "Are you parent enough?" Just things to ponder. Women are already judged for every little decision they make about parenting - choosing to be a parent, choosing NOT to have children, choosing to be a single parent, adopting instead of biological kids, doing fertility treatments, working outside the home, putting kids in daycare...it never ends. Mothers are damned if they do and damned if they don't.
People are decrying this cover as so offensive and controversial....um, women's bodies are objectified and sexualized all the time in the media. Hello, Hooters? Maxim magazine? Almost any major TV show?

In my maternal-child health program, breastfeeding was seen as paramount. And yes, I've read the data. It's healthy. Breast is best. We get it. There was a professor who thought it was "every woman's duty" to breastfeed, and once said there is no reason why every woman shouldn't breastfeed. Well, to be honest, I wasn't breastfed. I think I turned out okay. All my limbs are intact, my IQ is up there on the charts, and I have graduate degrees. I think for all intents and purposes, not being breastfed hasn't hurt me.
Choosing to breastfeed OR NOT is a personal, individual decision. Women may not be able to because of mastitis, or work demands, or whatever - we don't know. Mothering is hard enough without being made to feel guilty about your choices on breastfeeding.

For me personally, even though my logical mind and all the knowledge I have tells me to breastfeed for the recommended year by AAP, I doubt I will last more than a month, when the time comes. To be perfectly blunt, I think I would feel like a cow being milked. I have NO PROBLEM with breastfeeding. It doesn't bother me to see it - every mom I've nannied for has breastfed in front of me, and I don't get offended or anything. It's what bodies are made to do. At any rate, I posted something on Facebook, and I pretty much explained my stance - I didn't understand why the cover is so scandalous, and in the comments, I explained that for me personally, I don't agree with the concept of  breastfeeding past the first year, and I don't think breastfeeding will be what I choose. Well. Scandal.  I wasn't saying other women were wrong, I was just saying I don't always agree. I'm not going to tell a woman they're doing anything "wrong" - hey, if it works for them, great. Breastfeed your kid til they're 10, I don't care. I just don't agree. And hey, there are actually a lot of articles that examine the idea that breastfeeding ISN'T all it's been said it is. There's a lot we don't know. I get my data from AAP. Some women get their data from nurse practitioners or mommy bloggers. And that's fine. You get your data, I'll get mine, and we each form our own approaches to parenting. What's the big deal?
One of my friends from college mentioned something to the effect of "maybe when you're a mother you may feel differently." Back the fuck up. First, I find that incredibly condescending, even if it wasn't meant to be that way. I've taken care of children and infants and newborns. I want almost nothing more than to be a mom. I have an MPH in maternal-child health, for Christs sake. I've thought long and hard about breastfeeding; it's not something I came up with on a whim. I plan to go back to work, and for me personally, I just don't think breastfeeding is for me. So yeah, I'm not sure I'll feel differently. In fact, I doubt it. 
So you know what, Sanctimommies? (And I'm not saying this friend is a Sanctimommy - but other Facebook friends certainly have posted things on their pages that indicate that they are). How about we stop judging different kinds of mothering/parenting and realize women are in this together? Parenting is hard stuff - the last thing a woman wants is to feel ostracized on the playground or at Mommy and Me because her infant isn't hanging off her breast. 


Whew. 
On another note, a friend posted an article from salon.com yesterday, entitled "Why I Hate Mother's Day," by Anne Lamott - who is a mother and grandmother. She writes about how the holiday perpetuates the idea that individuals who are parents are more important than those who are not parents.  And honestly, as a 31 year old who is not a parent yet, it feels like there is more than a kernel of truth to that. Kind of like how Carrie on Sex and the City says in one episode that there are no showers for those who are single - but there are wedding showers, baby showers...but no celebrations for other life choices/circumstances. I do think things have gotten better in some ways - Mother's Day should be a day where you celebrate all women who have mothered a child, even if they're not a mother. But we have a long way to go. It was just a really interesting article. 


Anyway. I just had to get all that out. It's been bothering me. d

writing block.

I just made some blueberry coffee, thanks to my Keurig - which has been a LIFE SAVER this semester. I am bringing it with me for my summer in NC, because I start to get separation anxiety when I think about not having the option to make coffee anytime I want. No doubt this will not help my insomnia tonight....I was up until almost 5am last night, and haven't really been able to go to sleep much before 2 or 3 for a good week and a half, two weeks now. I think maybe the stress of the end of the semester, the stress of the upcoming summer and my finances (or lack thereof), finding a job, thesis topics, writing, feeling like I need to Publish Something Amazing Now, etc, is not helping things and sending my bodily clock into confused circles.
Columbia is prepping the campus for graduation, we got an email about how the School of the Arts is locked down for a night next week so the Secret Service can sweep it for Obama's visit for Barnard's commencement, and undergrads and graduate students are showing their families around Morningside Heights and campus, giddy with what their next plans are (and quaking in their flipflops about paying back loans - oh, sorry, that's just me). I have been combing Craigslist for jobs, posted a thing about nannying, and applied for several jobs that ACTUALLY make use of my MPH. Who knew? Although to be honest, all I really want to do is go back to the bookstore. It was a community there, and I knew our customers, and loved interacting with the authors that would come to the store for readings. I loved chatting with the publishing reps, reading ARCs and getting to be around books all day. Sigh.

Last night was my party with my Narrative Medicine class, and a little more than half the class was there, and I had a great time, even if it WAS in Brooklyn. I survived the trip to the outer borough, and actually really liked it. I had a wonderful time at the party, and I have to say, I am really going to miss them. We're trying to put together a writing group in the fall, so hopefully this is not the end.
I haven't written in over a week. This is not good. I've just been so tired and, in my defense, I've been reading a lot. I've sold a lot of books back to the indie bookstore near my house, and gotten more, and then sold THOSE back, and with the credit, gotten more, etc. It's kind of cool that I can do that. The owner of the store is well acquainted with my reading habits, and just laughs when I bring my bag of books in.

I know I should start writing - just getting pages down, just putting my butt to the chair and pen to paper, but it's overwhelming, and this feeling of being overwhelmed paralyzes me and makes me just want to lay on the couch and think, or read. I don't think this bodes well for the summer.

cost/benefit

I turned in my last paper of the year around 1am this morning and I have a meeting about another paper tomorrow at 1pm. And then I am done. Well, not really, since, as my workshop professor said, "Summers are not for relaxing anymore. Summers are for writing." Writers need to read, and my summer will be full of reading and writing, just producing pages and pages, some of which will be good and some of which will suck. As long as I keep writing.
A fellow writer in the program here wrote on his Facebook page that the cost of his first year here is equivalent to that of a Porsche 911. ouch. And depressing.

It is hard not to get depressed here if you're a student. An art student, at that. New York is for the very young and the very rich, as Joan Didion paraphrased in her essay "Goodbye to All That," and she is correct. The city was great when I was 23 and charging exorbitant amounts on my credit cards. But now I am paying it back and the city - and its resulting costs of living - has lost its luster. I knew this coming into it, which is why I was kicking and screaming, moving here. Was it worth it? Begrudgingly, yes. My professors have been amazing, I have found a few that I really admire and want to BE when I grow up, and the guidance here has been great. I enjoy what I am doing - sometimes I honestly think, seriously? I can actually WRITE for a living? But I'd be lying if I said I didn't get nauseous when I think that my rent could be a mortgage on a house in Chapel Hill. Or rent in Southern Village in one of the amazing lofts. Or that I don't lie awake at night, dreading when the Columbia loans come out of deferment. But I made these choices when I decided to come here, and I need to see it as an investment. I have to believe it will pay off. Maybe that's naive, maybe it's foolish, but it's what I have to do.

i can see the end.

One paper and one meeting stand between me and my summer. By 2pm on Thursday, it will all be over, except for the party on Monday my Narrative Medicine class is having, in Brooklyn. (My first trip to Brooklyn! Break out the hipster-wear!). I miss my NM class already - they were a great group of people, but some of us want to put together a writing group, and hopefully this will come to fruition. I mean, where else can I go to class, laugh until my stomach hurts, share my writing, have a friend bring me gluten-free Angry Birds gummies, and have a classmate try to set me up with her nephew's friend? (we're still working on that one). It was a rough semester personally, and that class helped make it so much better. I'm kind of dreading next semester, when I don't have that reprieve of a Narrative Medicine class.

My Narrative Med prof recommended Alison Bechdel's books, and her new one is called "Are You My Mother?" I've never read Bechdel before - she's a graphic novelist, and I usually find graphic novels too distracting, oddly. But lately everyone has been talking about this book - people in the NM class, people in the MFA program - so I figured I'd give it a shot. I was going to see the author at B&N but decided to do laundry instead. Such a glamorous life I lead. But seriously, the kid's book of the same name, was like, my favorite book ever when I was a kid. I remember holding it in my stroller. At least, I think I do. Hopefully it's worth the read.

I sold back a bunch of books today and got some new ones for the summer....very excited about that. "Ordinary Genius," by Kim Addonizio; "Girls in White Dresses," by Jennifer Close; and "Birds of Paradise," by Diana Abu-Jaber. Now if only I could stay awake to read them.....

retail therapy.

I don't know why I've been blogging/posting so much lately. Probably because I need to procrastinate. We're all a little manic right now, as evidenced by tonight's writing workshop and subsequent dinner/drinks with the professor. (In which I had two margaritas....I hate tequila, so my solution is just to gulp. Brilliant, right?). Workshop was filled with tangential conversations and uncontrollable fits of giggling, along with over-caffeinated, overtired, under-rested stressing over papers and work. I think once everything of mine is turned in, and all my conferences are over, I just want to curl up with my UNC fleece blanket and sleep for a week. And then go to Nellie's party that she's throwing for our class. And then I have to figure out my summer. Did you know ONE in TWO current or recent graduates is unemployed or underemployed? This little nugget of information came across my Twitter feed this morning.....makes me feel VERY reassured that I am getting that oh-so-important MFA, right? I comfort myself with the thought that at least I will be doing something I love, and combining all my experiences together to make something good. Surely that must count for something, right?.....right? I'm not sure Sallie Mae, Citibank and Nelnet would agree, though. They kind of like their monthly payments. In cash, not smiles and happiness.

ANYWAY. My point to posting? I love monograms. When I lived in NC, I was in heaven, because if there's anything Southern preppies love, it's monograms. (And Top-Siders. And unironic popped collars. And Jack Rogers.). Hell, people monogrammed their cars. Which is a little much for me. I'll stick with my LL Bean totes and the occasional oxford, thanks. But I have a weakness for monogrammed jewelry, and apparently it's become popular. (Which I didn't know when I ordered my necklace at the end of December, but now they're popping up on blogs everywhere). In my procrastination, I often stumble across fun websites. Moon and Lola make really cute monogrammed necklaces, and they're from North Carolina, which makes me want to like them, but my pink necklace broke. I have to say, they replaced it for free, although now the chain isn't right - but they want me to send it back and are very considerate and want to make things right. I also found BaubleBar, and they have necklaces that are a little bit less expensive than M&L. And, they have metal monogram pendants that are cheaper....and in rose gold. I am a sucker for rose gold. I am eyeing this piece for my birthday.....even though my birthday is in December. And if you sign up for emails, you get $10 off your order. I think this could be a great "you had a great first year of art school" present, too, don't you think? ;)

Also, in honor of my first year of art school almost being over, I'd like to return to something I posted at the beginning of the year. Sadly, life at Dodge Hall is not like this, but even now, sitting outside at a table, writing, I wonder what would happen if students spontaneously started singing and dancing on the steps. I would die. OF HAPPINESS. 

I'd also like to mention the passing of Adrienne Rich, the poet. She died late last month, and it truly was the end of an era. I remember she came to Muhlenberg one year, and I went to see her. Her poetry is beautiful, as is her prose, especially "Of Woman Born," a book about womanhood and motherhood. My favorite poem of hers is "Diving into the Wreck," and it may be one of her best known poems. Here are some lines from it:
I came to explore the wreck.
The words are purposes. 
The words are maps. 
I came to see the damage that was done
and the treasures that prevail. 


the thing I came for:
the wreck and not the story of the wreck
the thing itself and not the myth
the drowned face always staring 
toward the sun
the evidence of damage
worn by salt and sway into this threadbare beauty

dating: another word for hell.

Ah, yes. Online dating. Never fails to take my faith in humanity down a notch or two. Today I got a message from a guy that said, "Nice body, babe." Disgusted, I looked at his profile, and on it, he said that "we all know women are shallow and superficial" and they only care about looks, so why bother pretending? (Oh, and apparently, he's got the looks). This is who is attracted to me. I sent him a concise email explaining that mature women with more than a brain cell or two generally appreciate a different kind of initial email. And then I blocked him. sigh. I am thinking I should just put this on any future dating profile:

“Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.”

(taken from http://themonicabird.com/post/3273155431/date-a-girl-who-reads-date-a-girl-who-spends-her)

last year.

Yesterday marked a year since my car accident. I think that was the scariest day of my life. I was sitting at a stoplight, on the phone with my dad, when suddenly a car plowed into the back of my Jeep at 45 mph, pushing me into the car in front of me. He never stopped. Turns out he had had cataract surgery the day before and just wasn't paying attention to driving. I don't remember my face hitting the wheel (yes, I was wearing my seatbelt), but I do remember my BlackBerry flying out of my hand and screaming. My poor dad had no idea what was going on. He thought I was getting carjacked. The phone had slid under the passenger seat, and a Good Samaritan helped me out of my car. My nose was bleeding, my shins were already starting to bruise, were cut and sore, my whole body was shaking from shock.....I realized I needed to find my phone, and told my dad what had happened, then I called my mom and my brother. I think I was crying - but I remember very clearly thinking, shit. I cannot afford this right now. My car was so smashed up that it had to be towed, and the policeman took me to the hospital ER. We found my license plate bent in half under another car - the impact had ripped it right off. Long story short, I had no concussion, my shins were nicely bruised, I needed an MRI to see if my calf muscle had been torn because I was in so much pain, and I wound up with a bruise the entire length of my calf that took weeks to go away. I still have an indentation on my calf muscle that might take even longer to fade. Of course I made the requisite jokes that I felt like I got hit by a truck, which no one but me found funny.

I still sit at stoplights and make sure the person behind me is slowing down. For weeks afterward, in my rental car, I'd panic at stoplights. I hated driving. Unlike the accident in FL, when I *saw* the guy 2 cars behind me not slow down and braced myself for the impact, I was totally caught off guard with this one, and it was terrifying. I shudder to think what if I'd had my nephew or the kids I nannied in the car with me. Thank G-d for small miracles, I guess.

Months later, my nephew said to me, "were you bleeding, JJ?" I asked him what he meant, and he said, "When that car hit your car, were you bleeding?" This kid remembered my accident. The night of my accident, he had called me and told me he hoped I felt better, and that did wonders to ease my bodily pains. (well, that, and the pain meds I got).

I woke up yesterday thankful that it hadn't been worse, and so grateful for the past year. So many times we don't realize what we have until later. I know it could have been worse. If I'd been in a different car, if he'd been going even faster, if I hadn't been the only one in the car.....there but for the grace of G-d go I.

five years is a lifetime.

Trey is 5!

First time holding him.

So, today was Trey's fifth birthday. So much has happened in the last five years, it's crazy to think about it. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I'd spent the whole previous night in the hospital waiting room, going for coffee and Red Bull runs with my brother. I went home around 8am to catch some sleep, and about an hour or two later, my brother called and told me to come back to the hospital. And eventually, from the waiting room, I saw my brother walking down the hallway with a doctor, who was pushing a little plastic incubator/isolette thing. We all crowded around it and I remember looking at this tiny baby with squinty eyes. Newborns kind of all look alike...I feel like it takes a day or two for their features to settle in or something. But regardless, I fell in love hard-core. Instinctively, I felt this need to protect. Protect this little being I had known for less than five minutes. I've always felt maternal toward kids, but this feeling was different. This was almost animalistic instinct. And just like that, I was an aunt. I was an aunt. It was so odd to think about, me being an aunt at 26. Now, five years later, it's odd to think I am the only aunt in the family now.

The next day, at work, I got a phone call from UNC, telling me I was off the wait list and did I want to come there, and of course I said yes. After work I went next door to the hospital and held my nephew for the first time, telling him I would make him a little Tar Heel. Holding him was....a turning point for me. I know it sounds cheesy and trite, but it's true. I know babies can't see/focus at first, but believe me when I tell you this little kid actually looked like he was observing us all and taking us in. He was so small - 6lb, 11oz and 20.5 inches long - and he fit into the crook of my arm perfectly.

As the months went by, before I left for North Carolina, I actually got to take care of my nephew a lot. My brother and his girlfriend still went out with their friends a lot and I'd have my nephew several times a week, sometimes overnight on the weekends. He slept in his bassinet basket on the floor next to my bed, and I'd wake up at night just to watch him sleep, or to rest my hand on his chest to make sure he was still breathing. I'd wake up and feed him when he cried. He would laugh out loud in his sleep, I swear to G-d. I learned what songs soothed him and the perfect angle at which to feed him, to minimize the spit up that would happen. To this day, he still falls asleep when I play "Baby Mine" on my iPod, and still loves Sheryl Crow's version of "Sweet Child O'Mine." When he was a baby and I'd be driving in my Jeep, if he would fuss, I'd put that song on and sing along, and he'd quiet down. It was the funniest thing.

But I never could have imagined the extent to which he'd change our lives. Do we ever, with children?

And now, five years later, I'm out of North Carolina, back in New York, at Columbia, and Trey is getting ready to start kindergarten in the fall. He named me Aunt JJ (he couldn't say "Jaime", so he said "JJ"), he has a way with animals, and he can be wise beyond his years sometimes. When my brother told the family he and his girlfriend were expecting, my family was upset, to be honest. But sometimes things have a way of working out for the best. This certainly did, and I wouldn't change a thing.

In other news, in two weeks, my classes will be over. And my first year will be done. I remember when I got in, my friend Natalie (also an MFAer, in fiction) joked that MFA stands for More F*cking Around. Yeah, well, this year was no joke. And this semester in particular. Definitely not a slacker time. So I like to think of MFA as something else: MotherF*cking Awesome. As in, that's what I'll be when I snag my book deal.