THREE YEARS

DUDE. Things have been crazy busy. BUT - thesis is turned in. And ironically, three years ago today, I got the phone call that I was accepted into Columbia's MFA program. OH THE IRONY. Job interviews are happening. Life is happening. Editing gigs are happening. So keep your fingers crossed that things are panning out. And if I happen to (gulp) happen to stay in the Empire State, so be it. But at least I will earn enough money to visit my peeps in Chapel Hill often. :) The weather has been completely shitty. My LLBean boots have been getting so much use, not to mention my pink Dora Docs. Last friday I found a pair of red shiny Doc Martens on sale at Harry's Shoes for $29!!! You can bet I scooped those babies up. It made me so so so happy.

I spent a large chunk of change on an online class through LitReactor to take a class with Lidia Yuknavitch, but I can honestly say it's been worth every penny so far. It's a 6 or 7 week class, and when I say I've never been challenged like this before, I mean NEVER. EVen at Columbia, I have never had such thought-provoking, soul-searching, earnest lectures like the ones Lidia gives, not to mention the homework she assigns us. It's a real challenge. You can't bullshit your way though it. And my peers in the class? I am astounded by their graciousness, their sensitivity, and their tact on critiquing when something needs work. No egos here. No bloodbath like in an MFA classroom. Makes me wonder if I could have saved thousands of dollars and just taken class after class on LitReactor for two years and put together my own reading list during that time. But, what's done is done. I don't regret spending the money. And If - when - I get a full time job - I want to continue taking these online writing classes to keep my writing sharp. I didn't get to take fiction and poetry classes at Columbia, so these are a great way to expose myself to them. I am a lucky girl. And very thankful. Of course, I'm hoping my tax refund covers what I spend (and then some, which would be nice).

I've been loving my tote bags lately. I got a Strand x Kate Spade one. But I often find them a little too small. Maybe because I carry a ton of shit with me. Especially since I decided to start the behemoth of a book Infinite Jest. I mean, 1079 pages? Come on, DFW. I need two bookmarks for this bitch of a book - one for the story, one for the footnotes. It better be good. I have stacks of books waiting to be read. PLus job searching and apps, getting my manuscript written and finished for Rhonda, figuring out what I want to do with my life, hoping I don't become infertile in the next few years, you know, the usual.

Latest obsessions: tote bags, Alex & Ani bangles, bullet earrings, scarves, Docs, Our Lady of Guadelupe bracelets (and I'm Jewish, go figure), Kanken backpacks, naps, bracelets, Reading Rainbow

NY under water.

Water. New York City. Jaime. Which of these is not like the others and does not belong? That's right!!!! Jaime!!!!! I am especially bitter today because it has been a *very* rainy day, and I hate when it rains in the city. But I had been running errands/getting prescriptions filled/etc when it started to thunder, and I just had to pick up a few things at the market....I figured I'd beat the rain home. Now, West Side Market on a GOOD day makes me lose faith in humanity. Try getting stuck inside with a horde of other people, including people who have run in off the sidewalk to escape the apocalyptic rainstorm. After about 20 minutes, when it seemed to be easing up a little, I opened my umbrella, slid my bag of overpriced groceries onto my wrist, and held the umbrella directly in front of my chest, since that seemed to provide the most protection with this rain. The whole walk home you can imagine what I was muttering.

Then I decided to do laundry. I put my clothes in a washer, add soap, pay for it, and then a guy tells me he just washed his in that washer, but it didn't wring out all the water so he has to rewash them. Since I already paid for it, I was like, okay, I'll take my chances. Well, whaddaya know? Same thing. I have the brilliant idea of bringing it upstairs to dry on the drying rack. Do you KNOW how heavy a load of wet laundry is? So I'm hanging stuff on the rack, thinking, this might work, when I realize there is a small ocean under the drying rack, and my clothes are saturated. I grabbed towels, wiped the whole mess up, threw the clothes in the bag, and went back DOWN to the laundry room to rewash my clothes. I pay for this privilege.

You know, if I had been stuck somewhere down South, people would have started talking with each other. Here? Nope, everyone's glued to their iPhones, posting updates and texting and talking to people.  People are pushing each other aside to get a little more room for themselves and their bags. Everyone on their own little island. Sometimes in situations like that, I find myself almost starting a conversation with someone - and then I realize it would be weird here. Sigh.

faking it until I'm making it - again.

For as long as I can remember, I've laid my clothes out for the next day, the night before. It saves time in the morning, and in my half-sleep daze, I can just pull whatever on. For some reason, tomorrow I have the urge to wear the craziest thing -- black Under Armour nylon exercise pants, aqua Nike dri-fit v-neck, and my black Ironman thin lycra zip up that says "140.6 Miles of Awesome" on the back. That was my goal. I wanted to do a 70.3 before my 35th birthday. Maybe that's still possible, I don't know. Last year I let my Triathlete and Runner's World subscriptions expire. I just didn't have the time. I'm glad I did. Ever since the beginning of these tremors, I haven't picked up either of those magazines. No, that's a lie. I did flip through a Triathlete, and it made me too sad. I think getting out of the city will help. Once I'm back in Chapel Hill, I can go back to the Wellness Center, start swimming, biking, and walking again, and build my strength up in a place that is familiar and medically safe.

Right now, I feel like a phony even putting on a sports bra. It's hard to believe, to remember those days where I would voluntarily wake up at 4:30am, go swim laps, get dressed for the day, go to A&P lab, do freelance work, then go to class. I remember every day and night, that feeling of calm that swept over me the minute I entered the Wellness Center. Like I belonged. The smell of chlorine and sweat and muscle cream. I remember the first time hearing my knees crackle as I walked down my steps. I had to buy joint salve, the tingly kind. No one warned me that I shouldn't shave before I put it on. So not only did I smell like a pine foresty old man, but my knee areas were pretty much on fire that first night I used it.

I wore my rubber Ironman watch 24/7 - no need to take it off. My RoadID was right above it. The constant chlorine smell of my hair was comforting. Slowly, I forged tentative friendships with older people at the gym who were also in the tri club. They helped draw me out of my shyness. I had a place there.

All this is to say that wearing simple nylon sportswear is like, a big deal for me for some reason. I haven't worn any really, since the tremors started. But I miss the girl who did. I miss the girl who went running in the woods with her running group twice a week. I miss the girl who watched old Kona Ironman specials and got chills every single time. I miss the girl who, even when exercising or doing sports, coordinated her Nike outfits and preferred running skirts to shorts. I miss the sound of ground and leaves crunching under my feet as I run on the trails. I miss my running coach, Mimi, who made me think I was a runner. I miss the girl who actually, seriously considered entering the Kona lottery but didn't have the extra money to spare to sign up. I think she's still in there. I just have to find her and get her stronger. No, I know she's still in there. Because I haven't yet heard the words shouted over the loudspeaker, "Jaime, YOU are an Ironman!" But I will. If I have to crawl to and across the finish line like Julie Moss did in 1982, I will.

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.

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.

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

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).

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.

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

catching up.

It's been a while since I last blogged, partly because I got really sick with a cold that morphed into a stomach virus and still is lingering a little bit, and then Spring Break happened, and now things are just super busy with school. We have about 4 weeks left in the semester, which is just unfathomable to me. The first year cannot be over yet. It just can't. And we are definitely all feeling the crunch. This semester in general has been a real ass-kicker, but lately most of my cohort is in a caffeine-fueled state of disarray, myself included. So much writing and reading, so little time.

I have loved my Narrative Medicine class, though. Even the people in it are just so great. I sent an article out from the NYT on talk therapy waning and writing workshops on the rise, and multiple people emailed me to thank me and share their own thoughts on it - some of whom are counselors who are feeling burnt out themselves and needed the boost. I had one woman who told me I could stay at her house, in her daughter's room since she's away at college, when I shared that I had a mouse in my apt (yes, I had a mouse...haven't seen him since last week, thank goodness). Whenever I've come to class perturbed by a meeting about workshop submissions, they always say the right things. It's a great group of like-minded individuals. We see the therapeutic value of writing, and acknowledge that the simply act itself can be therapeutic. We appreciate the emotional texture of the writing while noting the craft. It's hard to explain, it's just a good group of people. It's usually the bright spot of my week.

I can't believe next semester I have my Thesis Workshop. Most people don't turn in their thesis at the end of second year; they take at least one year of Research Arts, which just gives you time to write and allots you a certain number of meetings with an advisor (I think).

I'm probably going to NC for the summer, hoping I still have my job at the bookstore....I need to get out of the city. In today's workshop, someone had written an essay on suburbia, etc, and we talked about those communities where there are communal spaces, and I shared about my neighborhood in Chapel Hill, Southern Village...and they started laughing when I explained that the houses had porches to facilitate communication with neighbors, and there's a Village Green and communal meeting areas. They said it sounded horrible. I loved it. I still do. Give me that over the cold, impersonal, high-strung city life any day. Southern Village DOES sound like Stepford when you describe it to people, or like some idyllic fantasy suburb - but that's why I loved it so much. It was (is) idyllic but real. I've really been missing North Carolina. My stomach is all messed up, I think from nerves/stress, and I know that when I go down South, it will get better. I just know this. But then it will be really, really hard to come back to NY.

I'm excited, because for the first time since he turned one, I will be able to go to my sweet nephew's birthday party! When he said to me, "JJ? Are you coming to my birthday?" I was able to tell him YES! Of course, I will also be writing my customary annual birthday letter to him. I am so thankful for this - he is growing up so fast, and needs all the support he can get. I cannot believe he will be five. It is hard to remember life without him. It seems very empty.

Listening: Birdy, "Fire and Rain," "Skinny Love"

Snacking: Twizzlers, Airheads, Tootsie Rolls

Reading (aside from schoolwork): "Wild," by Cheryl Strayed; "This Lullaby," by Sarah Dessen, the new issue of The Paris Review

blah.

I am really missing Chapel Hill today. More than usual. Maybe because I dreamt I was back there last night. It's been hard to get into the swing of things this semester. Everything seems less structured and my brain keeps bouncing around from topic to topic to topic, unable to focus and concentrate on any one thing. I'm restless and agitated and so forth. Maybe it's cabin fever - it's been so cold here recently.

I don't know. I just. Don't. Know.

Two weeks down.

So. My second week of classes is over. I have mixed feelings. For the most part, I really love my classes. In my "Memory & Morphology" class, we're being encouraged to play with genres, to experiment with our writing and how memory shapes what we write, as well as its impact on art. The research class is okay. I am not doing the medical project; instead, I am looking at the concept of identity, and how it can change - mostly from an autobiographical point of view, on how I came to identify with the South. And I'll be reading Southern lit, essays and info to weave into it. I figured it would be a good way to ease homesickness and I can read some Lee Smith, Jill McCorkle, Allan Gurganus and others. Workshop.....my essays were workshopped Tuesday, and for the most part, my group is very helpful and constructive. I got really great feedback. But, of course, there's always one or two people that just don't get it. I'm not even going to go into it here on how phrases were misconstrued, life experiences were just twisted, and inappropriate, snarky comments were written. At the risk of sounding like Heidi Julavits, in her now-infamous "Believer" piece, snark is not constructive. It's not helpful. There's no need for it, and it only shows what a douche you are. If I'm writing an essay on the last 24 hours of my aunt's life and the gruesome details of her death, I don't want you to tell me I'm being pessimistic and to add some optimism. You're missing the entire point. SIGH. Anyway. My narrative medicine, "How We Write/Why We Write" class is definitely my favorite. I feel most at ease in the class. There's just a good energy in it. Most of the people are older; maybe that is why. Or my two instructors are just really nice, amazing, smart people. We're looking at poetry, fiction, and non-fiction, which is great - it's not often that we get to try out each genre and read works in each one. It's going to be half-seminar and half-workshop -- so I will be very interested to see what narrative med students think of my writing. All in all, it's pretty much the highlight of my week, and it's the last class of the week.

I don't know. This week has been really weird. Ironically, after I came to my research topic decision, twice now this week, blatant anti-South things have happened at school. It seems like the only cultural group that it's "okay" to make fun of is the South, and that's getting under my skin. And just the rudeness of some of the people in the Writing program, like in the chocolate lab (our lounge), etc. I just don't get it. I love the program and classes, but sometimes I'm not sure where I fit in it. Maybe that's okay.

on not breaking your own heart.

I am back in New York, after being in North Carolina last week. It was great being back in the South. I visited McIntyre's Books, where I used to work and took home a bunch of ARCs and a tote bag (thanks, Keebe!). I now carry my Algonquin tote bag here in the city as a little piece of home. I went to my favorite touristy place to eat down there, Top of the Hill. It is classic Chapel Hill, and Bonnie and I had our picture taken with some people at the bar decked out in UNC gear and blue wigs (it was a game night, against Miami). I ate a typical Southern meal of buttermilk fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans and a buttermilk biscuit. It was delish. My gallbladder-less body was not happy, but I was. mmmmm. Then we went to Sugarland for cupcakes. Before I left, we went to Cook-Out, where I had a Cheerwine ice cream float and hush puppies. And of course, I took back liters and cases of Diet Cheerwine.

My aunt's death has not fully sunk in, I don't think. I was at Barnes and Noble tonight and saw a Hopkins Guide to Ovarian Cancer and instinctively picked it up off the shelf before I realized I had no use for it anymore. And then I felt like throwing it across the store. The Brighton bangles she got me for Christmas clink on my wrist and her Keurig sits in my kitchen. Her phone number is disconnected, although she is still in my cell phone contact list. It has made me think about life and death and dying. When someone dies, what remains? What of their life stays here, with the living? And what about the dead people walking, like my grandmother with Alzheimer's? They are, essentially, living a slow death of self. What remains? Lots to think about.

Classes started today. I am taking 17 credits - a nonfiction workshop; a class entitled "Memory and Morphology," about memory and writing/art and how it changes; a narrative medicine class on Applied Writing - "How We Write/Why We Write"; a nonfiction research methods class that I placed out of but decided to take anyway, to pursue my independent research interest; and a Master Class, which only lasts half a semester, called "Of Women Born: Motherhood in Literature." So I have exciting and interesting classes. And just from today, I left very inspired and feeling like my money is well spent here. In my workshop, my professor told us about recent MFA grads whose books have been optioned for movies, others who just got book deals....she said to not assume we'll immediately get a book deal to pay off our loans, but keep working hard, don't give up on your dreams, and eventually it will pay off. She said something brilliant - "I'm a big believer in not breaking your own heart. There are too many people out there more than happy to do it for you." She encouraged us to stick with it, believe in ourselves and our dreams, and just put in the work that needs to be done to excel. I left classes today feeling recharged and looking forward to the semester. Sometimes I am blown away by the professors and classes here, and today was one of them.

Thirty one.

I am 31 today. So much has happened in the last year, for which I am very thankful. In some ways I look back and I cannot believe how much has changed. I read what I wrote last year and I think so far, I've done what I said I was going to do. I hope I have. This time last year I wanted to make choices based on hope, not fear. Making the choice to go to Columbia and move to NY was definitely not made out of fear - I wanted to move back to NC - now that would have been my fear talking. And though I miss Carolina every single day, sometimes to the point of tears, I'm glad, in the end, that I made the choice to come to NY. Last year I said that I wanted my thirties to be about abundance and not restriction - and I think that's an ongoing process. I want to take up space and be heard, not just sit there and go with the crowd and be a pretty face. I want to DO something. Hopefully I will.

This time last year I could have never have imagined I would be here now. I didn't think I'd get in to Columbia - it was a total reach. I wasn't sure what my life path was, and whether I was truly good at anything. When I got into Columbia, even after several times of me deciding not to go, I somehow made it here....and am finding out that maybe, just maybe, I can do this.

I was kind of sad the other day, because last year was the best birthday I've ever had. I was in Chapel Hill, I spent the night doing quintessentially Chapel Hill things - dinner at Top of the Hill, cupcakes at Sugarland and drinks at Spanky's. I was with friends I loved and was very happy. This year.....yes, while I am happy to be at Columbia, sometimes it is honestly very hard to be happy in NY. Sometimes the sadness is so overwhelming that it steals my speech; I can't even construct the words to hold a conversation. But my friend from undergrad A came to NY from Chicago, and we went to go see Avenue Q with her brothers - amazing show - and then we went to dinner at Zen Palate and had a drink at a NOLA-themed bar/lounge. It was a good night. Today we're going for brunch and then exploring Central Park...and maybe I will go to my favorite indie bookstore in the city, McNally Jackson. I wanted to work there but never got a reply email. Sad face.

At 31, maybe it's a bit late to finally figure out what you want to do with your life. I'd be lying if I said I didn't envy my friends with stable jobs, who have a mortgage and are settled into family life. I do wish I could be like them, going on vacations and not stressing over every little bill or rent payment or student loan. But I'll get there. And honestly, although I am STILL in school and am swamped with work and sometimes wonder if it really is or will be worth it......there's a part of me that knows that I'm doing what I love, what I've always loved and yet never really ran with it. I'm reading and writing. A ton. My success isn't how I always pictured it would be. But maybe it's enough that I'm doing something I truly love - how many people can really say that?

Not enough people, in my opinion.

real life:NY

The readjustment to being back in NY hasn't been the easiest. Every time I'm walking down the sidewalk and another person is walking in the opposite direction, or walking their dog, I always glance up at their face, hopeful that we'll say hi to each other, acknowledging the other's existence. But it never, ever happens. Ever. In NC, this would be considered rude. In Southern Village, even children would say hi if they passed you on the trails or in the neighborhood. I miss that. Such a thin, seemingly insignificant thread, but it ties us to one another. And sometimes, when you're barely hanging on, a tug on the thread reminds you that hope exists, that connection is still there.

In NY, they'd probably take scissors and cut you loose.

Things have definitely more stressful. Applying for two types of fellowships and for spots to get into an amazing class, reading book after book after book (this week I have Nabokov and Styron...uplifting, huh?), and papers looming on the horizon. And, of course, writing Something Brilliant for workshop and critiquing classmates' work. I love the books, for the most part, but I've been distracted and my productivity hasn't been as much as I'd like. I found a professor I've connected with; she's in fiction, though -- and I get the feeling that the genres don't really mix that much, despite what they say here. I know departments are very territorial, which is disconcerting. I'm still trying to figure out where me and my writing fit in, where my niche is. I'm stressed about finances, stressed about classes, missing Carolina and hoping I get that summer internship at Algonquin. There just never seems to be enough time to do everything I need to.

November already....

So. It's November. Last weekend I went back to Chapel Hill, and it was wonderful. I didn't want to come back. The people were nicer, the atmosphere was nicer......it felt like home. I felt like I had "my people" there. But here I am, back in the city. And it's not as bad as before. I've found a great sushi place that's pretty affordable, and my friend M and I go at least once a week. Last night after workshop, M, J and I went for dinner there. I'm never disappointed with the food. I've settled in a bit more to my 'hood, and have a basic routine. The cost of things still gets me, especially because I haven't been able to write any articles for over a month and a half now. No articles = no money coming in. Which was NOT part of the plan. But in some weird way, things have evened out, because I am swamped with schoolwork, fellowship applications, etc. So the time I would have written articles is now devoted to schoolwork.

It's going to be a long stretch to the end of the semester. Tons of reading, papers, etc. I basically have no life, I have so much work. But I do love it. When else am I going to have nothing else to do but read and write? When else am I going to be around such talented peers and instructors?

blah.

Wow. I can't believe October is more than halfway over. The semester is definitely in full swing. We're all a bit overwhelmed with reading (this week I had 4 books to read.....I still have one book to read for Thursday). It's intense, I have to say. And as our professor mentioned tonight (and he's an editor at a major publishing house here in the city), the program has certain expectations of you once you're done.....like going downtown to a publishing house and publishing your damn book. And the program attracts a certain kind of ambition. (or masochism, the two might be interchangeable in this instance). But although the pressure is building, I have to say I do love this environment. I am the type of person who, when I'm busy, I take on MORE things because having a lot to do gives me structure, it lays out expectations and I have clear directions on where to go, what to do and what needs to be produced. I'm applying to be on the editorial staff/reading board of Columbia's lit mag, and Friday is an info session on becoming an Undergraduate Writing Fellow, which is when grad students teach parttime and take classes parttime, so it takes you an extra year to finish the program, but your tuition and health insurance are paid for, and you get a nice little stipend. I think 22k. Of course, EVERYONE wants this. So that will be some competition. Everyone is so smart and talented here, so it will be a tough situation.

Living in NY is getting better, I have to say. Do I love it as much as I did when I was younger? Nope, not at all. But do I hate it with the fervor I had a month or two ago? No. I admit, having restaurants and places open 24/7 is nice, and the falafel here can't be beat.....except in Israel. And Zadie Smith is coming to Columbia Thursday, which I am SUPER excited about. (I have to get a book of hers for her to sign). I am looking forward to going to Chapel Hill next week, though. I need that, I need to get back to familiar people, familiar places.....a slower pace for a few days. A friendlier atmosphere.

Something unexpected IS happening though. I'm finally realizing that I'm an adult. I know, I'm 30, I should have realized this ages ago, right? But I often feel like I look 15 and feel like I'm still that awkward high school girl. Except I'm not. And being here, among 22, 23, 24 year olds, I realize that I really am an adult. This week's New York magazine had an article about the new generation of young adults......and I'm not in it. I am the verrrrrry tail end of Generation X. I have more in common with them then the generation after me. It was very, very odd to read this and feel so disconnected. And this morning, brushing my teeth, I realized that the white and silver hairs on my head have exponentially multiplied. As in, my bangs and the hair around my face definitely show a shock of white. That was sobering. As was last week, after going out with some classmates and having a few drinks, and waking up the next morning, feeling like complete shit. 5, 10 years ago, four beers would have been a WARM-UP. Now, it's enough to cause a massive hangover and wish I never drank at all. The whole thing is just really......odd. I mean, I've been paying bills and rent for years, so it's not like I was living at home and being babied....but this feels different, somehow.

ramblings.

Today I am missing Chapel Hill and North Carolina so much it takes the breath from my lungs. The longing comes on so fierce that it actually stuns me for a second. Maybe because we've reached that point in the semester where the momentum from the beginning is starting to wane, and we need to just keep pushing til the end. The intensity of this program is no joke. I can see why I was told that many people don't work during the program. Which leads me to another stressor.....the website I typically write for is undergoing some changes, and I haven't been able to write anything for 3 weeks - it was originally supposed to be 3-4 days. I've emailed people about nanny jobs and have been looking online for other writing jobs, but no luck, especially part-time or freelance. Ideally, I'd like freelance, to work around my schedule and work. The bookstore near me isn't hiring, and they're actually not so friendly, so I'm not sure I'd be happy there. So, yeah. Combine not working with NY cost of living and paying bills/loans, and you've got some homesickness for NC.