Today I am productive...

Well... kind of...

While I am not actually doing any of the work I get paid to do, I have accomplished a number of little things that I have been putting off for some time now.

This morning I took the puppy out, twice. She still has not figured out that she is supposed to "go potty" (according to the books, they need a specific code always used to tell them when to go, and this somehow has become mine) anywhere other than my kitchen floor. This morning I stuck on shoes and a coat over my pajamas so I could get her outdoors before he little feet could ever even touch the floor. Bed to front of the building we ran. Outside I thought for sure this would be the moment we'd been waiting for, there was no way she could resist her first thing in the morning release! Much to my disappointment she just hopped around like a kindergarten kid begging the teacher for a bathroom pass before he wets his brand new jeans. The second we got back to the apartment the floodgates opened... why couldn't she have done that outdoors?? Alright, so maybe the first pee of the day will have to be on the wee-wee pad, but I was confident for round two, the after she eats her breakfast round. This time I went more prepared with a pad she already used so she could at least pick up her scent. Out the door we went and again it was to no avail. I quit.

Then there is the whole me wanting to be a writer thing. Unfortunately I never know what to write about other than myself and how interesting can that really be to anyone other than myself on a semi-regular basis? "Getting Personal in Print" will apparently teach me how to make my stories more engaging to others! So next time I'm trying to wax poetic about the boy that got away or my dog's potty training stats, there will be no emotional barriers, no walls between my thoughts and the blank page to overcome. Mostly though I'm doing it out of relative boredom.

So, in my world actually doing those two things has made my day into something more than a waste. I think i'm becoming even more pathetic than I feared....

To ignorance's bliss

I left my job in an effort to "be a writer" which at this point means nothing because if what i'm currently doing with my time consists of "being a writer" there must be a hell of a lot of so-called writers out there writing absolutely nothing at all. Which probably has some truth to it actually.

The hardest thing about writing is forcing yourself to get to it. A blank page is like a shark infested pool (and not just any sharks, but more like the ones with laser beams coming out of their heads like in Austin Powers) and you just stare and stare thinking "why would anyone in their right mind jump right into this?" which is actually nothing like writing anymore but the point is that figuring out what to put onto a page is just plain scary. Because once its there, it exists.

I've always been an ignorance is bliss kinda girl. What I don't know will never hurt me so I like to stay one foot away from crossing any threshold. If I don't apply for jobs then I can't get rejected from them. If I don't let myself get into relationships then no one can break up with me. If I don't write anything at all then I can keep on pretending that all these thoughts and grandoise ideas in my mind will actually lead to something amazing. If I don't fail then I can still pretend i'm talented.

Ignorance is a lonely road. And a boring one.

You two were all sex and philosophy...

My quarter life crisis hit in a relatively expectable way. It was early fall and I sat at my cubicle in an office that I had hoped to leave before the leaves had a chance to change their colors. The temptations of summer Fridays, a lax work load and the comfort of a weekly check deposited directly into my account were too much and here I sat as the temperature dropped as quickly as my determination. I was bored and therefore boring in the most exciting city in the world.

But this is what your 20s are all about, right? Finding who you are, shedding past skins and struggling to squeeze yourself into a new one that may be a size too small at first. Or maybe those are just my no longer size 4 jeans. I digress.

I went online searching. I wanted to be sure I wasn't the only one I knew going through this. The joy of the internet is that it puts classmates right at your fingertips. No need to wait for the reunion to outshine one another. I knew where the majority of my graduating class was, and weren't they primarily in the same boat as I was?

But then I googled Boy (see past posts for character reference) and all that changed.

Of course by 25 a handful of people I knew had begun to marry. In my few years as a New Yorker I had seen a couple weddings and even a birth. On Facebook I saw as classmates tied the knot and for the predictable reasons it made me feel old, but rarely off balance. When I googled Boy, I came across something that I could never have prepared myself for. There upon my screen, glaring at me, taunting, was Boy; my sexual first, my college addiction, the one who made me cry and taught me to heal; in his wedding photo.

At least 20 minutes must have past before I could tear my eyes away from the site. Like a gruesome car wreck I simply couldn't force myself to look away all the while knowing the nightmares I was condemning myself to by looking.

There he was with R, a girl that three years previously had embraced me enthusiastically at a bar, "I'm so happy to finally meet you! I have heard so much about you!" I had forced a smile. What could she possibly know about me. That I used to sleep with her boyfriend? That I had stayed devoted to him as he brushed me off time and again with fears of commitment and his inability to love? Did she know how we would see each other in secret because he didn't want to be in a relationship but he would start fights when other boys had the audacity to hit on me in front of him. "Why would he try to kiss you in front of me?" he reeled at my 21st birthday. "Because no one knows about you, your rule," I would sigh.

When I returned from London the second time, Boy and I met for coffee to catch up. I hoped he wouldn't kiss me. I was still in pain from leaving Ryan and too weak to fight off the temptation of Boy again. "I've started seeing someone," he told me and I relaxed. "I'm not really that into her but she's in law school with me and unfortunately once you sleep with one girl in class, the others all consider you off limit. Since I don't have time to meet anyone outside of class I suppose she'll have to do. I mean, she's cool enough..." What a lucky girl, I thought to myself, knowing Boy all too well to see this situation as one with a happy ending.

Three years later when I came across their beautiful wedding photo on a photographers site, I nearly became ill. I wrote to J frantic. Why was it that I was ok with the reality that I would probably never see Ry again and yet the mere idea that Boy and I would never again find ourselves naked between my sheets had me feverish? I had not even spoken to him in two years.

"You two were always all sex and philosophy," J replied. "That kind of strange chemical thing doesn't happen often."

I still have his number on my phone but I never contacted him. Instead I took J's words and created a blog. Then I quit my job in search of a new philosophy... and hopefully some sex while I'm at it.

Mama the angels

On a plain morning...

If you were to ask me right now why I left my publishing job, I could give you an array of answers in no specific order:
-I want to go to graduate school
-I plan to travel the world a bit
-I need to concentrate on my writing
-I am in search of my life passion

None of these would be lies per se, in fact I really do have the interest in doing all of the above. However, so far my actual actions have consisted of the following:
-Picking up waitressing shifts
-Playing grown-up as potential "vice president" of a friend's film company
-Pretending to manage a music career

All in all, the reality factor in my decision making precess is hardly relevent thus far.

And here I am, trying to write while my coffee gets cold and my mind flips over to art classes I may or may not want to take, a puppy I could possibly buy and a home office I think is necessary to create before any of the factors in the first list can actually happen.

But at least I get to stay below 14th St.

A song by any other name would not be mine

I love when songs use my name... There are really not enough of them. If you know others, please let me know! So far i have this one by Marc Broussard, there's one by Jewel and my favorite Sweet Emily by Leon Russell.

Now if only I could find a song entitled Emily Rae as right now the only songs directly about me personally are: She's a Senior and I'm a Freshman (So it Can Never Happen Again) and some song about me at a concert in a yellow tank-top when i was 16 which i cannot recall the name of... I love being a musical muse :) Bring them on musician friends!!!

Drunken ramble

Written circa summer 2003 (while drunk)

Video games at Gregor's
fucking drunk as fuck... and fuck is drunk
feels like the high school I never lived
but always wanted
The high school seen in movies
sitting at the cool guys house
getting pissed
while your boyfriend stares at the screen
in a trance of virtual technology
and all you can think about is ripping off
his clothing
-which would never have happened
in my high school memories
since i never had sex
or a real boyfriend-
Three years has made a world of difference
in my life
as I sit here in this flat
on the other side of the Atlantic
watching the only boy
I've ever loved
and feel like I'm in
the high school life
I never lived
but always wanted
deep down
If only I was still sixteen
I could be happy with this existence
but unfortunately I've aged
and must grow up
beyond sitting in this room
getting pissed
while he plays video games...
like still in high school