You Know That I Could

Denver wedding. November 2011.

Notes to self: Stay aligned every single minute. Don't be overwhelmed. The sun will rise. You'll move. Nobody has to know, not even you. You'll move.

Painted faces fill the places I can't reach.

Always Stay Fresh

There is a sub-club in my sketch comedy team. We call ourselves ASF, which means Always Stay Fresh, but as you get deeper into the club, perhaps things aren't always what they seem.

Kale, Sid, and I went for vegan milkshakes last week, and we decided to form an ethical eating club. All are welcome as long as participants are open to changing their diets. Tonight's meeting was held in my hot tub. We passed around coconut milk ice cream and peanut butter Newman O's. Om nom nom. We had one guest--Curly--who chatted with us about ethical eating and who has promised to be meat-free for one week.

It was a great night. I can't believe it's January and I prance around my pool in my pink lemonade two piece. We discussed many things, but one of my very favorite things discussed was how absolutely weird my body is. Like how I can function wonderfully on three hours of sleep, or how I could eat the whole pack of Newman O's in one go. Sid said, "Out of everyone I know, I'd be least surprised to find out you weren't a human. Like, if scientists did tests and found you had an ice cream heart, I wouldn't be surprised."


Sid with a vegan cookie from a sketchy vegan cafe in Phoenix. Last week.

Charlotte's Muffins!

MUFFINS!

Throughout last September and October I decided to embark on an experimental taste testing challenge in which I consumed as many pumpkin products as possible and ranked them. The study was highly effective and delicious. My findings were published on The Bygone Bureau: A Journal of Modern Thought.

The story is here:
http://bygonebureau.com/2011/11/09/it’s-the-great-pumpkin

A baker named Charlotte found said article and wrote me explaining she makes delicious muffins, and would I please review them? Uh, will I eat and talk about muffins? You bet I will.

Charlotte sent me two frozen berry banana muffins. All I had to do was pop them in the oven (or toaster oven) for a couple minutes, and presto, they were warm, soft, and speckled with gooey fruit pieces. The muffins we delicious--sweet, but not too sweet. Definitely breakfast material. They were compact, chewy, and not crumbly at all! Taste: fab--real blueberries, cranberries, and banana. Yum.

And here is THE BEST PART, well, now, the best part is they were so tasty, but the OTHER best part is that they were fat and sugar free. Wow--you really couldn't tell because thy were so naturally wonderful. But, truth, the ingredients were just the three fruits, Splenda, whole wheat flour, and egg whites. Boom goes the dynamite, y'all.

So, Charlotte's Muffins! Want a new breakfast item? Want to surprise your Val's Day sweetie with a treat? Like healthy chomps?You can order them by e-mailing Charlotte herself at charlottetomic2@gmail.com!



Bon appétit!

E.L.A.I.C.

Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close began with a blue New York sky. I felt as though I were wearing a necklace, maybe a golden timepiece, and the screen had scooped it up and was tugging it slowly--comforting on the edge of a choke.

I felt moved up and out from the first moments because I experienced the whole book again and then the experiences with the experiences and the experience of today with the experiences.

A boy from Alabama played Oskar Schell in his Dramatic Interpretation piece in my speech national final round in 2006. I met him while I was looking for my skirt which had fallen out of my bag.

Two months later my friend Claw told me to visit her at work the day before I left for college. I drove to the pizza place and found her extremely high. She left her post, went to her car, and emerged with her copy--incredibly marked up. She said I'd need it and told me I looked like I was going to a tea party. I looked to my right today. Henne was next to me, high school.

I kept the book on my dresser throughout my entire first term of college and read it over winter break. I read pieces of it to Vince in my St. Louis bedroom after Thanksgiving, I kept it in the back room at the ice cream store, and I sat on a tub of strawberries reading it.

A year later I bought a second copy for Kay, and we both read it in our first December together. The weeks leading up to my visit to his home when he was still back in Illinois at swim camp and I was nannying my baby cousin in San Diego. Kay and I brought our copies to the dunes of Monterey and could not speak. We stayed silent for hours watching the waves and climbing the sand. Now, I haven't spoken to him in a year. I can't remember what kind of hair he had. This bothers me. How did he look? We read what he called "the red hand book" together and now I don't remember if he hair was long enough to be curly last we spoke. I know he smelled faintly like burnt muffins from working at the bakery.

I'm sitting in the theatre though. Oh, I love this story. And while the movie encapsulates about 8% of the novel's goodness, I cry several times.

Henne sits across from me at the sweets shop. He takes his stubs out of his pockets and rips them in halves. I ask why. He says I probably keep everything, which is slightly true--at least until I decide if its worth scrapbooking. He asks if this night is worth remembering. And maybe that's it--I think everything is worth remembering.

I will always remember seeing my favorite book as a film with my high school friend and Hill and Hill's boyfriend and his roommate because we were a microscopic community and everything pieced together for me to feel this way and be this way and live this way. And it doesn't make any sense but that's why it does.

Muff Stuff

Muff and I exchange weekly e-mails to stay connected and updated with each other. This is a line from this week's MuffDate (Muff Update):

"____ makes a smoothie for me. I am happy to use the last of the Stonyfield yogurt before it goes bad. We both head to work at about 3:30."

For some reason this floored me.

1. We always remember when we wreck stuff--like let yogurt go bad, but rarely do we celebrate our responsibility to do what we mean to. I don't think we need constant parades for, like, doing our laundry or anything, but, mini mental streamers for finishing food before expiration, remembering to pack that extra pair of socks for the gym.
2. Not only did Muff have the gratitude to consider the yogurt at the time, when thinking about her week in full, it stuck out to her as something worth telling me. Maybe this seems boring, but, how could it be? It's a detail that takes two seconds to read, and it colored her life, and it made me remember to be happy!

Love that girl.
News: I bought plane tickets to visit her and Jamba for Spring Break.
More News: I got literally three hours of sleep last night. Still going strong somehow--even after a full day of HENNE and PERFORMANCE ART and...sub-par calzones.


LC, Muff, Me. May 2011.

Breaking News: Just got an e-mail update about the best and worst part of my sister's day--"Worst: I shamed our family. I only ate three cookies."

With a Bow in Her Hair

But not for long. I love the feeling of irresponsibility in stride. Staying up far too late and knowing there will be hell to pay...but not that much hell. Just work in the AM, just the possibility of being tired in the PM. That's all. That's all.

I love you.


Improv Troupe pre-LA show. November 2011. Minus Sid.

Spike Lee on January 25th

Tonight I had the opportunity to hear Spike Lee talk at my school. He speech was nothing too new--but it was good stuff. His main messages:

1. It's not cool to be ignorant. I'm talking to you black guys who think you're so tough. Parent your children and go to school.
2. I got where I am today with a lot of support from certain family members. Among those were not my parents who wanted me to get a real job, but, thats parent's job--to help you get stable. Luckily, there are great teachers and grandmas who will encourage you to live your dreams.
3. You need to do what you want to do. Theres no worse existence than hating your job. "I don't drag myself out of bed, I fly out of bed like I was shot from a cannon."

Then, there was Q & A, which was mostly unproductive, but, what can you do?

My Favorite Thing:

A upper middle-age man got up to ask a question and before he could even get a sentence out, Spike was like, "Whoa you could do voiceovers!" Everyone laughed, because the man did have a very distinct, listenable voice. Then, Spike guided him through a trailer, asking the man to repeat after him things like, "Coming this summer to a theatre near you." The man totally played along, and everyone in the entire thousand person auditorium ate it UP. Then, he asked his question, which was about the theme of "Wake up" in Spike's films. This man was oozing happiness. Spike Lee just made him famous among strangers for five minutes.

My Least Favorite Thing:

A child got on a mic and asked, "You're an actor and a director...how do you do that? What do you need?" Spike answered, "Well, you need cameras, and people, and you have to do a lot--how old are you?"
"Nine."
"Well, you're starting at the right time."
Everyone applauded. Um. Okay. He's nine, not mentally challenged. That's a really dumb question for a nine-year old to ask actually. Think about yourself in 4th grade. Did you know you needed a camera for movies? Right. Little attention monger. Why do we clap for children being incredibly average. If the kid had explained a docu-drama he was making, yeah, I would have clapped. But for being alive and holding a microphone? No.

Awesome Thing:

Michelle and Barack's first date? Do the Right Thing.

Ode to University Avenue

Sunset on Friday.

Here's to the upscale pizza joint,
that seems to be baking fresh garlic bread every moment
I am pedaling by
hungry.
Here's to the morning coffee-goers
outside Starbucks, the ballooning mocha-skinned women,
the suits.
Here's to the mailbox next to bumper stickers,
the brick sidewalk that plinks,
as if ready to pop up
any one of these days.
Here's to the lil sammich shop full of potheads
and the fatheads outside the convenience store,
the orange-painted apartments on my left before I make the final turn
home, the stretch of bike lane on my right that inexplicably gleams
with broken bottle shards
every single day.
Here's to the blocky Chinese place,
the tiny stucco house with graphiti on its western wall,
the cacti yard behind a chainlink fence.
Here's the the palm skins on the sidewalk
and the wind that feels good in January,
and the squeak of my wheels,
and the bright blue bus stop bench,
and most of all,
"Reign of Love" playing in my ears.
To the sea I offer this heavy load.
This is living.

Fatty!

Friday night Oreo Cookie Pie with vanilla ice cream. Yup, just like it sounds. Fill a pie tin with chocolate chip cookie dough, layer with double stuff oreos, add more cookie dough to the top. Bake for 25 minutes. Scoop vanilla ice cream on top. Chomp it. Wake up at 4:55 AM body buzzing with sugar.

Love Just Leaves You Bruised

There is a bruise on my left shin.
A young boy ran backwards into my bicycle on the sidewalk across from the basketball court of the local park.
I had stopped to take a photo of the ice cream truck--
THE ICE CREAM TRUCK in JANUARY, FOLKS--
when SMASH, the boy rammed into me, my pedal rammed into my shin.
"Hey," I said like an authority figure.

I had seen the boy at the ice cream truck while I was getting out my phone. Two girls--age estimation 11/12--walked by the kid. One had long dark hair and was pretzel rod thin. The other girl was pretty chubby for her age. Glasses. Wearing a white spaghetti strap tank. She motioned up and down her pudgy body to the boy, "Watch out! 'Cos I'll beat you up." As far as I could tell, he hadn't done anything to provoke this girl. Maybe in school, but she almost seemed playful. The boy laughed, and she started walking menacingly back toward him. She got high off his retreat and she raised her fist at him. "I'll kick you," she said. "Take it like a man!"

Thoughts:
"Should I say something? Should I just break it up? I don't think there's real danger here, and I don't want to embarrass this girl who does't realize how unlovable she's making herself. I'd like to explain to her how polarizing and negative comments about a young boy's ability to 'take it like a man' are, but will she understand that? Will they just call ME names?"

WHAM. Boy hits bike. The girls walk on.

I take my photo, stand still for a moment, consider getting a pink panther pop, don't, bike slowly on. As I near the girls, I think about a brief word I might share with them: "Hey, girls, it's never funny or cute to be violent--even pretend violent." Or, "Why did you do that?" Or, "Respect boys. You want them to respect you." But just as I get behind them and open my mouth, the troublemaker turns around, and very hastily says, "Really sorry about that."

"It's okay," I say.

"...He just wasn't watching where he was going," she says.

"Mhmm," I say. And I continue on. She drops her shoulders a little--we both know she just tried to pin the blame for being so insecure turned rough, we both knew she needed to say sorry, we both knew "sorry" wouldn't make this bruise vanish.

All the Greeks to Me

George in Chicago. December 2009.

My days here are almost always very full. Today, for example, was a typical day. I woke up early, biked to school, hit the gym, went to Theory class, TA'd for Screenwriting, went to work, biked home, did laundry, made dinner, called my sister, went to a surprise party.

But when I sit here, looking at this big white box, I don't think I have anything of value to share today. And that's so weird, isn't it? I can be awake for seventeen hours and maybe nothing new happened. New things like I ate a Luna bar I've had since my senior year of college or I got a chocolate cake from George in the mail today. Yes, new things like that, but nothing innovative and worthwhile. Isn't that strange? That so many days are interesting but also not? That so much happens, but it doesn't.

We're studying Plato in Theory and all Greek history seems like it happened in one day, but it was really hundreds of years. I lump Sophocles with Aristotle. That's like someone in the future imagining me and Ben Franklin bonding over froyo.

We were only one push from the edge.
There it is.

MLK

I live in an extremely beautiful place. Yesterday I walked downtown, then around the lake. I was gone for a couple hours and wasn't even thinking about it. It was perfect fall weather--sun hiding under thin grey clouds, a nip in the air, but avoided with a simple sweater. There was so much life on the main street--visitors in victory and white wick tees. Yesterday morning was the Phoenix marathon. People celebrated on the patio of the Mediterranean cafe, smiled with beers at the New Orleans-themed joint. A woman limped happily into the used book store. I was nostalgic for my victory day. I showered all the salt off my body in North Carolina. Nac and I laid in bed watching Mad Men and eating Ben and Jerry's from cartons. Everything was slow. A sunset on Shell Island is the desktop on this computer.

I made a big bowl of vodka pasta at 9 PM last night and ate it slowly while watching Hitchcock's Spellbound. Like a child, I recognized today would be a holiday, and I wanted to stay up past my bedtime. I examined my list of letters I needed to write, tuned in to The Mountain Goats, and got out my sharpees. I remembered Dr. King and some of the best things he said. I remembered my best friends and some of the best things they've said.

I am gonna make it through this year
if it kills me.

Give Me Money

Spent a large chunk of today working on scholarship applications. I hate scholarship applications so very much. It's just so hard to condense why you deserve thousands of dollars into two tiny pages. What could you say that makes someone want to give you so many moneys!?

I've written like five thou drafts. Here's my favorite opening that I will not be using:

"Sometimes you just get crushed with debilitating depression, right? Don’t you hate that? And, not to sound self-obsessed, but I think artists can really have a tough time with this, because when you’re already feeling like a sad-sack because of, oh, I don’t know, the fact that thousands of children are brought into sex trafficking daily or the truckloads of paper cups we throw into landfills everyday, someone comes along and asks, “MFA? What’s the point in getting an MFA?” YOU KNOW, STRANGER, I HADN’T CONSIDERED THAT MY DRAMATIC WRITING DEGREE MIGHT BE MEANINGLESS UNTIL YOU SAID IT JUST THEN. So, wow. Thank you. Cut to: me puffy-eyed, hacking away at revisions of my most recent play, scarfing down cookies, leaving a crumby, smudgey wake of stress eating in my bed. Soundtrack: Ani DiFranco’s saddest hits. Let the chocolate chips fall where they may. This type of occasional meltdown is unavoidable in my life, but it’s always temporary because getting my MFA is important, and I’ll tell you why."


Kath eating cookie dough in my bed. November 2011.

As much as I'll complain about these apps, they're a good exercise. In trying to convince others what you do is important, you remember that it is.

It's time to pass the hat,
and there's nothing you can do 'bout that.

Friday Night at The Bux

Just spent a really really long time at Starbucks. About five hours--which I think is the record for how long I've been in a Starbucks. I have a fond memory of studying at the Starbucks that was within walking distance of my house in St. Louis my junior year with Vince, Hunny, and Ty. I remember Ty walked in and Hunny and I both were like, whoa, Ty, you look really nice today. And Vince was like, "He's wearing jeans and a sweater. I'M wearing jeans and a sweater!" We examined and concluded, "Yeah, but Ty has a belt." Vince raised his sweater to show us a cloth belt with purple paint on it. Nice try, buddy. I think we were probably there for four hours max though.


Vince.

Here are some things I saw at the Starbucks that' on the corner of the two busiest streets in my college town:

1. Several people came in to just straight-up gank WiFi and chill. I would think a Starbucks in such a busy spot wouldn't allow this, but for some reason, it was cool. Noted.

2. A man and a woman in their 80s set up a card game at a table and kept talking about Gabby who was "supposed to have been here by now." They played a while, talked about how expensive everything was these days, and DANGIT WHERE IS GABBY? Some teenage boys walking by asked, "Are you guys playing Magic?" They were. Eventually, Gabby came. Gabby was a very overweight, disheveled early-thirties woman who toted a rolling suitcase.

3. Big homeless woman plopped in the easy chair next to me and gave a very impassioned persuasive (?) speech to "Rita" for about two hours. She was speaking loud enough that she distracted me from the revisions I needed to get done tonight, but not loud enough for me to hear a theme of her speech--just bits and pieces. Although, it's possible there was no theme. Rita was not there. This woman was definitely not wearing a bluetooth.

4. A bald Indian guy approached me to ask if I thought women were more like cats or dogs. His three friends sat at a table yonder giggling like mad. I said neither.

5. "Hey!" boomed a short man at the front of the store. We all looked up. "Who has change for a 20?" Sometimes, you forget, pretty much anyone at any time can decide to command attention in a building.

6. Dude comin' in tryin' to sell his mixtape to a bunch of uninterested people.

7. A woman meeting her friend's baby for the first time. Precious. Baby started screaming--the mom breastfed.

8. A cute older couple on a date eating a contra-ban ice cream sandwich with a shared coffee.

9. Several other people, like me, holed up with their computers workin' hard.


My drank tonight: Salted Caramel Soy Mocha.

ATTENTION: IF YOU'RE GETTING COFFEE AND YOU'RE DRINKING IN-STORE, ASK IF YOU CAN HAVE A MUG. BOO THROWING AWAY PAPER/PLASTIC CUPS!

Jew-Liet

Chelle, lacking sleep. Sketch rehearsal. November 2011.

In Theatre Theory class today someone brought up a local high school production of Romeo and Juliet he just saw. The director set the play in WWII Germany. Romeo was a Nazi. Juliet a Jew. This is true. A local high school did this. During the end scene a banner with a huge Star of David wrapped around a swastika unfurled. Wow, I mean, wow.

We talked about this for a moment and promptly agreed this director was batty froot loops crayfish. But, you know what? Good for her. Because in art I think it's better to go crayfish than shellfish, you know what I mean? It's like, yeah you could look completely ridiculous, but you could have created something genius, and, furthermore, yeah, I think that production sounds bananas, but think of the awesome story all those kids have to tell for the rest of their LIVES. Think of how infrequently a high school play makes it into a graduate theory discussion.

And when you dream, dream big.
As big as the ocean blue.

Existentialism via Book Sale

November 2011.

Any day could be! So, love, work, enjoy, rejoice.

Whenever, Wherever

CAKE. December 2011.

My friend Sid became a vegetarian a couple months ago. He was inspired by a pro-veggie sketch I wrote (best possible response to a sketch--not laughter or applause, no, converting someone into a veggie). Then, after thinking about the moral implications of the factory farm industry, he became a vegan. I really don't think this is a flash in the pan thing. He's pretty dang serious.

We were out at lunch with friends and said if I appreciate people ordering veggie in my presence, I should order vegan in his. I agreed and did. I've explained I am straddling the vegan fence. Over the past two years I have inched closer and closer, but I fear I'll never take the full plunge. Still, right now I'm doing pretty well. It's pretty rare I eat any straight up egg/dairy products. I even avoid garnishes of cheese when I can, but here's where I get stopped:

Dressing (containing eggs)
Baked goods (containing little eggs and milk)
Ice cream (this is, clearly, an obvious breech of veganism)

Anyway, I'm proud of my efforts, but I am grateful to Sid who pushes me further. He sends me vegan lectures, and I remember what I learn when I am tempted to get the yogurt Jamba Juice.

It occurs to me I could be annoyed. I could say, "Look. I've been doing this a lot longer than you. Three months ago you were eating beef in front of me and making fun of my diet. You don't have a right." But, when you're right, you're right. I don't care if you found the Truth fifty years ago or five seconds ago, you have the right to share the Good, the Truth to others.

Some Fictional Friends I'd Like to Have:

-Marco from Degrassi
-Randy from Scream
-The John Kracynski character from Something Borrowed
-Brooke Davis from One Tree Hill
-Troy and Abed from Community
-Kevin, Stargirl
-Mark, RENT
-George, The Drowsy Chaperone
-Bean, Ender's Game
-Mulan

This is, of course, a partial list.

Offer Up

Time is never time at all.
You can never ever leave without leaving a piece of youth.
And our lives are forever changed.
We will never be the same.
The more you change the less you feel.
Believe, believe in me, believe
that life can change, that you're not stuck in vain,
we're not the same, we're different tonight.
Tonight, so bright, tonight.
And you know you're never sure,
but you're sure you could be right
if you held yourself up to the light.
And the embers never fade in your city by the lake--
the place where you were born.
Believe, believe in me, believe
in the resolute urgency of now,
and if you believe, there's not a chance tonight.
Tonight, so bright, tonight.
We'll crucify the insincere tonight.
We'll make things right, we'll feel it all tonight.
We'll find a way to offer up the night tonight.
The indescribable moments of your life tonight.
The impossible is possible tonight.
Believe in me as I believe in you tonight.


STL High School Gang--together for NYE.

Names Not Changed to Protect the Innocent

Truth:

Remember the End

There's this concept in acting that actors are supposed to avoid at ALL COSTS called "endgaming," meaning thinking about the end of the scene or play before it happens. Acting is being in the moment--otherwise you're not playing a hopeful character who meets an unfortunate end, you're playing someone who seems to know her unfortunate end...and it will drag the whole show down.

I was told as an undergrad in acting classes that endgaming is best avoided in life as well. Like, just Be. Just enjoy what's around you. This is a popular societal concept for actors and non--the power of now and all that jazzercise.

But, sometimes, I think it's wise to remember the end.

Example: My dad was driving me to the airport a few days ago. We had left just enough time when, uh oh, as we pulled away from home the tire light went on. A leak! A pang of nervy shocked through me. We went to get air, and the car lurched over a curb. The tire just went flat, I thought. Mild panic. But, then I remembered the end. Catching flights always seems like a huge THING that has this power to ruin your life, but, actually, what would happen? I would just go to the airport the next day and catch another flight. Maybe pay a fee. I can deal with that. It'd really be okay. Then, I thought, "Yeah, but what if I had had class?" Then, I would have emailed the professor. It would have been okay. IT WILL BASICALLY ALWAYS BE OKAY. Just breathe, analyze why you're getting so bent out of shape, and recognize it will work out, be okay--maybe better.


Me and Pops on the Pacific. Last month.

Bright Lights

Lowsta. During finals week.


Lowsta making out with a Pinata backstage at a sketch show.

You Just Can't Show Me

Ultimately the only thing that can make you happy is a choice to be. I believe this. The world could be over. Or your world--you could be afraid to return to school, could be struck with two deaths in one transitory year, could keep getting bloody noses and accidentally muss up your white hankie permanently....but you can understand Good and shake it all off. You can shrug--no, MORE than shrug--you can lace up your sneakers and go jogging down the lake path. I believe this. But, I also believe sometimes it's very very hard.

Maybe it's just watching that episode of Boy Meets World where Cory gives Topanga his jean jacket and remembering first seeing it in your suburban Chicago bedroom, on your bed that you had to climb, and turning off the TV to run over the lines of your speech for the next morning's competition. High school speech is magic, but is it? Who really cares? You say it was so good for you, but who cares? What's actually Good anyway? I repeat: Who cares about any of it? And no matter how decadent the caramel salt latte, how cushy the employment benefits, how absolutely perfect the Arizona heat in January is--there's still unhappiness if you can't make THE choice. I believe this.

But that's why, although we are not entitled to it, we are sent angels in the form of a friendly stranger offering positivity about your writing, about Life. In the form of the poor depressed folk singer who, despite his forever unhappiness, has given me dozens of reasons to be happy--two being "Goodnight Rose" and "Desire," which remind me of walking through Kyoto at night, up the steps of the art school. I asked the noodle shop for a knife. My Japanese wasn't good enough. I ripped open the avocado with my fingernails.

And although we might not be deserving of these angels because we have been such horribly sad, dysfunctional little maggots, they come to us, and although they cannot make us happy, they can remind us to try.

You know me. You know my way.
You just can't show me, but, God, I'm praying.
That you'll find me, and that you'll see me,
and that you run and never tire.
Desire. Desire.

Five Nice Things 1/3/2012

1. Being able to go outside without a coat in January. Specifically--being able to going running in shorts and a t-shirt mid-day and feel quite comfortable.
2. Only paying $7 to see The Descendants with your friend Chelle because it is still matinee pricing.
3. Noticing a showing of Young Adult is starting right as you are leaving the Clooney flick. Double Feature--all for $7!
4. An MFA Taco party.
5. Giving yourself the morning off fretting and writing and wasting time by doing things like reading the Scream Wikipedia for, like, 40 minutes.

In My Arizona Bed Again, School Starts in Two Days--I'm Not Ready, My Flight Got in at 1 AM, I Miss My Family

Goodbye. Today.

Nobody said it was easy.
Oh, it's such a shame for us to part.
Nobody said it was easy.
No one ever said it would be so hard.
I'm going back to the start.

Resolutions 2012

New Year's High School Reunion in Chicago: Vince & GF, Hunny & BF, Mia.

Be healthier. Vague, but true. This means

1. Arranging my life so that it is RARE that I don't get enough sleep.
2. EATING FRUITS AND VEGETABLES. Not every other day. Every day.
3. A pint of ice cream is not dinner.
4. Or breakfast.
5. Not feeling guilty about what I just can't do.
6. Not feeling stressed about what I know I can do.
7. Enjoying everything.
8. Taking time to consume good art every day.*
9. Respecting the place I live (this means making my bed as well as considering the landfill the coffee cup will go in once I'm finished with it)
10. Taking more momentary breaks to be peaceful throughout my days.


Hunny and her hunny.


Nac. 11:55 PM December 31st, 2011.

*Listening to Something Corporate while I bike does not count!

Oh, in five years time, I might not know you.
In five years time, we might not speak.
In five years time, we might not get along.
In five years time, you might just prove me wrong.