2009

Ten days after the fact, but still: it's 2009. Weird how an entire decade (and the first of the new century) has almost gone by. Even weirder: I'm graduating college this year, I'm (hopefully) moving out of the country this year, and things will, perhaps, start to level out socially, romantically, and otherwise. I'm trying to remain optimistic. I've made attainable resolutions (learn how to cook more things, learn how to make mixed drinks, and go to the gym on a regular basis), and I've already watched and seen tons of films. I'm also in my warm house in Chicago, and even though my room is completely cluttered with junk, it's been nice to sleep in my cozy bed.

And that is that, I guess.

The Facts, Part Deux

I have really amazing friends.

It Comes in Waves...

I am fairly certain I'm going insane, but I can't really talk about why.

Fin.

The snow is falling down in chunks. I'm not kidding about this.

First semester just ended. I'm off to the city in a very short while, ready for a month of relaxation. I'm going to read some books. And watch TV. And vegetate for two weeks before going back to Chicago and getting to work on my grad school application.

Thank fuck for the holidays.

P.S. I'm pretty sure it's hailing. I remember in Dublin, there was a day when the sun would come out and then it would hail. And then the sun would come out again, and then it would hail. It went on and on like this until night fell. Then the weather wasn't much of anything.

The Facts

Tonight, I was upset, so I did the only thing I could think of doing, which was to drink. And usually I'd frown upon myself in retrospect, but when push came to shove, it allowed me to write 13.5 pages of fiction. And this after being dry for months on end, so I guess some positivity came out of negativity?

I'm worried this might become a habit, though.

Three Important Questions

1. Why is it raining in my room?

2. Why am I not asleep yet?

3. Why don't I live in Ireland anymore?

Tonight, on the train ride home from the city, I began crying. I miss Dublin incalculably.

Movie Time!

Fresh on the heels of Milk, here is a list of films I want to see this holiday season (and there are a lot). The following is in no particular order:

1. Revolutionary Road
2. The Reader
3. Synecdoche, New York
4. I've Loved You So Long
5. Frost/Nixon
6. Wendy & Lucy
7. The Wrestler
8. Doubt
9. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
10. The Tale of Despereaux (this one looks so cute!)
11. The Brothers Bloom
12. Waltz With Bashir

I will probably also see Australia at some stage, though I reckon I'll just wait 'til I'm back in Chicago for two weeks, and can see it for $6.25.

More On This Later

I saw Milk today, and it was, as I described, an "incredible, devastating, beautiful" film. And it fucking made me all emotional. By which I mean I cried my eyes out. Then I felt cathartic afterwards, so I guess it was worth it?

You Are Not Entitled To Good Mental Health

In 2.5 weeks, I will maybe, maybe stop feeling like such an epic failure. But that is 17 days away, so we'll see.

In other news: I'm going to go read a book now that has nothing to do with any of my classes, cos I am badass like that and sometimes neglect my responsibilities in order to keep myself sane.

In other, other news: read my mind. I bet you know what I'm thinking.

Addendum: I am not as much of an epic failure as my computer. It's been dying for a while, but it's certifiable now. I can only hope it makes it through to January. If it doesn't, I'm going to bust out the machete for real. Slice!

The Past Pushed Forward

I'm going to take a minute to talk about the fact that the other day, when I missed my train (literally) by a minute, I sat around with the latest copy of Interview in my lap and nearly burst with giddiness when I saw this. Max Steele, whose blog I've been reading since discovering it way back when, was an upstanding member of the best fiction writing workshop I've been a part of at Sarah Lawrence (and anywhere, really), hands down. He wrote good stories, and made solid comments, and really set the tone for what I considered "cool" to be (and maybe, to this day, still do). He never seemed pretentious, just always on the verge of doing his own thing, and if there's one thing I still remember clearly about my first year, it's being pulled up onstage to dance during his senior year performance art piece. He was always a lot of fun, and I'm sure still is, and even if you didn't know him, you still knew who he was cos he was "out there" and didn't give a fuck. Anyway, it makes a lot of sense that he'd wind up in Andy Warhol's cultural literary baby, and I'm happy for him. I hope he continues to do well and has a lot of fun in life.