things i like and things i don't like lately

I thought I'd just make myself clear once and for all.

so, here you go.

things I don't like: messy rooms (seriously boyfriend, stop it because messy rooms are the reason for gray hairs), cold weather (at least not in March okay), hangovers, shitty runs, ingrown fingernails (yes, FINGER nails...what is wrong with me? It's probably because I cut them too short but they gross me out otherwise...), being sick with the plague (or the flu or whatever...same thing), people that give me attitude for no reason, burning my tongue with my coffee, low-fat peanut butter (seriously what the heck is that crap boyfriend?), people that don't understand the concept of "me time," missing my puppy, my dad texting me pictures of sunny Israel when I'm freezing over here in Antarctica, not speaking Arabic in a room full of Egyptians (I know how to say "dog," does that count?), almost having a heart attack because I was stupid and turned in all my assignments for this class in the wrong place and therefore had a zero for the semester (it's fixed now thank God), Syracuse University basketball as of late especially when I decide to wear a Syracuse sweatshirt in UConn territory, being in serious need of a haircut because the ends of my hair look like an old broomstick right now, 50 Shades of Gray...

things I like: this store called Blue Moon because they sell pretty elephants and rings and evil eyes and hamsas, good writing days, good runs, Starbucks, cancer packets also known as Splenda (SORRY SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHY SPLENDA TASTES SO GOOD TO ME...help me quit...one time my dad told me I was going to grow a third leg or something), goat cheese, discovering that I can eat spinach so yay I can have salads (if you're new around these parts, it turns out that I'm allergic to lettuce which is the strangest thing ever), cute sweaters for more than 50 percent off, pedicures, massages, Long Island iced teas, my boyfriend's sister (and my boyfriend too I guess), my sister when she texts me back, St. Patrick's Day parades, reading a book in like two days, clean rooms, my new watch, naps...oh and Alyssa Arminio.

obviously I need to work on my life since my "things I don't like" list seems longer.

but in any case, that was really cathartic. You should do it too.

contrary to popular belief, i am alive, and why i quit fashion

I'm not sure why I haven't been blogging so much anymore.

I mean...I've been writing lots (but really, lots. Like, I can almost see my story in solid book form now and the thought is both terrifying and exhilarating. Of course I am not delusional enough to think it'll be that easy, but there's a tiny sliver of hope that someday it'll happen for me). I've been working more. I've been running more. I've been reading a ton (currently on a Sylvia Plath kick and I just can't get enough).

I haven't really been doing that much schoolwork because, well, this is my last semester and to be honest with you my schedule is kind of a huge joke. I did get positive feedback at my fiction workshop this week which was so encouraging. I'm starting to think sometimes that I don't really suck so bad.

um yeah. So tomorrow I go on my spring break which is incredibly exciting because Syracuse is so gray and sad sometimes.

***

I never thought I'd say this even a year ago, but I am so excited to move on with my life. I am so excited to start that next chapter. And here's the crazy part: I don't even want to know how it all turns out. In the past not knowing made me so anxious...

...but now I'm like, wow, I am so looking forward to finding out what's in store for me.

last year I never would've thought I'd be writing fiction again like I am now. I never would've thought I'd want more than anything to become a writer again. I never would've thought I'd be thinking of going to grad school and teaching creative writing in the future. Never.

I had this clear-cut plan inside my head and no matter how unhappy it made me I forced myself to stick to it. I thought: magazines. I thought: New York City. I thought: fashion.

that's what everyone thought I'd be so that's what I felt that I had to be.

here's the truth, friends -- why I decided that stuff wasn't for me: fashion magazines triggered my eating disorder. I now realize I was only ever drawn to fashion because in that world it's not only acceptable to be a bobble-head, but it's kind of the norm, too. So there. That's the truth.

I'm sorry but everyone knows that's a f*cked up industry.

for years I've been so sad. And, honestly, sick. So sick.

maybe I wasn't thin to the bone like I was once, but I wasn't any better. I was miserable. I was jittery and anxious and scared. I was never, ever, ever good enough.

holy crap I was such an empty shell of a person.

I went to my internships and to my classes and I thought: I need to lose weight I need to lose weight I need to lose weight. Or someone would make a comment and I would think to myself, f*ck, I'm so fat and so inadequate.

I remember my senior year of high school thinking that all I needed to do to find happiness was leave home. I mean, it worked for a while. Until the novelty of college wore off.

it's true what they say, guys. Your problems will follow you wherever you go. I wish I would've listened.

the only thing that's ever made me happy is writing (okay, and Simba and my friends and my dad and my sister and my boyfriend but you know what I mean). Like, at my job I get to write a lot and although it's not fiction, it's the best part about the work I do. Years ago I abandoned this crazy pursuit to become a novelist because I feared rejection and I feared not being good enough and I feared everything.

so I'm glad this year I was like, what the hell am I doing? I am a writer and I've been a writer ever since I was 12 and wrote my first novel, tragically titled "My Little Pigeon" (books with birds in them freak me out, so I'm not exactly sure what was wrong with me but just pretend I never said that, okay?). I can do this.

it may take forever but I know I can do this.

and you know what the best part is? I don't know how this all ends and that's perfectly fine with me.

I mean, life takes some interesting twists and turns, doesn't it? For all we know twenty years from now I'll be a world renowned biologist or something...(HAHA NO).

stream of consciousness, part i

I'm taking a break from writing fiction because I have a zit inside my ear (I swear to God) and it's making me cranky. So now I'm mad and uninspired.

{for those with less than 20/20 vision that says: that's high school me pretending to be happy but really I was just hungry}

anyway, I was just thinking. Four years ago today, I was underweight. I was sick physically and really, really, really sick emotionally. I couldn't wait to go off to college so that I could starve and overexercise in peace without having my parents on my case all the time. I was mean to my friends. My sister and I, once so close, grew miles and miles apart. I wanted to look ill because I thought maybe it would relieve the pain and hurt that I felt inside (I never claimed to be a logical thinker).

I made whole wheat brownies with Splenda for MY BIRTHDAY, Jesus Christ.

and then when I found out Splenda has like, 4 calories per packet, I almost had a heart attack. Remember Meg?

and honestly all I have to say to this is, thank God I met Mike.

obviously a boyfriend can't cure an eating disorder. Well. Duh. But as a person and a friend he's taught me to care more about my career and my family and laughing and everything other than the gap between my thighs (which, for the record, doesn't exist). So whatever happens with us in the future, I'll be glad I met him. I think people do come into your life for a reason.

I think I've also taught myself to care about these things, too.

I've come pretty far in the past few years. I wouldn't have thought I'd be here four years ago, but I am so glad I am.

is it all right to say that I'm kind of proud of myself and happy with the person I've become? Is that cocky to say?

stupid things people said to me this past weekend

my sister: "Happy happy birthday! 22! You can't shop at Forever 21 anymore."

my dad: "you're turning two ducks."
me: "what the hell are you talking about?"
my dad: "two ducks. Twos look like ducks. You're no longer a duck and a stick."
me: "there is nothing about twos that looks like a duck."
(this went on for several hours actually. Seriously, twos don't look like ducks. I'm not sure what this man is smoking exactly but when I find out I'll be sure to let you know)

me: "ugh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."
my dad: "and all of the heavenly court."

my friend, at a sushi restaurant (which my other friend calls "the conveyor belt sushi restaurant"): "I'd like a shrimp roll six please."
my boyfriend: "you're not supposed to say the six part..."

my friend: "Simba's my nephew. Did you know Simba's my nephew? He's a cat."
everyone: "Simba's not a cat."
my friend: "he is a cat!"
everyone: "you're so drunk."
my friend: "that's the funny part, you guys think I'm drunk but I'm actually not."

p.s. my right wrist is famous! Hopefully someday I manage to make my face famous too (it is my life goal to have a Wikipedia entry written about me, you know) but for now my wrist will do.

i had a good birthday

I used to hate birthdays because I had a family therapy session the day before I turned 18 and then my mom didn't talk to me on my birthday.

but then when I turned 20 my friend Alex threw me an awesome party and all was well in the world.

I'd say I had a pretty good birthday this year. I got to spend time with my boyfriend who is a cool guy in my opinion. In fact he even got me a hamsa necklace which he'd sworn he'd never do (he thinks my obsession with hamsas and evil eyes and such is borderline unhealthy, which is probably very true but what can you do?). My roommate Jess got me an elephant tapestry (elephants!) and cookie cake which was like my only wish for my birthday because if I had to choose a last meal on death row it would probably be cookie cake or oatmeal with peanut butter (yeah I know I know...what's wrong with me?). My dad came to visit me and bought me the most beautiful watch which I am forever grateful for. My friend Julie pretended to be a cat for a night and it was awesome. I got over my fear of posting an excerpt for my novel and my friend Maddy said it was good (!!!).

among other things...

so yeah, it was pretty good.

I'm a lucky girl, I'd say.

s.o.s.

so obviously my biggest flaw is that I am horribly insecure. Basically I think everything I do sucks. But really. I'm afraid people secretly hate me and that I am fat (apparently four-plus years post-eating disorder this is still an issue) and that I am not smart and that I am a bad mom to Simba and most of all I am so terrified that my writing sucks.

so terrified. The fear is paralyzing at times, which is embarrassing to admit.

especially when it comes to fiction because really no one has ever read my fiction that much. And I want to put it out there so that people will give me feedback but I am scared.

how do I get over this?

for the first time in my life I am hopelessly in love with the novel that I am writing right now but I can't force myself to show it to anyone because I'm worried it's actually terrible and I am crazy and not talented at all.

help.

thank you, zoe

here's a little story for you.

when I was little I wanted to be a writer. I mean at one point I wanted to be a gymnastics coach but I think that's just because I liked practicing with my sister and bossing her around. But anyway I wanted to be a writer. It all started with J.K. Rowling, really. I love that woman. I'm actually kind of sad I didn't come up with Harry Potter myself, but that's another story for another day.

so I wanted to be a writer and I wrote and I wrote and I wrote. I wrote all kinds of stories, set in all kinds of places, like Hogwarts because back then I didn't understand what copyright meant (I was young, sorry). I even finished one novel once when I was 12. I only ever showed my sister the stuff I wrote and she said she liked it but obviously I forced her to say that, so who really knows.

then some really bad stuff happened when I was 14 and I lost every last bit of confidence I had, which wasn't much in the first place. So I stopped writing.

in high school I stressed about the future way sooner than I should've. I didn't know what I could be now that I thought I'd never be good enough to be a writer. At one point I thought of studying psychology and becoming a therapist but then I realized I couldn't even deal with my own damn problems (and there were plenty, let me tell you) so really I had no time or patience for anyone else's (but that's not true because I think I'm a pretty decent listener).

then I joined the high school newspaper and decided I could be a journalist because I'd still be writing, which is my favorite thing to do ever ever ever, even though it was real stories, not stories I made up in my head. But it didn't matter because writing real stories was fine too. Also, I was deluded and thought being a journalist would be a more, you know, "stable" job than being a "novelist." Clearly I wasn't paying attention because the internet happened and now no one really cares about magazines and newspapers anymore. Oh and also the economy jumped off a bridge and all that. So getting a job as a journalist wouldn't be that easy or anything.

but whatever. I came to college and took my journalism classes and learned how to write better articles. Then this past summer I had an early quarter-life crisis (I say early because I'm not even a quarter of a century old yet) and it was just like, is this all I have to look forward to in my life?

and my dad whispered, "Novels. Your real passion was writing novels."

I was all like nah nah nah nah because nothing sounds scarier than trying to become a book writer, especially when you just don't think you're good enough (I always think my sister is so brave for following her dreams of becoming an artist or a yoga instructor or whatever she's up to these days. But then again she says she's a Jew-Buddhist so it's not like this is her last chance at life. So if she messes this one up real bad she'll have plenty of other incarnations to make up for it, right?).

but my dad kept insisting.

so I tried. And good God my stuff was so terrible. I got really discouraged.

but then Zoe said to me that just like anything I needed to get back into practice. Keep writing fiction. Keep trying.

and by some miracle I listened (I'm usually really stubborn, ask my boyfriend) and kept practicing even though I wrote some crap that almost made me cry, it was so bad. I even signed up for a fiction writing class this semester.

and I wrote and wrote and wrote every single day.

this week I even submitted a few short stories to writing contests. Which I won't win. Because unlike Alyssa I never win anything (obviously I secretly hate her). But hey.

anyway, I can sort of half get behind my writing now. I kind of like it, almost? I'm no Kurt Vonnegut, obviously. And I never will be.

but maybe there's something to following this crazy dream after all.

or at least I hope there is.