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.

i remember what it's like

national eating disorders awareness week is coming up.

this post is for all of my friends that still struggle.

the thing is that even though you might think I don't understand, I remember what it's like. I remember what it's like to see my reflection in the mirror and cry because my thighs look monstrous and my face too round. I remember what it's like to not take a single note in class because I'm too busy calculating calories on the margins of my notebook. I remember what it's like to see the numbers drop on the scale, and I remember what it's like to feel paralyzing panic when my weight has gone up or even stayed the same. I remember what it's like to write in my journal that my only new year's resolution is to weigh x pounds, as if that is so important. I remember what it's like to be made fun of in class (by the teacher, no less) because my brain is so starved that I just can't force myself to stay present. I remember what it's like to faint in the gym locker room after running for an hour on no fuel, and I remember what it's like to lie and say that I have bad cramps to the lady that asks me if I'm okay. I remember what it's like to weigh myself over twenty times a day, everyday. I remember what it's like to become an expert liar so that my eating disorder won't be exposed. I remember what it's like thinking that my therapist is stupid. I remember what it's like losing all my friends because an eating disorder turns you into a nasty, mean hollow shell of a person. I remember what it's like crying in my college counselor's office during my lunch period. I remember what it's like flushing my dinner down the toilet. I remember what it's like to cry myself to sleep. I remember what it's like feeling triggered by everything around me. I remember what it's like to bang my head repeatedly against the wall because I can't stand the thought of myself.

I remember mentally glamorizing the time when I was sick.

I remember what it's like to relapse.

I remember what it's like when your boyfriend tells you he can't stay with someone that would do this to herself over and over and over again, that it's not fair to him. I remember thinking he is an asshole for saying that.

but now I understand.

After so much grueling work I got better and got every single piece of my life back. I laugh a lot and love good food and sometimes I rush home from class because I suddenly got an idea for one of my stories and I need to write it down before I forget. I've fallen in love with running and for the first time it doesn't feel like punishment. I go out with my friends and we meet creepers at the bar and it is so hilarious that we just can't take it. My dog makes me laugh so hard. My sister is my best friend and I love my dad more than anything. And I can love my boyfriend because now I am sometimes capable of loving myself.

can't you understand that for those reasons recovery is so worth it?

i refuse to call it "arm party"

{my hand circa summer 2010. It was a very young hand back then. Not even legal to drink!}

so I call it the bracelet arm. And I'm thinking it needs to come back.

time to hit up Etsy, since obviously I can't just drive to Israel or Turkey or Greece (unfortunately).

usually the bracelet arm makes an appearance in the summer but I guess I am feeling it early this year.

also, in case there is any doubt about my commitment to evil eyes/hamsas, I currently have on my body:
a hamsa tattoo. It has an evil eye in the middle.
an evil eye bracelet.
a hamsa bracelet.
an evil eye piercing on my cartilage.
a hamsa charm on my necklace.
an evil eye charm on my necklace.

I have a problem. What's worse is that I usually have more on me than that. I'm slacking.

also, this is going to sound totally hipster of me but I've worn these things since I practically came out of the womb. And it really aggravates me that all of a sudden they're trendy. Ugh. #firstworldproblems

I'm going to crawl back into my hole and shut up now.

papi's got jokes

Papi: {in Spanish} hi! {in Hebrew} how are you?
Me: {in Spanish} jaja {in Hebrew using English/Spanish letters} good {in Spanish} and you?
Papi: {in Hebrew} good
Me: {in Spanish} haha what, is it time for Hebrew classes or what?
Papi: {in Spanish} no, I'm just playing {in emoji} turtle

see, EVEN PAPI KNOWS HE IS A TURTLE.

monthly goals; february.

let me open this post with my three thoughts about the Super Bowl:

one: Beyonce is awesome (duh).
two: that Bar Refaeli commercial? Yeah, yeah. I know. Nasty (especially the unedited version, although that kid sure had the time of his life, didn't he?). But what about the evil eye bracelet she is wearing? Anyone know where it is from? I am in love and I need it like now now now.
three: football is a very stupid sport. The end, sorry.

anyway. So. It's February 5th already, which is crazy and sad. But it also means I have to take a look back at my goals for last month (I mean, I don't have to have to, but I guess I want to).

{1} write for my novel every day -- check.

{2} read! For pleasure. -- check.

{3} worry less. -- check.

{4} improve my running speed. -- check.

I'm just the bee's knees, am I not? Kidding.

but seriously, this year is up to a pretty fabulous start. 

so what do I have in mind for February (which, by the way, gets so much hate, which I find totally unfair because February is my birthday month)?

{1} keep writing my novel. Every day.

{2} stop pulling out my hair (I am a self-diagnosed trichotillomaniac. Is that a real term?). Which I don't expect to really be able to do, but you know.

{3} go on five runs a week.

anddd...that's it? I guess I'm not really setting the bar high this month. Whatever, I'm a second semester college senior.

in other news, Homeland is the best show on television and can it come back on like now please?

in which i eat sh*t

have you ever been to Syracuse, New York? No? Well, there's snow. Lots of it. Like 80 percent of the year.

and have you ever met me? I am extremely accident prone. It's actually really pathetic.

all that this to say that, those two factors make for a very catastrophic formula. If you know what I mean.

anyway, in honor of winter, I present to you Debbie's top five eating sh*t moments, the Syracuse edition.

{5} picture this: my first ever college party (okay, maybe my second), freshman year. The drama kids hosted said party. I tried to impress one such drama kid by kicking my leg up high in the air. I suppose I was overexcited, since what ended up happening was I slipped and felt right on my butt.

in retrospect, I have no clue why I felt the need to show off to this boy. First of all, he was gay. And second, I had a crush on someone else, anyway.

{4} just this morning, I stupidly chose to wear Ugg boots to take Simba out to potty, instead of real snow boots that, you know, have traction. Before I knew it, I slipped and flew down the few steps that lead to our front porch, Simba in hand and all.

now I have a real hot battle wound -- I mean, bruise -- down the side of my right leg to prove it.

{3} that one time in 2011 when I tried to hang up my elephant tapestry. Like a professional idiot, I placed a stool on top of my desk; then I proceeded to stand on it.

according to the stool, it was good to hold up to 300 pounds.

I am not 300 pounds.

still, it snapped in half. I flew in the air, completed a series of summersaults and flips, and landed with my head this close to the mirror. I was able to escape those seven years of bad luck by a hair.

{2} sophomore year, when I face planted in the middle of a busy street. In my defense, I was wearing heels. And also in my defense, it was too dark to see that I was about to miss the curb.

you can still ask my friend Julie about this incident. This is what she'll say: "Debbie falls so cute!"

every time. She says that every single time.

thanks to this particular fall, I ruined a Swarovski ring.

{1} I have saved the best for last: the infamous time I broke my butt.

again, I wore Uggs (this is God's way of telling me that no one should ever ever wear Uggs). Again, I fell down a flight of stairs (actually, three flights of stairs, but who's counting?).

but here's my favorite part: this did not happen outside in the snow, but inside, at the biggest university gym. The stairs were wet. And I slipped, as if someone had dropped an entire palm tree's worth of banana peels.

so, just like that, I broke my tailbone.

let me just tell you, it wasn't great.

through thick and thin

Simba supports Syracuse University basketball. Even when we lose. Like today.

that's a true fan right there.

books on books on books

three-and-a-half years ago, after I first started college, I kind of sort of maybe abandoned my love for reading...probably because I was so busy making new friends, settling into classes, having a social life, and meeting a new boyfriend to remember that such a thing exists as books of the non-textbook variety.  Which is a shame, because I've always been an avid reader (I mean, not always, always, but certainly since the third grade, when Ms. Currie introduced my class to the wonderful world of Harry Potter...now, James and the Giant Peach I wasn't such a huge fan of).

anyway, they say that the way to become is a better writer is by reading, which is so absolutely true, of course. So, this January, I made it a goal to read for pleasure, like I used to all the time.

so far I've read:

Room by Emma Donoghue
What Happens In London by Julia Quinn
The First Counsel by Brad Meltzer
One Day In The Life Of Ivan Denisovich by Alexander Solzhenitsyn
Agent 6 by Tom Rob Smith
Child 44 by Tom Rob Smith

currently reading:

The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

and next, I plan on reading:

The Secret Speech by Tom Rob Smith

{in case anyone is wondering, I am aware that I have been reading the Child 44 trilogy completely in the wrong order...the correct order is: Child 44, The Secret Speech, and Agent 6...but, I picked up Agent 6 at the airport, so that's where I started. In any case, it's a great series of books, especially if you're into thrillers, and especially if you're into all things Soviet Union, which I am. Child 44 is now probably one of my favorite novels}

the point of this post is not to say I am a nerd that reads a lot (or a nerd that reads fast, which I tend to do). But mostly, to say this: ever since I've made reading for pleasure a priority again, I've noticed that my life has improved in the following areas:

{1} I fill my mind with words rather than mindless television that really is just junk food for my brain, i.e. the Kardashians, the Bachelor, Teen Mom, etc.

{2} actually, the only show I really watch now is Pretty Little Liars, but that's okay because I like to fool myself into thinking that it makes me think, or something.

{3} I don't spend as much time being useless online.

{4} it's easier to fall asleep at night if I've been reading, than, say, if I've been on my laptop or watching television.

{5} I think maybe I am a little bit of a better writer, especially where fiction is concerned.

so! The moral of this story is: read! And also, what books should I read next? Danke!

this is how i feel about life today:

via 

what with the weather today and having the flu and owning a puppy that refuses to pee in the snow for the love of God...I've officially decided that I want to move to Aruba. 

{hey Syracuse, you're making it really hard to believe in global warming today...jokes.}

hope it's somewhat warmer wherever you are! 

i am sick of being sick

like everyone and their mother, I am sick. I feel terrible, and on top of it, now I am really antsy too, having been cooped up at home for several days (ugh, I miss running!). So, to avoid sinking into a deep depression, the following is a list of reasons why life doesn't totally suck at the moment:

{1} I just recently reorganized my room at school, and I pretty much love it now. I suppose I'll share pictures when it's totally done.

{2} I've been reunited with Simba.

{3} I am about halfway done with my rough draft for my novel, and I am very excited about it.

{4} I have a pretty sweet schedule this semester: class on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays; work on Tuesdays. Every other day and time is mine to do as I please. Second semester senior year, #YOLO (I hate when people say #YOLO. Gross).

{5} I've been reading the Child 44 trilogy by Tom Rob Smith and it has blown my mind (and it's about Russia, duh).

{6} I am taking a fiction writing workshop! After nearly four years of taking nonfiction writing classes, this is, like, really exciting.

{7} I had a dream last night that I think was supposed to be, like, the next episode of Pretty Little Liars. It was pretty cool, actually. Spencer was on the "A" team (there's something sketchy about her, I swear) with Mona and Toby, and Alison was not dead, she'd just been kidnapped along with two African American twins. WEIRD. I guess I should be embarrassed that I have dreams about a teenybopper series, but you know, whatever.

{8} yesterday I realized that I have not cried in 2013. Which is a big deal, since I'm a huge baby. Yay me.

{9} snow is pretty.

{10} it's almost my birthday and I'm getting really excited about it.

mother russia

so.

21 years after my parents hired a former Soviet nanny (she was Ukrainian, I believe?) to take care of baby me, 15-or-so years after I loved The Fiddler on the Roof (I was an odd child with odd interests, okay?), 12 years after I became strangely obsessed with Russian gymnasts, 5 years after my first trip to Eastern Europe, one year after I discovered the wonder that is vodka (okay, one year, MY ASS, but I am not about to admit to underage drinking on a public blog), and countless years after I started begging my dad to take me to Russia...it seems that I am finally going this summer!

I don't want to jinx anything, but...ahh! I am so excited. And lucky. But mostly, excited.

you see, there are two nationalities of people that I have absolutely nothing to do with, ethnically or culturally, that totally fascinate me. These are: {1} Greeks, and {2} Russians. I've been to Greece a thousand times (okay, five) because I have the best father in the world who really values travel and loves the Greeks too, but I've never been to Russia. But I love Russians! Particularly the Russian prostitutes that walk the street corners in Tel Aviv (no, I am not trying to be an asshole that stereotypes people, and I am well aware that prostitutes in Israel -- and elsewhere -- are of course not exclusively Russian, and I think sex trafficking is a nasty nasty thing...I am just saying that my sister and I may or may not have saved a Russian hooker's business card we found the second to last time we went to Israel. And on a completely unrelated note, isn't it hilarious that prostitution is legal in the "holy" land?).

anyway, the point of this post is: I am finally going to Russia! And everyone knows I love Russia and will someday adopt a Russian child (or not...), so this is the greatest thing ever.

oh, and if a redneck happens to stumble across my blog, I just want to make it extra clear that: {1} I promise I am not a Communist (in fact Cuba is the most depressing place I have ever been to), {2} I also promise I am not a Russian spy, although that would be cool, and {3} (this one is mostly for non-rednecks but rather for people informed about the world) although I usually don't quite care about politics, I think most of Russia's internal and foreign political affairs are absolutely atrocious (i.e. human rights abuses, inequality, no freedom of press, invading Georgia even though I don't really remember what that was about, etc.).

p.s. the other day I learned that during World War II, many Soviet POWs were sent to labor camps in Siberia upon their return to the USSR, because according to Soviet law, one was supposed to fight to the death and never surrender. So, basically, Stalin considered Soviet POWs traitors and accused them of collaborating with the Nazis, which is like the most depressing thing I've ever heard. Those poor people were screwed either way.

sometimes the world really sucks.

also, I am a nerd.

memories

it's always a little hard being home. You probably already know that I didn't have the best childhood (teenage-hood?). It wasn't all bad, of course. Some things were lovely. But some experiences, well, I am amazed every single day that I managed to get past them.

it's been easier since we moved out of our old house. I think my mother lives there now. I have no idea; I haven't talked to her in a year and a half. But that house had bad vibes.

there's the beach, of course. Which is really unparalleled. And seeing Justin Bobby again (although he reminds me of just how much I miss Simba, which breaks my heart a little bit. Eleven days til I see him again).

I don't have very many friends left here. My last year of high school wasn't the best. And in any case, I went to an international school, so most of my friends do not live here anymore, anyway.

I've been writing a lot, which is good. I found a novel I wrote when I was 12 -- I've been looking for it for years. I read the first few chapters. It wasn't that bad for a 12-year-old, actually. Maybe that means someday I'll be a decent writer.

I've also been reading a lot. Other people's books, I mean.

today I decided to create a bulletin board of happy memories. Which was a nice process, but it was really exhausting, too. Because in order to find the good stuff, I had to scroll through the ugly messes too, and it made me a little sad. If I'm being honest.

I asked my dad over dinner if he stole all the albums from when we were little, or if my mother simply didn't want them. She didn't want them. The only album she wanted, according to her lawyer, was the one of her childhood. Not ours. That made me sad, even though I don't really think much about her anymore.

when I was around three years old, my dad's company sent its employees on a cruise ship from Israel to Turkey and Rhodes, Greece. My sister didn't go, because she was basically still a newborn. So I was looking at those albums. And me and my mom -- well, I don't know, she looks so happy. She has this spark that she lost in later photographs. And it really makes me wonder.

I know my father is not exactly an unbiased source, but he's the only one I have. I don't really remember being three. So I asked him, was she happy with me then? Did she love me?

he said she was already overwhelmed. Very quickly she realized being a mother didn't suit her. He said I'd knock on his door at night, at ages two and three, asking him to read me a book, please, because Mom fell asleep before she even started.

I guess there's no point to this post, except that, I don't know, memories are hard for me sometimes. Photos make me wonder: did I do something to make her dislike me along the way? How come she seemed that much happier with me when I was three years old?

"because you were like a little doll that she could play with. She could still control you, make you the way she wanted."

I hope my dad is right, because otherwise, how is it possible that I messed up so badly that almost two years ago, I ended up losing my mother completely?

monthly goals; january.

is it odd to have monthly goals in January? It just seems too similar to New Year's resolutions, but whatever. I like having monthly goals. I guess I'm a goal-oriented person.

this is how I did with my December goals:

{1} write fiction. I have a new novel forming itself in my head (actually, I have three, but this one seems almost imperative that I write now), and although I am not quite sure how I feel about juggling two novels at once, I think I'm going to give it a shot. -- yes, yes! I'm actually so proud of myself. I have 21 pages down of the initial draft for my new manuscript so far, and each day I get more and more excited about it. It's hard work, but still. Writing is what I want to do with my life.

{2} do something each day to relax. Even if it's a little thing, like read a book for pleasure, or indulge in a glass of red wine. -- I did pretty good! I'm not sure if I did something every single day (I mean, I wasn't keeping track), but yeah. I'd say I was successful. 

{3} get through the semester. Just get through it. -- obviously, I did. So glad.

{4} reach out to my friends when I am hurting more. I have so much trouble with this. -- ehh.

{5} stay active. Staying active makes me feel great, whether it be yoga, running, or skiing. -- yep! 

{6} advocate for peace. In little ways, maybe, but in any way that I can. -- in little ways, yes, I suppose.

and on to January: 

{1} write for my novel every day, even if it's just editing pieces here and there. I've been on a 1000-words-a-day roll lately, but I know that's not entirely realistic for, say, when I go back to school. 

{2} read! For pleasure. 

{3} worry less. 

{4} improve my running speed.

2013

hey, happy new year! Hopefully it's a good one for all of us, filled with lots of love and health and everything good!