Dance the night away!

...and today I acted like a 30 year old suburbanite!

First off, my crafto-meter has been on HIGH lately, culminating with me buying a cheap visor from Tar-jay on an "errands outing" with K and R. I made myself a statement visor with a green sharpie. I was going to make myself a statement tee (I bought a bunch of tees from Hobby Lobby and lots of packages of iron-on letters with the intent of t-shirt making great phrases I've heard or invented lately) ever since my mom's colleague Gary (the guy behind the villa in Grimaud, France) told me he started making his own t-shirts to wear to his workouts with his personal trainer. I can't remember the sayings he put on them, but he made them up, and they were all hysterical, especially bc he's my mom's age and I imagined him with a personal trainer. But he told me MY catchphrase should be, "If you don't want an answer, don't ask the question!" which basically sums up the last 7-8 weeks of my life. Wow, I never thought I would be able to pare down a certain period in my life and assign it a catchphrase, as if it's my personal philosophy. At the moment, it kind of is. Everyone has commented lately, from my family to Maura to Mike Boomsma, about the intensity with which I've been talking, and how much I've been talking. But for me, my visor says it all. I guess I'd rather have people tell me outright (Maura got to this point after absinthe-fueled Prague) that they don't want to listen to me...which is completely fine. I understand I don't have the best or most original things to say. But what people don't understand, I think, is that I feel more of a physical and emotional urge to speak, than to say anything I want "heard." I don't know if that makes sense. A year ago from today, or last week, or next week, or whatever point in the summer you want to pick, I was essentially shut up. I would hang out occasionally, and I worked full-time, but for the most part, I was completely dissociated with anything (or anyone) that remotely meant anything to me, my self included. I know now I was still observing, and still thinking, and still listening, during that time but I was so obsessed with the concept of being depressed and how the fuck do I feel differently? that I didn't realize those parts of me were still operational. And now, it's an explosion! Of words, of ideas, of directness, of confidence, of everything I thought I lacked, but really had there all along; it was just dormant during that period of my life, which though it sucked immensely, I wouldn't trade for anything bc I'm in this point now, and I've never been in a spot like this before, so it feels excellent...fantastic...tubular...did I cross the line with that last one?

So I know I'm wordy, but tough shit, no one else HAS to read this. At least no one reading this is a professor who is forced to read (and grade) these posts--YOU have the option of quitting my blog anytime. I probably will never apologize for writing too much, since I've been doing it since the second grade. Everything I've written has always exceeded the maximum, but I've never felt like that's something to apologize for...since when does having too many words or too many ideas count against one? See, I didn't even get to talk about what I meant to talk about (my trip to Home Cheapo and Tar-jay with my parents; talking on a conference call for an hour; taking care of fiscal responsibilty via phone with Sallie Mae--with whom I have a love/hate relationship; and on that topic, my love/hate relationship with Readers Digest, a staple in our bathroom since I learned to read; going grocery shopping at Trader Joe's for the fam; my latest email sesh with Sean Wilsey) because once I get going, I slip into some unknown tangent I hadn't even planned on when I sat down. Mostly today, I was thinking about the suburban lifestyle, like when I watched my parents interact at the Depot and when I listened to this kid in Target throw a continous tantrum from housewares all the way to electronics (god, he had pipes!). Part of me wants to be there, like actually being a suburbanite! But then, after spending ten minutes with my mom (and I am NOT exaggerating, it may have been less than ten minutes), I wanted to scream at her. Or throw her cd case from the backseat into the front passenger seat, where she was sitting, at her face. I don't have this rage level with Rog; lately, I've been so annoyed with every word that comes out of my mom's mouth. I spent high school and college like this, but didn't really start getting openly mad at her until recently, and it's been kind of exhiliratingly scary.

Okay, well, I'm waiting for a phone call from Annaliese. She's got so much news, and I've got so much news that we planned "thurs night phone call" into our week so we could allow enough time to catch up. Until then, I guess I'll read? A magazine?

posted by SES @ 8:48 PM