Yesterday I made myself take the first step to packing things up: throwing stuff out.
I went through the pile of Important Papers that had been festering on my bookshelf and I threw out (nay, recycled) a whole bunch of law school notes, outlines, notices, and bills. Since I don't have a shredder it took me a while to rip up each individual piece of paper that had my name or SSN on it, but having had my identity stolen once already, I made the effort. When I finished I was pleased to see a mountain of paper in my recycling bin instead of on my shelf. What pleased me even more, however, were the unexpected treasures I had forgotten I was saving: letters from my sister, letters from my friends, my college ID. Letters I had written but never sent, birthday cards that sustained me during my year abroad when everything was foreign. I didn't linger long on every item, but I smiled each time I ran across something I had previously loved.
Which is probably the last time I'll smile before I've finished moving.
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UPDATE: I not only smiled again, but I laughed at myself. I ran across letters from an old boyfriend but I had forgotten which boyfriend. I take this to mean 1) I am a pack rat, and 2) I am so besotted with the Captain that I don't even remember who's who.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Turn 'em on, turn on those sad songs
Today I woke up sad.
This has been an unfortunate pattern of late, but I am leaving town in less than a week and it's finally sunk in. Deeply. To the point where I was playing sad, sad songs on the iTunes. Break-up music, unrequited love music, saying good-bye music, praying to God for redemption music. It was all there on my iPod, all under a playlist titled, "Sad."
That's right, I had taken time out to create a playlist specifically for moods such as mine this morning, when the only thing that would make me feel better was hearing how cruddy everyone else's life was. And feel better I did, because how else could I react to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" than to rejoice in the beauty and simplicity of his recording?
And then Alison Krauss came on with "Ghost in this House" and I was positively sprightly. (Sing it, Alison, sing about those hearts on fire.) So I started to wonder, what is it about feeling sad that feels so good? I recalled an old song by Elton John which speaks to that exact question.
If someone else is suffering enough to write it down
When every single word makes sense
Then it's easier to have those songs around
The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you
and it feels so good to hurt so bad
And suffer just enough to sing the blues
Thing is, if you know this song, it's actually quite upbeat. In fact it sounds nothing like what it describes. Which led me to another imponderable, namely, why is it that songs about sadness don't themselves sound sad? To wit, "Breakin' Up is Hard to Do." You try to keep from smiling when you sing to yourself, "Doobie doobie dum doobie do dum dum, doobie doobie dum doobie do dum dum..."
See?
-------
Poll: what's your favorite sad song? My playlist can be expanded, after all.
UPDATED: I've added YouTube links to the songs I've mentioned above. They're all worth going to, if only to get a taste of some fantastic music. But if you're really pressed for time, just go to Alison Krauss. Adorable.
This has been an unfortunate pattern of late, but I am leaving town in less than a week and it's finally sunk in. Deeply. To the point where I was playing sad, sad songs on the iTunes. Break-up music, unrequited love music, saying good-bye music, praying to God for redemption music. It was all there on my iPod, all under a playlist titled, "Sad."
That's right, I had taken time out to create a playlist specifically for moods such as mine this morning, when the only thing that would make me feel better was hearing how cruddy everyone else's life was. And feel better I did, because how else could I react to Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" than to rejoice in the beauty and simplicity of his recording?
And then Alison Krauss came on with "Ghost in this House" and I was positively sprightly. (Sing it, Alison, sing about those hearts on fire.) So I started to wonder, what is it about feeling sad that feels so good? I recalled an old song by Elton John which speaks to that exact question.
If someone else is suffering enough to write it down
When every single word makes sense
Then it's easier to have those songs around
The kick inside is in the line that finally gets to you
and it feels so good to hurt so bad
And suffer just enough to sing the blues
Thing is, if you know this song, it's actually quite upbeat. In fact it sounds nothing like what it describes. Which led me to another imponderable, namely, why is it that songs about sadness don't themselves sound sad? To wit, "Breakin' Up is Hard to Do." You try to keep from smiling when you sing to yourself, "Doobie doobie dum doobie do dum dum, doobie doobie dum doobie do dum dum..."
See?
-------
Poll: what's your favorite sad song? My playlist can be expanded, after all.
UPDATED: I've added YouTube links to the songs I've mentioned above. They're all worth going to, if only to get a taste of some fantastic music. But if you're really pressed for time, just go to Alison Krauss. Adorable.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Progress?
Sen. Kennedy's office just called; they want me to write in a formal letter so they can proceed with my case.
Even though they're making me jump through yet another hoop, this is the first time anybody's referred to all this as "case." Maybe that's promising?
Even though they're making me jump through yet another hoop, this is the first time anybody's referred to all this as "case." Maybe that's promising?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
New low?
As part of my quest to find new Something Elses, I might have sunk to a new low.
I just made an anonymous post to a celebrity gossip blog.
Really.
I just made an anonymous post to a celebrity gossip blog.
Really.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Fascinating
Beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder.
Last night the Captain and I had a genuine disagreement...about which Bush twin was better-looking. I kid you not. This is the degree to which our brains have rotted.
I always thought the new Mrs. Hager was the prettier twin, but the Captain insisted that Ms. Bush is the more attractive. We each tried to justify our opinions, and we each, surprisingly, had a somewhat fleshed-out analysis of each twin's appearance. What fascinated me was that both of us sincerely believed we were right. And it wasn't because the Captain is the type of guy who's always right. Nor was it because he had mixed the twins up. Nay, it was because he sincerely believed Ms. Bush was prettier. It made me wonder if there are just some fundamental, biological differences between men and women when it comes to assessing beauty.
Curious.
Last night the Captain and I had a genuine disagreement...about which Bush twin was better-looking. I kid you not. This is the degree to which our brains have rotted.
I always thought the new Mrs. Hager was the prettier twin, but the Captain insisted that Ms. Bush is the more attractive. We each tried to justify our opinions, and we each, surprisingly, had a somewhat fleshed-out analysis of each twin's appearance. What fascinated me was that both of us sincerely believed we were right. And it wasn't because the Captain is the type of guy who's always right. Nor was it because he had mixed the twins up. Nay, it was because he sincerely believed Ms. Bush was prettier. It made me wonder if there are just some fundamental, biological differences between men and women when it comes to assessing beauty.
Curious.
Monday, August 11, 2008
How to Wait
When I was in seventh grade, a long-time family friend showed me a fortune he had saved in his wallet. "The secret to patience is doing something else in the meantime," it read. The tasteless cookie long gone, its message endured, not only in my friend's wallet but in my impressionable twelve year-old mind.
Sixteen years later, I find myself in a situation where all there is left to do is wait. Accordingly, I have started looking for Something Elses. When I first returned from the bar I was content to let my mind rot by engaging it as rarely as possible. Continual viewing of the Olympics was conducive to that, and I did my best to keep it going. And it wasn't even the fact that I found myself watching online streaming of equestrian eventing that suggested I might want to use my brain once in a while.
No, it was my continual BarBri nightmares which convinced me that "doing something else" required actual doing. One night it was Richard Conviser himself, reminding me of what's required for injunctive relief. The next night was David Epstein, making fun of Richard Conviser to drive home the sales of goods rules. The third night I deliberately had too much wine with dinner so I'd be too busy peeing all through the night to have time for any nightmares.
Thinking I had started down the road to alcoholic self-medication, I have since resolved to do other stuff. So far I have I cranked up the speed in the kitchen (I have a lot of butter and flour left and it needs to go), gotten a haircut, taken my bike in to be fixed, finished Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth (you must read this), began Min Jin Lee's Free Food for Millionaires, and weighed the pros and cons of taking a Duck Tour.
Oh, and laughed heartedly and appreciatively at the NYTimes' fashion police. Good taste is universal.
Sixteen years later, I find myself in a situation where all there is left to do is wait. Accordingly, I have started looking for Something Elses. When I first returned from the bar I was content to let my mind rot by engaging it as rarely as possible. Continual viewing of the Olympics was conducive to that, and I did my best to keep it going. And it wasn't even the fact that I found myself watching online streaming of equestrian eventing that suggested I might want to use my brain once in a while.
No, it was my continual BarBri nightmares which convinced me that "doing something else" required actual doing. One night it was Richard Conviser himself, reminding me of what's required for injunctive relief. The next night was David Epstein, making fun of Richard Conviser to drive home the sales of goods rules. The third night I deliberately had too much wine with dinner so I'd be too busy peeing all through the night to have time for any nightmares.
Thinking I had started down the road to alcoholic self-medication, I have since resolved to do other stuff. So far I have I cranked up the speed in the kitchen (I have a lot of butter and flour left and it needs to go), gotten a haircut, taken my bike in to be fixed, finished Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth (you must read this), began Min Jin Lee's Free Food for Millionaires, and weighed the pros and cons of taking a Duck Tour.
Oh, and laughed heartedly and appreciatively at the NYTimes' fashion police. Good taste is universal.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
What a difference
...a week makes. This time last week, I had just begun the second performance test and I hadn't read the weekend section to the Boston Globe in quite some time.
Today, however, not only have I read the weekend section but I already have planned ahead to September, October, and November at the Kennedy Center, where I will be a frequent visitor this fall. (There is some good. stuff. Renee Fleming, Denyce Graves. You should come with.) Yes, the Captain and I are moving to Washington, per the Fabulous Plan B, and I am so excited. It is my time to be a kept woman and it's gonna rock.
In the meantime, I'll be packing up and getting ready to go. My firm has spoiled me not only with movers but with movers who will pack up my stuff. So the next several weeks will be full of all the fun things I never got to do in Boston, as well as regular phone calls to the IRS. And, per Munch's suggestion, to Sen. Kennedy. How can the IRS say no to the legislative lion (read: cancer patient)?
Today, however, not only have I read the weekend section but I already have planned ahead to September, October, and November at the Kennedy Center, where I will be a frequent visitor this fall. (There is some good. stuff. Renee Fleming, Denyce Graves. You should come with.) Yes, the Captain and I are moving to Washington, per the Fabulous Plan B, and I am so excited. It is my time to be a kept woman and it's gonna rock.
In the meantime, I'll be packing up and getting ready to go. My firm has spoiled me not only with movers but with movers who will pack up my stuff. So the next several weeks will be full of all the fun things I never got to do in Boston, as well as regular phone calls to the IRS. And, per Munch's suggestion, to Sen. Kennedy. How can the IRS say no to the legislative lion (read: cancer patient)?
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