Obligatory Post about the New Year

I've always told my parents that I'd be content to live alone and not feel any homesickness, regret, or sadness. The notion of being a grown woman with only herself to think about was so appealing for me, as I yearn to be independent.

I've told my friends that I never used to talk when I was younger--an accurate fact. In school, I could go a week without talking, but teachers never liked that so they made me. It was in these moments that I thought it wasn't so bad to be voiceless.

But then I became a writer and later a journalist. Having a voice is a requirement for my field; so is being social in some aspects.

Nevertheless, I still enjoy solitude. It's surprisingly hard to achieve at school. People say your dorm room can be your spot for retreat, but Erin and Eric are somehow always in the room when I am. Other times I'm in my classes. Most of times I'm in the office, working feverishly with other stressed journalists.

It's New Years Eve, and while other families make a whole party over a day that's not even a holiday--not to mention an occasion where your likelihood to recollect the night before is very low--my family's celebration is a small matter. Very small.

I'm alone in this house for the night.

Dan is back in Arizona, doing something military. An has gone to Boston to celebrate New Years and a friends's 21st birthday. Tonight will be quite a night for her, I'm sure. I urged my parents to go to the casino tonight because, well, I told them I'm sick and that they'd have more fun gambling then at home.

Both statements are true, mind you. After a year of being totally healthy, I've come down with a nasty cough and burning body.

I'm not happy at the moment, if I'm to be honest--but I'm not sad. I just feel discontent, disconnected and restless. I think I actually miss people.

Don't fret! It'll pass. The feeling always does. I just have to preoccupy myself with little tasks. For one, I'm writing this post. I've done some laundry. I'm listening to this:

"Full Sail" by Ryan Farish [YOUTUBE]

 

Excellent. I also cooked pasta and made a random meal out of it.

Though the other times I've been alone for the night, the notion of drinking wine never crossed my mind. But now, I thought: What the hell? It's not like my parents have it locked up.

In less than five hours, the ball in New York will drop and bring 2012 into our lives.

The single will commit to finding a new love interest. The coupled will hope for a fuller year. The parents will wish to miraculously win the state jackpot in order to afford their children's education. College girls will try to lose weight. College guys will attempt to work out more and hopefully get laid.

A writer like me, I imagine, will commit to a new year of more writing and the goal of getting published (I just have to write something really good. Yeah. Easy, right?).

For now, I'll enjoy my tuna pasta and cheap red wine.

Happy New Years.

And cheers.

the resounding truths that i discovered while cleaning my room

You would think I'd write a reflection of my college year, since I can. But no, I will do that later.

Since coming back from college, I transferred all of my shit from my dorm to the room that my sister and I share. Add my sister's stuff and you get something like a trash room.

My room is...a mess. Many times I have cleaned my room, but in reality, "cleaning" for me just means shoving a bunch of random shit under my bed and relocating my junk to other places around the room. Sure, my room looks somewhat clean for awhile, but the state eventually turns into the site of something equivalent to after a bloody warfare.

That was why I was so glad to be away at college. Living with someone new sort of forced me to clean up my habits. But toward the end of the school year, as I became more comfortable with Erin (and Eric, since he was like a third roommate...!), I let myself lose in the room. My desk was unusable for a good three months. My closet, which primarily served as a place to store my clothes, became The Closet for everything, even questionable things. Imagine transferring that kind of environment back into my home room. Disaster. Utter disaster.

I have procrastinated too much. I asked my parents for a grace period, for a time when I can just relax for a while. Well, the grace period has ended and I must now get back to cleaning my room.

I won't show you my room. Nope. My dearies, I don't want to blind you.

And yes, of course, I have to get all philosophical about what I find in my room, because that's just me. But I am being serious. There are many things that I have come to accept in my life.

These are the truths that I will uphold and (try) remember. These are the truths that define the good and bad parts of me.

truth number 1: I procrastinate with everything (not just cleaning).

Exhibit A:

I find a silly excuse to check my e-mail. And then CNN. And then Youtube. And then, hey, maybe even the stock market albeit I don't have any stocks. Seems like a good idea...la la la la. And then, WHOOSH, three hours passed and not a single thing clean in my room.

Dammit.

truth number 2: I can't knit. 

I would absolutely love to be that person who can make sweaters or weird animal shapes or inventive kitchen towelettes in a matter of days. But I can't. Honest to Merlin, my attempts for the past, oh 5 years, have been horribly unfruitful, and I should really accept that knitting is just not my thing.

What is this?

You piece of sh--AGGGHH!!!

This leaves to me accepting that I can't sing either. Or run like An and Dan. Or juggle.

truth number 3: I. am. a. book. WHORE. 

Oh yes, I entered the trade at a young age, and I was lead onto a path that, to this day, I cannot escape. When I realized what I had become...oh I won't say it....I tried to escape. What would people think? What would people say? Did people know already? But eventually, I knew, I knew, that I had to accept my life.

My life as a bibliophile.

truth number 4: I once wanted to be an artist but would have failed miserably 


because I would never finish my pieces. Sure, some artists don't finish their stuff, but they produce at least one masterpiece. 

I found old art pieces of mine from Doolittle art classes and that one weird beginners' class at ArtsPlace. Very interesting things that I drew, I have to say. To save myself further from embarrassment, I decided to leave those drawings out of this blog posts. I will, however, give you something. It's a drawing of a flower--don't know what kind--but I liked it very much.

Other art forms: I think I just loved art because it's your own interpretation that you put on paper, canvas, or whatever medium you want. Your senses, in that moment of careful observation and delicate maneuvers of your hand, are the only things trustworthy.

truth number 8: there's my inhaler...

Fun fact: I used to have asthma, but I grew out of it. My mom used to yell at me because I always lost my inhaler! Really, it's funny the places I put my stuff. The inhaler, for example, was in my art kit. So I guess I shouldn't use it...
 

Expiration date was 2006?!?!?!?!

This lead to me to think about my decaying memory. I promised my friends at Fairfield University that I would try and get my problem checked, but unbeknownst to them, I know that forgetfulness is a part of me. They will understand so enough, that having a friend with a bad memory isn't so bad!

I can't think of any reasons why that would be true...I forgot.

:) 


Oh, and I still haven't completely finished with cleaning my room yet.