things i absolutely need to do this weekend:

1. Interview tomorrow
2. Babysit Saturday
3. Painting class Sunday
4. Work out.
5. Be caught up in class.
6. Make thank you cards.
7. Grocery shop.
8. Clean my bathroom.
9. Fold my clothes.
10. Clean floors.
11.  Order textbooks.
12. Wash linens.

I guess here's where I say something that solidifies my old woman status, but I don't even care and have fully embraced who I am. Who I am is someone ready for productivity and studying super hard. My last claim to young womanhood- I have no kids so I feel like all the chores I need to do combined should take 30-45 minutes. I know some people having babies now, and they're cute, and I'm sure they wouldn't want their lives any other way, but man I am happy when I think about how easy my apartment is to clean because there is no child who just smashed cheese on the walls, which I have cleaned off walls before and is not so fun to do. Or when I can somewhat irresponsibly and spontaneously spend $15 on coffee each week because that won't be the difference between whether my baby can eat for the day or not, I can't help but think... FREEDOM!

pencil reasoning

So here's my reasoning about these pencils: Oh man I love these pencils.  They would make writing stuff much better. Wait, I don't use pencils anymore. All tests are taken on computers, all handwritten things are written in pen. I could use them for those random quizzes we have. Nah, I always use Mike's pencil for those. It's kind of a tradition. It's probably a super annoying tradition for Mike though. We don't even have those quizzes anymore. Wow, that's $2 per pencil. Probably totally worth it. How much do pencils even cost these days? Oh right, I don't know because I don't use pencils.

I guess the conclusion here: would somebody who uses pencils please buy and love these? On my behalf.

my ideal bookshelf

First things first- I love the public library. I still remember the first time I went to the library in the new town we had moved to when I was five. I checked out so many books. I think it's the best thing ever. There was an amazing library in the town I grew up and in Chicago, so there has never really been a need for me to buy a ton of books. Nonetheless, besides traveling, I think books (okay, and food) are my favorite way to spend money. I checked this book out at the library awhile ago but eventually it was due, and then it was overdue, and I still hadn't finished reading it.

This book asks a bunch of people what books would be on their ideal bookshelf. Even though there are quite a few people (mostly designers) I haven't heard of, the explanations (on the opposing page) are so great for every single one. Some of the books people chose aren't favorites, but books that had been significant to them at one point or another. Or, they are the books that are consuming them now.

So a few weeks ago, I decided to make the trek up north to the Book Cellar and buy this book for myself as a late birthday gift. This is Atul Gawande's bookshelf and a little bit of his reasoning:

"Writing is about speaking to others who may be confused about the same kinds of things that I'm confused about, and ho are willing to follow along as I explore what's interesting to me. How else would I end up writing about itching? I just wanted to tell a story. And I hoped it would make people feel really itchy."

dear bottomless coffee,

Will I ever sleep again? Or will I just be eating a lot of stinky cheese under the guise that it is about to go bad even though I Googled that cheese is usually fine for two weeks after the Sell By date and it's only been 5 days?

Sincerely,
Jocelyn

a letter to days forgotten

And then came the day I hoped, without believing, would come. I forgot your name. The forgetting lasted more than a second, but not more than a few moments. I knew I wanted to remember you, to find you in the recesses of my mind, or something. But I couldn't think of you, even though it was cold and there was some point in a past life I always thought I would need to turn to you when I couldn't feel my toes. At the very least, in the darker moments because I thought I'd need something for a rainy day. My mom taught me to save up for a rainy day and we always had our differences; what we felt we should be saving was only one of them. I guess I thought (and dreaded) that for me, it would always be you. And then came the day that I knew that it was raining, but that it wasn't you. And just like that, I was free. Over and over again, free.

But before that freedom, and after the day you said good-bye like only a coward could, a lot of days went by that I wasn't even thinking about you. There were lots of rainy days that my mind never even acknowledged your absence as something noteworthy; it forgot that I didn't even really have rainy days before you. Those days that went by unacknowledged, un-noted, and not today, were the real testaments to how irrelevant you had become to me. Those days I learned to come home and turn on all the lights in the living room and one set of lights in the kitchen to embrace brightness and read a book instead of crumpling into bed motionless--those days, and not today, are the ones I stood by myself in the way that I dreamt of in high school.

I'm proud that you don't know me today. I feel no desire to explain any part of myself to you. I think back on you only as a mile marker of a place I came from, and I can't wait for the rest of the miles.

Maybe I wish I knew which day, which moment, nothing was about you anymore. Maybe that would have given me some peace of mind at the time. To know that every decision was for myself again. But from where I stand now, that moment doesn't matter to me anymore. Because there were so many moments after that one. And that was the more important accomplishment.

Refusing to be haunted doesn't always come easy, you know.

Facing things head on doesn't always come easy, but you wouldn't know.

on safety

I just checked my phone to see if I had any good pictures of probably the best dinner I ever had last night and instead I found that the camera on my phone had been turned to the video recording mode. I usually make sure to turn it back to the camera mode because I am someone who would miss a shot because I accidentally took a video of it instead of a picture. I am also the kind of person who would eat the entire dark chocolate and almond bar that my mom gave me yesterday as a birthday gift even though I just got it yesterday and even though I just saw a museum exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry that said you would gain 27 pounds in a year if you ate a candy bar every day.

I have taken a few videos on my phone, but at this juncture, I am unsure of what to do with this particular medium, so I was surprised that it should be on video recording mode. I found some pictures of total blackness, taken from the inside of my winter parka pocket. And then I found a recording. There was no video (except for the fascinating insides of my pocket) but the audio recording was pretty clear. Crunching snow, some static, and a Jersey Shore accent. Because that's what we did last night. We crunched through the snow, slipped across the ice, and fell into our jokes, accents that started out as a straight-from-Italia, mama's kitchen, and as we hopped off the bus, shifted to accents of generations later- the cast from Jersey Shore. We have different accents and characters we play when we are walking the 15 minutes from the bus stop to  home and I'm sure it's bizarre but right now we are going through an Italian phase, maybe from the pleasure of cooking or joy of delicious food. It's gotten to the point that I can't get That's Amore out of my head.

It started out when we pretended to be burritos and I laughed so hard I couldn't breathe. You thought it was pretty weird but couldn't help laughing (mostly at me and my laughter). You were the best at tucking me in bed, so I guess you figured you might as well take it one step further and made me into a burrito. That one got to the point that when the neonatal resident talked about how they wrap babies in blankets "like burritos," Oh I know all about that accidentally slipped out of my mouth to my friend standing next to me. You know about this swaddle? the resident asked. No... I was just saying that I know about burritos. Sorry.

 But this feeling has defined the past eight months. Being wrapped up, warm, and safe. I'm lucky I know because it's cold outside and some people have to be outside all the time. I've gotten into this habit that I haven't told anybody about, not even you. Each night as I'm falling asleep, there's a moment that I relish, and I wait to experience it each night. It takes a moment to settle into bed, rest my head and then it comes, a feeling of safety and well-being. You're here, inside and safe. My brother is home. He's okay. My mom and my dad. I imagine each person I love being inside and safe. They are where cold wind, library fines, people saying mean things about them, loneliness, and icy sleet hitting their faces couldn't touch them.

When I was a kid, I pretended to have a secret watch that I could use to communicate with Samantha, who is a pillow that used to be my comfort object. Samantha was the captain and would convey all my messages to my other stuffed animals and I could hear from them when I was away throughout the day. I don't think I ever actually thought about it except when I was already home and in bed and thus would need no secret watch communication, but I always fell asleep better knowing that if I ever needed it, it would be there. I'm not a timid person, but I started daycare when I was very young. I guess this new habit of mine is the grown-up version and I just wanted to let you know that you give me that.

you look like georgia

 

so grateful for all the adventures this week. learned a lot, tried a lot. attempted balance. still not so good at it. it's okay. everything turned out okay. i've been doing this thing in which i have been resisting sleep, which i don't understand because it's not like i get a lot of it or don't like it. i'm tired and don't have the words right now, except that i'm excited for this next week. people hate valentine's day but i'm all for celebrations. all the time.