Reason Number 100: Eat, Pray, Suck

I got a very much needed new computer for Christmas, for which I am extraordinarily grateful.

Not worrying I'm going to lose my entire thesis is something to not kill myself over, that's for sure. I am knocking on proverbial wood as I type that. Because there is no wood in close proximity. But oh, if there were!

Ely ate a bunch of candy canes and puked like eight times all over the living room floor. There were little candy-cane colored puddles to prove it.

Sometimes I worry blogging is selfish, or self-absorbed, or not as edifying as reading the Canterbury Tales in the original Middle English, or singing to nursing home patients, or a number of other things that aren't sitting by myself in front of a computer generating sentences from random musings and a menagerie of neuroses. But I guess it's alright. It's like a less serious writing exercise, a form of release for a small audience, or not even.

Reason Number 666: Pnumonic Dervish

When I was in eighth grade, I employed a Third Eye Blind song* as a mnemonic device for remembering the polyatomic ions. It still winds its way into my head sometimes. Like today, I'm googling for ways to clean the insides of my shearling clog boots, the general consensus being sodium bicarbonate, which is actually a chemical compound, but bicarbonate is a polyatomic ion, at least it was according to Third Eye Blind, who also reminded us, please, to step away from that ledge. It sucks I don't actually know a damn thing about chemistry, but I do remember strings of words like crazy.

Especially song lyrics.

Incidentally, I always forget how to drive, but then my terrible driving skills haunt me when no one's around my mom's house and I NEED to drive to the Dunwoody Cobbler to have some shoes repaired, or purchase a large cup of highly-caffeinated coffee without killing myself and everyone in the process.

Embarrassing fact: I didn't realize exactly how to cut, copy, paste by keyboard until two days ago. For some reason I feel the need to admit this over the internet rather than with individual people. At least it's in the open and off my chest (cliche x 2).

Laguardia Airport has eliminated their Starbucks and replaced it with some kind of strange replica of hipstery Brooklyn coffee shops, complete with pour-over! I died a little, mostly in embarrassment over my excitement and relief that I could experience this brewing method before an overcrowded, uncomfortable flight full of crippling anxiety.

*I dare you to guess which one!!

Psst, I also used Celine Dion's "Because You Loved Me" to memorize the steps to the scientific method.

Reason Number KITTIES: Candy Canes

You know those multi-colored candy canes difficult to locate in your average pharmacy, and when you do manage to locate them are usually suffocating beneath some kind of reject sale candy batholith (BWAH geology plus edibles)? The ones that unexpectedly taste like the best cherry cough syrup, as opposed to peppermint?! I found some on a CVS outing the other day, the purpose of which was hairbrush-buying, because my hair at its current length has become increasingly prone to tangles, which makes me feel totally insane. Breaking from the process of determining potential hairbrush effectiveness, the exhaustive struggle to narrow down myriad offerings of spiral brushes and paddle brushes, I came across these incredible candy canes, because of their rarity almost exclusively reserved for private personal fantasies only, and ate one on the way home. I also bought some really ugly gloves that I'm almost embarrassed to wear because they are hot pink and my reservoir tip hat is RED. But fuck. Three dollars.

Caring for a cat is less difficult than finding a job, but more difficult than listening to Steely Dan's Greatest Hits, I'd imagine.

I never thought I'd become a nail biting person, but here we are. My middle finger is starting to embarrass me. The last time I got a manicure, which was not recently, the lady pointed to it and guffawed in a manner so sincere I couldn't even find myself angry.

Anger is unusual, but not persistent humiliation!

Pizza is never something to balk at.

I still need to knit a hat.

Everyone and I mean everyone should read Lydia Davis's collected works. Seriously, if you don't buy it immediately, or at least check it out of your nearest public library, you will never read about neighbors masturbating with oboes. A grave tragedy, and I'm not even kidding.

Reason Number Wha: ______

I've been teaching for over two months, and I still have searing episodes of undulating panic every night before class, and during the day before as well, which always ends up being a waste and involves a lot of pacing and drinking ten cups of coffee and twice as much cold water and trying to figure out what outfit is best for extensive fidgeting. People assume a lot of things about me (as they do about everyone, I'm told) but people have indicated I'm perceived as a non-shy, boisterous person, which is simply not true. I am like ice cream (or ice, or snow, or butter, or whatever else melts and turns into something grosser than it was before) when I'm the central focus, or even a focus at all. Unless I'm dancing or something, and there are a million people surrounding who are also dancing.

Story BREAK

Turning

Reason Number 0.5

A bicycle is a relatively uncomplicated machine that allows you to travel distances that are just barely not walkable. Mine has three gears, bouncing and clicking down intermittently cobbled, heavily pocked Brooklyn roads. Only one of the gears works, the middle one, which works out perfectly for my riding skills and moderate leg strength.

Unfortunately, I got a flat tire in the middle of a neighborhood with which I'm pretty unfamiliar, on my way to get my first haircut in TWO YEARS. My hair is very uninteresting, which makes me very happy, as I've now graduated to the stage in my adult life in which I crave follicular consistency over experimentation. After a billion not-quite-right yet exhilarating hairstyles I have finally found what actually works. I don't care about my hair at all. And I'm starting to not care that much about clothing, but not in a late-twenties-meandering-towards-pregnancy-and-therefore-flares way, more in a way like I've figured out what I need, I have most of what I need, I don't have the money for fun purchases, nor do I want to extend myself beyond what money I have. Simplicity. And I'm sick of having a closet that vomits clothing I hardly wear.

I don't want a Chanel bag. Not until I can actually afford one. Or maybe I don't want one at all.

I will always keep the deadstock Victorian boots I bought in Chamblee almost a decade ago, even though I haven't worn them once. I remember the lady I bought them from said "These aren't the perfect shoes for the fourth of July, but they'll be great other times." Paraphrased, for memory bias.

I think it's always important to question the things you think are unrelentingly true about yourself. I don't have to be the person who mixes patterns. Or, I am the person that mixes patterns, and I know that about myself when I'm wearing jeans and a grey sweater. What I choose to wear reflects my personality, but not so much that it actually matters.

Reason Number EEEE: Back to School Special

I love the Allman Brothers Band, and maybe it's partially because it reminds me of my dad and when I think of my dad I get c-r-e-a-t-i-v-e.

And don't tell anyone but whenever a reference to Georgia happens in anything I feel a small warm spurt in the depths of my rib cage.

Every time I think about teaching I feel nightmare nausea, and not because I'm not excited about it, because I'm THRILLED, but the most socially awkward person in the world aka me is not always ready to stand in front of multiple eye pairs, staring.

Not lying, I really will try to wear heels the first day.

I also want to purchase hand weights. Strength is not always so bad.