Yell's bells. Writing angst. Other assorted normalcies

Two times in as many days I have had to assert myself to someone (the same person) for two different reasons. I am not a passive person, and certainly I have very strong opinions-- but I do not consider myself to be aggressive. I do not like confronting people and sometimes have a hard time speaking super-directly to people that I'm not close to. But when someone messes with me? Or my friends? Or, I mean, just pisses me the hell off? Whooooo, boy. Sometimes things happen that surprise me. Both times, I feel my breath get caught, tight, up in chest. My heart starts POUNDING and I lose most of my awareness of how loudly I am speaking.

(Historically, I don't yell at people. But there WAS that one time I yelled at Smooth L (riDICulous band "teacher") in high school-- I don't remember much about it, except that we screamed at each other, she essentially kicked me out of class, I flounced down the hall the to administrator's office, and then the next morning I had to go in for a parent-teacher-administrator conference. To add insult to injury, it was the morning after Clay lost American Idol and I was, justifiably, very upset. A bad day for all. I think only Akil can confirm this incident.)

Anyway, anyway. This week has been silly and I think next week will be the same. I have a million days off next week and am already fearing them. When did that happen? When did free time become a bad thing?

I saw people this week, though, which was excellent. The nightlife highlight of the week was definitely Friday, which saw me boozing in two boroughs with Nitz, Julie, Craig, and special (underage) guest star from Boston Chris Bannow. We started at Alligator, where I ate too much free pizza, then skipped the light whatever over to Via Della P. to see Heather and Stephan, though no Tara, sadly, and in a remarkable coincidence, Ian M. I think I just need to come to terms with the fact that when ever I get settled, something weird, some strange coincidence, will happen to keep me on my toes. Those things will still happen, but maybe I won't be so stunned if I try to pre-emptively make peace? WTF knows.

And tomorrow is Memorial Day. I don't know what I'm going to do. I think perhaps I will bike to and then around Prospect Park. I got two beach invites, but I don't know....I don't know. Lord knows that the only two errands I've had to run for the past week cannot be completed tomorrow, since they involve the library and the post office. Double-whammy! I'll invent a bank errand and then it'll be a triple-play.

Maybe because I can't do any less, I have been thinking about writing. I feel like I want to want to want to write but that I have no no no ideas. I guess writers feel like this. I guess it is fair to refer to myself as a writer. I'm sure Lydia would say that. It does feel silly, though. (My former celebrity charge (har har) told me that when he moved to London to be a professional actor, he didn't work for 18 months and he started telling people he was a novelist bc he couldn't tell them he was an actor any longer. I liked that story.) Anyway, my "point" is that I feel funny thinking of myself as a writer when all I think about is how I "have no ideas." I do, but I judge them immediately-- which I know is the kiss of death. I wonder how I managed to wring WTTAN out of myself. I wonder if I had a compelling story again, if I'd be able to write. I feel like if someone told me "Write about this," and gave me something good, or even something specific that I felt I understood, I'd be able to do it. I just feel like I have no place to come from. All of the ideas that have been rotting in my notebooks for 4 years seem so old and tired or goofy or frivolous....oh dear, oh dear. I don't know.

Also, I don't know if he's found his way here yet, but if you have-- welcome to the new blog, and to Facebook, Uncle SCOTT. T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

No more being serious! Thanks to a well-timed text, thoughts of never writing again/fighting with coworkers/the state of my life have been replaced with thoughts of "slavic dancing." I am also comforted by the fact that it's lovely out, last night the moon was gorgeous (so there's hope for tonight), I had a text convo with my brother about Clifford Odets today. In short: all is now well. At least for now.

Thank you, and good day!

I said good DAY, sir!

The same old way...

Indulge me in a minute of brain-picking ranting:

I'm getting so if I don't have to work, and I don't have anything planned, I get a little panicky. THIS is how much I've let myself neglect myself. While it's unrealistic to assume I would spend every waking minute that I'm not at work pursuing my career/art/whatever (ok, it's really not that unrealistic), I should hope I'd spend SOME of my time doing that. I mean, for me. Jesus! Isn't that what I'm supposed to be doing? Isn't that what I WANT to be doing? But all I do is watch tv, cross-stitch, mope around at the computer, have solo dance parties, or let the dirty dishes pile up around me.

The point is, I think, that I need to maybe adjust my attitude about solo time and try, just try, to be a little more motivated or productive. Or, at the very least, be easier on myself when I'm not either of those things. Because if I"m not doing anything, I may as well try to feel okay about it.

Right?

Man, I don't know.

This being said, I've been lucky to see friends lately. After work on Friday, I took a walk with Ben and ate some Pomme Frites. He was dropping a play off in the LES somewhere so he stopped by. Or maybe it was: he was dropping a play off, and walked by. I don't know. Either way, it was an interaction far more pleasant and civil than any of our previous ones, which was good. Yes, good. After that, I went to the Strand and blew $20-something on books and some squared Moleskines for x-stitch charts. Then I went to Forbidden Planet and bought the newest American Splendor. Some part of me really loves going in that place and looking at the bizarre mix of people in there. Fanboys and girls, Japanese cutie pies, fat old dudes, hipsters, all kinds. I love it. Then I read A.S. in Union Square while a man in a suit stared at me. For half an hour. Stared. At. Me. I tried to ignore it but eventually it became too much.

Craig got out of work and we met up but he had a searing headache and I was tired of carrying my books and we couldn't agree on anything to do so it looked like a classic Anna/Craig passive-aggressive encounter was about to occur, but he finally gave in to the temptation of Red Stripe in my fridge and came back to Wburg with me. Gossiping and drinking ensued.

Yesterday, I had a brief but fun visit with Joanna and Justin, singing friends from Boston. We walked around Thomson Square Park and they expressed shock and horror at every hipster/weirdo we passed. They don't coime to NY much. He doesn't leave the plantation much. :)

Today, I met up with Emily (one night only, folks!), Julie, and Molly for breakfast at the hip and delicious Egg on North 6th. We had to wait about 45 minutes, but it was no big thing and we were obviously happy to catch up while waiting. I had eggs and grits and they were....mmmmm. Uh-huh. It was wonnnnnnderful to see them. After, Julie and I went to Brooklyn Industries where I bought a bag, thinking "I'll return it in a few days, when common sense kicks in." Too bad she stamped FINAL SALE on my receipt. Looks like I'll have to keep it. Rats.

Tonight was work, watching tv on the computer, reading boring boring boring verbose thick unexciting (but I am halfway through so have to slog through) "Atonement," and eventually drinking beer with Chriz and Elliot, listening to Lily Allen, in the box office. I get paid for this? Give me a break.

Now? Twin Peaks.

ugh.

I'm feeling a new depth of unmotivated-ness. It's beginning to freak me out a little bit. It ain't good, to say the least.

It's more than an unwillingness to work. It's a lack of pride in what I'm doing and a lack of desire to do things well. That's scary.

Hopefully it's just a mood.

Hopefully.


And you know what? It's all within me. No outside forces are oppressing me or keeping me from doing what I want to do. Sure, it'd be "easier" if I had a little more money or something, but come on. It's not about that. It's about me and being lazy and not really doing anything and certainly not doing anything that's gonna get me anywhere...and spending my time feeling sorry for myself. It's so much easier to be depressed than to be not depressed these days. I must resist the urge to be lazy! Laziness is tantamount (catamount, Megs) to depression. No laziness. No depression.

Wait.

This means no laying in bed watching HBO DVDs for twenty-three hours of the day?

Fuck.


On a less self-indulgent note, Alan at work just told me: "I can smell your eggs. Whoa. What a fucked-up thing to say to a girl." He was talking about the hardboiled one I had in my dinner bag.

Oh, also! IN an effort to stave off boredom, depression, and at least nominally, poverty, Erin and I are opening an Etsy.com store to sell crafts and other shit. We want to cater specifically to hipsters....we plan to hoodwink them by doing things like putting a pog and some beads on a chain and calling it a necklace. Erin and I have both fallen for Etsy hook, line, and sinker.

Finally: I miss my friends a lot. I am getting falsely nostalgic for this time last year, even though I KNOW I was pretty unhappy back then. I was in the middle of Antigone, doing a terrible job, ruining relationships left and right, not sleeping enough, not eating enough, not getting my work done.... But the other night Karl texted me a picture of us from last Valentine's Day where we were wearing Craig's clothes because we'd all been caught in a terrible sleet/snow/rain storm on the way of of school. It was the only day I've ever tried to look nice for school by wearing a dress, and of course I paid for it dearly.

Anyway, in this picture, Karl's wearing a Third Eye Blind t-shirt and I'm wearing a sparkly, puffy Teenage Mutant Ninja turtles shirt and we're both grinning in a hangdog sort of way. Perhaps we know what's about to occur! (Kings, a LOT of broken glass, drunkenness by five o'clock, etc.) I think the feeling that I am so nostalgic for and sentimental about is the feeling that I was actually DOING something. I felt like we were doing something vital and important with BUSTAMFOP, and my revolutionary fervor was always at at least, oh, 89%. We were all going like gangbusters, whether for each other or against each other (I feel like it was mostly the latter).... and I'd like to feel like that again.

I thought the two parts of this post were unrelated, but obviously, they aren't.


The lesson I've learned today can best be summed up in the words of Brian Wilson:

Sleep a lot
Eat a lot
Brush 'em like crazy.
Run a lot
Do a lot
Never be lazy.

insert fire pun HERE.

An eventful day!

1) I am now the "Certificate of Fitness Holder" for FDNY exams F-90, F-94, and F-33! But you can just call me Fire Guard. Or Fire Drill Conductor. Or person in charge of visually mainting fire alarm systems. (That one isn't as catchy.) I took my tests this morning at 9 MetroTech Plaza in downtown Brooklyn-- which looks strangely like downtown Albany. I was there for about three hours, all told- an unimaginably complex shuffle-dance of getting a number, filling forms out, sitting, going to a window, getting a new number, going across the hall, sitting, waiting....over and over and over. All that matters is that I got my stinkin' certifications. And now I can stop worrying about it.

2) Nitz came over in the afternoon. We kvetched and went to Peter Pan for donuts. Delicious.

3) I worked my first legal shift as House Manager tonight.

4) Aldo gave me a bunch of books yesterday, including an amazing copy of The Postman Always Rings Twice. It was meant to be-- I am seriously in love. It's the pulpiest pulp I've ever read- if Clifford Odets had a lovechild with whoever it is that James Ellroy modeled himself after. It really is coming at the right time- I've been thinking about reading some James Ellroy lately-- it's always a process (wow, this is interesting for other people)-- but this is better. I mean, I KNOW I'm a sucker for stuff like this, where people talk in sentences that sound like machine-gun fire, and everyone's always punching each other. Here's an part that made me grin:


"That's what we're going to do. Kiss me, Frank. On the mouth."
I kissed her. Her eyes were shining up at me like two blue stars. It was like being in church.



And that, folks....is that. Now, excuse me while I go snuggle up with my electric blanket and the aforementioned book.