I started writing a list, a list of what happens to your (my) life when you (I) defer graduate school, but it felt revealing and childish and saturated with complaints of fatigue. So I deleted the list. Now here I am. I wrote “blog” on my to do list today and, my gosh, I’m going to cross “blog” off the list.
I have a thing for lists.
Would it be incredibly annoying if I said I miss Alaska?
(I do, I do, I do.)
My dog is tracking a mouse. Meaning, a mouse is in my room. Right now. My dog sits. She licks her paws. She stops. She looks up. She circles the room. She sniffs under the bed. She pushes at the closet door. She lies back down. Freezes. Jumps up. This is my brain. Up, down, up, down down down, up, down. This isn’t supposed to be deep. I’m genuinely concerned about this mouse that is most likely a rat. My dog goes under the knife next week. I live on the second floor. Why is the mouse here?
My dog has hobbled around all summer and apparently this is because of a bad-bad knee and arthritis and muscle atrophy and torn ligaments and, if we don’t fix it, her other knee is basically guaranteed to blow. There are worse things to spend money on.
Considering I’m returning from a week-long/unannounced/unofficial blog hiatus, I guess it’s best to ease in gently. Talk about my dog instead of me. The last ten days have felt like, well, not ten days. But long. Long long long, yet not. There’s so much good and there’s so much I don’t know. I’m scared January will come too quickly and I’m scared it won’t come at all. I returned to my summer office job this week. A job I stopped going to early last month because I was so tired and I was so sick, which is why I deferred graduate school. But now I need money to make up for what I spent during in Alaska last week so I can still move to Alaska in January It’s weird to be back in a place I thought would be so temporary. It’s weird to still be here when I thought it’d be so temporary.
I was in Los Angeles with my mom on Wednesday for a book launch of an author who critiqued my first chapter at a writing conference in 2008. In her critique, she complained about how it was unrealistic that my abused sixteen-year-old protagonist didn’t like sex, which in retrospect wasn’t the healthiest feedback to hear at bruised and healing seventeen. This is irrelevant. On Wednesday, Los Angeles was hot and brown and exhausting. It was beautiful too. I can bitch and moan about the drought and the smog all I want, but I’ll always find the mountains and foothills of this region intoxicating. Still. I don’t know. I used to feel buffeted in cities. These days, too much time out of the house, too much time in a bustle, and I want to hide in a warm bus beneath my sweatshirt. Sleep and wait to wake up in a different, quieter place.
Some facts. My car hit 66,666 last Saturday. I’m snapchatting more than I should and abusing Tinder for entertainment. I’m still cavity free, even after 23 years of excessive chocolate consumption. For a few days I forgot how to spell cavity. It’s definitely not cavity. In addition to drafting emails for the finance world, I’m now also a server for the rich and famous and newly married (yay catering!). Tonight my should-be Alaska cohort went to the pub on campus to celebrate the first week of teaching. I know this because of Facebook. Thanks, Facebook. I’m not jealous. Nope. This is my first autumn in Orange County since 2011. I sleep with my dog at my legs and a teddy bear in my arms because I feel quiet and weird, and keep waking at four to this dull pulse in my head. It’s confusing to feel so physically collapsed when my head is this absurdly happy and excited about so many things, because really there are so so so many things.
Like like like! Another Big Revision is happening, because something really, really quite wonderful went down and the amazing Rachel Lynn Solomon chose me as her alternate in Pitch Wars. I’m not going to even attempt to describe Pitch Wars, but it’s something good and exciting and an opportunity I didn’t at all anticipate receiving.
I’ll probably shut down this blog about a dozen more times between now and the end of the year. Blink and count to ten. I promise I’ll eventually show up again.