Brie.

I'm not a hummus and raw green pepper kind of girl. Let me explain.

I just finished living with someone for one year who was (or at least wanted to be, and thus pretended to be) the type of person that had friends over for "dinner" and they would eat hummus, sliced green pepper and expensive Brie. I guess that's fine for the Whole Foods set, but I was always marginally uncomfortable around these people. I felt like we had to compare Anthropologie findings and talk about the respective qualities of Pottery Barn vs. Pier One candlesticks. I should add, for the record, that living with this girl was a hugely miserable experience and contributed in very large part to one of the hardest years of my life.

Tonight..... I had my people over. We mixed Tequila Sunrises before we ordered pizza, and ate that and drank gin and tonics while we watched three episodes of LOST. No pretense, no bullshit about triple cream brie. Fun was had by all, and I think that tonight, we will all go to bed resting assured that we don't have giant sticks up our asses.

Mother's Day

Just a quick thought. I'm so confused when I hear girls my age say how much they want to have children right now. I don't understand it. This phase of life, and I'm not being glib about this, is about selfishness. Outside of work, your time is your own, the money you make is your own, and you are allowed to do with it what you please. And I adore this. I can read, or blog, or stay up all night, or have the freedom to make unwise decisions. I'm not ready to give that up. I think it's that freedom that has helped me to figure out who I am and what I want. While those kinds of things can never be determined in a vacuum- not having other human lives depending on you helps.

I'm also very scared by the prospect of having children. I say this because I've seen and know moms who in all honesty don't like their kids. Growing up, I didn't know that people like this existed. I was naive, and gladly so about the existence of unfit and unloving parents.

At lunch today in the office, one woman said that what she wants for Mother's Day is for everyone to get out of her house. And I immediately thought what my mom would say if she were asked what she wanted for mother's day. I could picture it at once because it's something I've heard her say many times before. She would say (and I know she'd be tearing up while she said it): "I just wish the three of you could all be home." As a mother, what she wants for mother's day is just to be close to her kids. And while my parents weren't perfect (whose were?), we always knew we were loved. And I don't know I'd be thinking that about my mom if she just wanted me gone on Mother's Day.

I feel that I wandered off into to separate points there, but oh well. I'm thankful for my Mom, and hope that I can be like her.

I never write anymore.

I just don't. And I don't exactly know why. I mean, there are any number of logical reasons. Writing is active, and reading and tv watching are passive. It takes work, and effort and giving of myself and introspection, and I guess at the end of sitting in front of a computer emailing people I don't like, and creating presentations for still other people I don't like, I don't have the emotional energy to come home and give more of myself.

I think that's true on some level. On another level, I think that's a huge cop-out. I think the "desire to write" vs. "actually writing" (metaphorically speaking) is the very thing that separates mediocrity from excellence. Those who excel are those who recognize the easy, passive pleasures and instead choose the active, creative functions instead.

Maybe I don't write out of fear of failure. Fear that what I'm writing isn't as good as it could be, or as good as the writing of others is. I realize this is silly. Everyone can't only engage in the things that they are already good at. Simple logic begs the question of how these people get good at these things. The answer, obviously, is some mix of natural giftedness and hard work.

In the back of my mind, I keep thinking that one day, I'll find one thing I want to do, whether that be write a book or go to graduate school, and that one thing will provide me with all the motivation I need to slog through the daily hard work of achieving that goal. And while that's a nice idea, I just don't think it's true, or has much bearing on reality. Yes, I think there are some goals that will better suit me, and for these things, I'll have a greater desire to work. But I think the other part of this is creating the motivation where none exists. I think this is just part and parcel of working towards something longterm, but this is just also part of maturity. Putting off something you want now for something you've wanted for years of your life, and something that will benefit you for years to come.

This is one of those principles I grasp rationally, but am only very slowly coming to grasp it in actuality. I think it's something I mull over because I'm terrified of the day when I don't care about this anymore, and am perfectly happy to settle for mediocrity. I think most like-minded college graduates have a deeply instilled sense of purpose, and drive, and desire, and these qualities are very much nurtured in college. A rude awakening, then, to come into the corporate world, at the bottom rung of the ladder, when creativity is rarely encouraged, and the intelligence and hard work that got you in the door is so little utilized.

So, this is a step for me. Writing out my thoughts on.... writing. But also on creativity, and the act of creating. I hope it's something that becomes a habit in my life, and the act in and of itself will keep me away from the ever present pull of passivity and mediocrity.

Sigh.

All I want in life is someone to sing the Ben Folds part while I sing the Regina Spektor part.

Eat, Pray, Love, Part 2

I think I' m honing in a bit more on what bugs me about this book. I think Gilbert approaches basic human emotions as if she were the first one ever to experience them. And while I understand that they are meaningful to her, I guess I would like to see some indebtedness to.... humanity? Just some recognition that- oh, this has to be trite- I just know it is, but it felt new to me...

But she lacks that. And her writing thus has an air of pretentiousness that I assume is unintended. More to follow.

Something something art.

Here's my short thought (sparked by reading Elizabeth Gilbert's "Eat Pray Love"): Is all art self-serving to some degree?

I read her book, and for many a reason, don't fully connect with it, partially because I think her style of narrative is self-serving. But I know this is inherent in non-fiction, especially non-fiction memoirs. But is it more than just that? Don't many people create art to record something of themselves, or for the catharsis? Aren't these things, then, self-serving.

I don't know. Just curious.

Let's Part with the Disclaimers....

I'd like to part with the disclaimers.... but that's just not totally in my personality. I blame it on partly on the gorgeous spring weather, which is very transition-y or, the st. Patrick's Day drinks, or mostly listening to Ben Kweller's "Falling"- one of those bittersweet songs that reminds me of being a teenager, and transports me back to being in Texas, and makes me feel a sense of loss, and makes me feel like I need to grow up in a hurry- all at once.

There are just time when I want to cut all the bullshit in relationships (many times, under the aforementioned conditions, one of which being Gin + Tonic), and just say what's really going on. I realize completely that this is a fully cliched and ordinary statement- but at the same time, not an unimportant one. It is common and trite for the simple reason that it is a shared experience.

I don't want to dwell on the lofty (ish) principles of how cliched and prosaic principles prove themselves to be true in our everyday lives, I really don't. I was just driving home from St. Patrick's Day festivities, and just thought of one person. And again, I attempt to dispense here with the cliches and disclaimers- last one- this was much more of a "why didn't we do things this way" type of thought than a "oh, how hard relationships are" kind of thing.

Why didn't I just sit down and say- let's cut the bullshit- regardless of what you feel and think- I need to say this- you get me. You get my stupid, sarcastic, sometimes offensive sense of humor. You get my love of Queen, and pub quiz obsessions, and my introspection, and my introvertedness, and my need to verbally process. You and I have both had a hard, shitty transition out of college, but here we are, and we're the better for it.

And maybe I'm just 22, and mildly retarded, because I just haven't met that many people that I feel like fit the bill. But why didn't I initiate that conversation? Why did I choose to deal with the "What Ifs" rather than deal with the possible rejection. I don't know. I know I'm being maudlin and self-serving right now, but... I don't know, I guess I'm allowed.

I'm tired- not emotionally, or existentially, or in a Ben Folds way, "tired of life..."- I'm just tired. And I need to go to bed. I'll leave the soul-searching to another day.