Books. Books. And More Books.

Yesterday i spent a good two hours in the children's and Young Adult (teen) section of the bookstore. I haven't been in this area since middle school. And for good reasons too.

I'm short. Young looking. And for the most part I have that precocious thing down to a science (even though I'm 22). There are parts of my personality that is totally child-like, which is why I think kids love me. I'm imaginative, I ask a million questions, and I get excited over the smallest things. Like Hulas!!!! Especially Sufjan Stevens doing the Hula.

Because of this i often have to remind people of my true age. And also because of this (i think) i gravitate towards more adult themed literature. I figure you can't mistake me for someone way younger, if I'm talking about a Richard Yates or Ayn Rand novel.

As i wait patiently (or white knuckled) for The Editor to contact me about this internship, I can't help but go over all the knowledge I have on children and young adult books. From my recollection, as soon as I read my first adult book (when i was 12) I have never looked back to YA. It's what my writing tends to lean towards and what I end up reading on my off time. I often write stories with children as the protagonist, but my stories usually tend to be about a child narrator who is toying with the scary, complicated, and often terrifying world of adults. They are kids who I describe as "players of the game house, without any real knowledge of how fractured that structure is".

My mom and I got in a near heated debate over the difference between YA and Adult fiction. This was right after my luncheon, and she wanted to know every single detail of the day. I told her that I may have made a mistake in admitting my unfamiliarity with YA books.

"What do you mean you don't know anything about YA books!" she asked/half freaked out "you were a kid and teen once"

As I tried to explain to her the fundamental difference, she was not buying it. I asked her when was the last time she picked up a children's or teen book, to which she replied

"I just read the Ugly Duckling yesterday. I found it in my closet and I read the whole thing"

"Yeah but you didn't specifically go to the library or bookstore, ask if they had The Ugly Duckling in stock and run home with glee that you nabbed the last copy."

After this she was not into talking to me anymore, "you are very grouchy tonight. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Though I could be totally wrong, there are differences between the two. In publication, advertising, academics, readership, and symbolism. Even the writing is different. I have a fair knowledge of Fairy Tales, but are those even considered YA books by today's standard?

So, I went to Barnes and Nobel yesterday and moved past all the fiction and non-fiction books directly to the YA section (I'll go in the children's section when Michelle is with me). As i scanned the books for the specific publishing companies logo...some of the books (by various publishers) were just plan campy. Others were decent and interesting.

A flood of memories came back of all the books I use to read before i abandoned them for more adult fiction. I was obsessed with the author L.J Smith whose stories of vampire/human love entertained me most days. I actually began writing my first story shortly reading her book Soulmates ( I adapted the book with major changes to the plot). I have since sworn that i will name my kid after the main character (Thierry) and I still continue to write some vampire stories for the hell of it. R.L Stine was also a favorite. I'm not talking goosebumps here (but who could forget those gems) but his Fear Street series. I was not a goth kid (maybe a metal head) but i loved the suspense stuff the most.

During my transition to adult fiction from YA fiction, i read Speak, I Never Promised You A Rose Garden, Feeling Sorry for Cecilia, and The Bastard out of Carolina (not really a YA book, but a really nonetheless). Of course as I roamed the YA section this time, I didn't see any of my favorite books from middle school. The selection now is very generation appropriate (which can be a good thing or a bad thing) and some of the reads were just...blah. But there were a couple of good ones, and the YA genre has a lot of potential.

As I finished my research at the bookstore, I was more excited about possibly interning at this publishing company. I mean i was excited before, but now i am so excited I want this thing more than food and water. I admit YA fiction isn't a genre I've gravitated too since middle school, but I am damn excited about it's influence in the publishing market. YA fiction is huge, and produces some good work. The publishing company itself was a friendly open atmosphere, one that I could see myself at. I could meet people in my field, make connections, and be productive.

Plus I remember how much those books shaped my own appreciation for literature. Who doesn't want to be apart of that?

Fingers crossed I get this thing. No word yet from The Editor and that is making my stomach hurt. I'm excited though and even a little upbeat (which is a rare treat these days). I feel like things will get better, that things are getting better. I just have to wait and be patient.

Goodbye to All of That

"Stress may raise breast cancer risk in young women"



...Well if that's the case I'm in trouble!



It was interesting waking up to this yahoo news this morning after a sleepless night and week of stress. I don't think I have ever felt so depleted in my whole entire life.



Because I sometimes find comfort in numbers and schedules, I am counting down the days I've been here. I've counted the days I've been on a job search, and the days I've been babysitting a three year old, the days I've been antsy and near tears. It's only been 14-15 days by my calculation, which in essence is not a long time. But the stress of this job search, combined with not having my own personal space, is freaking me out. And/or stressing me out.



The biofeedback lady I went to 2 years ago, said my body didn't handle stress well. I actually didn't need a professional to tell me that, but hearing her say "your body is so stressed right now you are almost a corpse" was a little unnerving.



I vacillate between extremely optimistic and on the verge of tears must days. It's a weird sort of chaotic balance that i haven't been use to for a while. Without the safety of college, or even my mom and house Anxiety doesn't have any place to function. At least with those anchors, there was an emotional place for Anxiety to work. Without that structure, Anxiety is working like a bacteria, attacking my body and wearing me down.



Despite my luncheon yesterday, i have been critical of the thing ever since. "i shouldn't have said this/i should have said this/Damn I'm awkward!!". When i went to bed last night, I keep thinking "too little, too late" about the whole situation. Maybe I've completely let a big opportunity slip through my hands, and all i have left is more stress and a potential cancer risk.



I've made a decision about interning, but i feel like my ungraceful answers combined with the whole "i want to be a writer" thing may have messed up my chances. BIG TIME.

I've been evoking some Joan Didion lately via an essay i read by a writer who moved to city because he thought it was the place for writing. Of course he soon became disillusioned by the city, and discovered it wasn't what he imagined it to be. He eventually left, feeling neither success or failure for his time spent there, but a sense of incompleteness with his journey. I have just begun the Didion essay, but i figure (since he referenced it in his essay) it is about the same disillusionment she felt with the city.

Though i was born here, my 10 year absence has made readjustment difficult. The City is like an old friend. A friend who i left on good terms. But after ten years, and my sudden reappearance I feel like we are just two very different people. We either have to find the things in one again that attracted us in the first place, or part...still on good terms but without all the expectations that shrouded our reunion.

I hope things get better. I really hate boring you with my readjustment problems.

Rooftop Luncheon.

Today i had an informational meeting with an editor at a publishing company!!! Scandalous.

Thanks to Frogboots, i got a Wednesday away from a moody 3 year old. I did not spend the week up to this meeting writing out detailed questions to ask The Editor. I wanted it to be a relaxed, informal sort of thing. If i hyped up the experience in my mind, i would have went there nervous and freaked out. I did get a cute skirt though because meeting or no meeting I wanted to look semi-professional.

My aunt has a day off to day, and said she would take me to Soho as soon as she dropped Michelle off at the Babysitter. I think she was more excited about the trip then i was. As a burgeoning fashionista, any excuse to hang around clothes stores is enough incentive for her. We left the house at 9:20 to catch the 9:50 bus to Grand Central station. I looked kind of weird wearing a nice skirt, a cardigan, and my converse shoes. I know i looked tacky without the proper shoes ( I put the heels in my bag so i could change into then when i got there) but there was a lot of walking and i would risk fashion for safety any day.

Getting to Grand Central was easy. Getting on the subway posed a small problem. I don't think I've written about me fear of public transportation. I've been here two weeks and I still refuse to ride the bus. It's small, cramped, and i have heard my fair share of "some guy was masturbating next to me" stories to fear riding the Bee-line.

I've only been on a subway once (when i was 10) and other than the smell of pee, it was not a bad experience. At GC you can go down a tunnel which will lead you to the subway. Unlike the train, you have to get a Metro Card to ride the subways. It's 4 dollars (round trip) but you get to train hop until you get to your destination. Of course when we got there the line to buy a Metro Card was long. So long that it would take 20 minutes of just waiting to get it. We went all over Grand Central looking for another place to find a Metro Card. A nice guard, pointed us in the direction of a place no one remembers to go for a Metro Card.

The Subway is hot and dark. There was a moment as we descended some stairs that i thought i was walking into hell. When the subway did come, we jumped on the wrong one and had to get off at one stop to get one the right one. This error was not too big because 15 minutes later we were in lovely Soho.

I can't even describe this place without squealing. Unlike the terribly busy, noisy, cramped quarters of Time Square. Soho is the darling sister of her unruly brother. There are shops all over the place, and i saw more models in one day then i could take. Because we were an hour early, we went window shopping through every store. Besides my loan payments, i need a job to buy some new clothes. I look like a bum compared to everyone else (cute skirt and all).

I left my aunt at Crate and Barrel (the Soho edition) and went to the publishing company. It was as I imagined, a bookworms dream!!! I had to get a name tag, and hand over my drivers license but as soon as i was guided up the escalator and to the receptionist office i was wide eyed and eager. I was a half and hour early, but i figured it was better than being late.

The Editor was much younger than i thought. I felt a little overdressed as she greeted me in some trousers and simple blouse. She invited an editorial assistant to lunch with us, and we headed up a few flights of stairs to the rooftop cafe.

When we all got out meals it was time for the meeting. I immediately wanted to ask the assistant more questions, because she has the job that i want. The Editor went to get her microwaved lunch inside, which gave me a few minutes to ask the assistant a crap load of questions.

I won't say that the editorial assistant wasn't nice (because she was) but you can tell she was very territorial about her job. She's into children's lit like a pro and my proclamation for an interest in adult fiction rubbed her the wrong way (there is a huge difference between children's and adult literature. One that extends to the editorial department of publishing companies) Though i thought the lunch was a forum for me to ask questions, the EA asked me all kind of questions about literature. Did i have interest in children's lit? If so, what kind of books? What's the last thing I read?

When the Editor came back she shot me the same questions. I mentioned a few books that i am reading now, none of which were children related material. Somewhere during the luncheon as i stared out at new york, i mentioned that i wanted to be a writer. This was only after The Editor asked me why i relocated to the city. When i mentioned the word writing, i could feel the EA give me the stank eye through her shades. The Editor, hit me with a little knowledge concerning my writing aspirations and a job in publishing. If i want to write, i won't do much of that in publishing.

I knew she wasn't trying to be a Debbie Downer, but the reality of the situation made me think. The Ea wanted to know why i was interested in publishing. It was one of the first questions that she asked me. I must admit that i really didn't have an answer. I mean i love books, i have a BA in English and i would make a horrible professor. Publishing is something i know i can do with the skills and interest that i have in books. I don't think that answer came off as well as it did in my mind. I sounded sort of nonchalant and like publishing was my last resort.

They described publishing as something you have to a passion in because the pay is so-so and the hours are long. Work extends into the weekends, and you read a lot of shit manuscripts before you get a good one. The payoff is that you get to follow the transition of a manuscript into a book. You get to play a pivotal role in publishing books, and seeing something beautiful reach the public. This is what the Editor said, and i kind of wished i would have said something like that.

The luncheon lasted for about 50 minutes. I didn't eat much of my lunch because i was trying to take in as much as i could. The Editor told me to give the publishing world some thought. Why take a job as an editorial assistant if it isn't something i am passionate about? Why fill some space that someone else really wants? The Editor and I rode the elevator down together, where i puzzled over my new conundrum. Is publishing something i want to do? And if so, would i sacrifice writing in order to break into the field? Is there any way to find a balance between writing and publishing that can give me a fulfilling and interesting life.

That is one question i do not have an answer to. The Editor said there was a potential internship available if i was interested in it. I would have to first read some manuscripts and analyze them with a critical eye. If all was to work out, i could apprentice with her and have the much needed experience i need. I think I've already made my decision but my heart feels heavy with any thought of the sacrifices i may have to make.

On the Prowl

Today i applied to ten jobs. TEN! It was a record breaking day by my count.

I dread having to work retail for many reasons. Though i am personable and friendly, it's only with people i feel comfortable with. Strangers freak me out, and having to be nice to people who may not be nice back makes me antsy. The only retail places i applied to were the ever so friendly Barnes & Nobel and Crate and Barrel (only because i hear you get a 30% discount and Christmas is soon approaching).

Besides those two, i couldn't stomach applying to any more retail places, and spent the rest of the afternoon applying to libraries and looking for a perfect interview outfit. Because of funds, i have decided to buy ONE interview outfit and reuse it until it is falling apart.

However, i am a person overwhelmed by small things. I was not the kid in the candy store who was dazzled by the gummie worms and chocolate raisins. I was the kid who walked into the colorful store holding my bag with no idea where to start. So instead of leaving the store with an array of candy to rub in my brothers face, i ended up with a bag full of one type of candy.

I have not yet escaped this affliction. I browsed H & M, forever 21, and Anthropologie (this one more for fun than actual shopping) today and was taken aback by all the clothes. I want something cute and businesslike. An outfit that's professional but displays some of my character. I guess because i don't have a sound clue what my character is like (indie rock/book worm?) i don't really know what i am looking for. I kind of looked suspicious in each store, walking around aimlessly with my big "organically grown" bag and shifty eye contact. After 30 minutes of "maybe this would look nice" i left defeated.

I found a store that i absolutely fell in love with (but cannot afford) which is called Martin + Osa, a casual comfort clothing line at it's best. The website does not do the store justice. Everything about the store made me squeal like a 3 year old. And by the end of the day i was telling my mom "I want to be an Osa girl". She had no idea what i was talking about but she was happy that i didn't sound depressed. The price is way (way!) out of my league but hopefully i can find something like their pieces at a cheaper store.



Some days i try to be as positive as i can about the job search. My mom ( along with you guys) ar helping me in the supportive area. Maybe because it's a Monday (which is a good start off day) but i was determined to get out there, instead of mope around (I'll save that for another time) and weep into a pillow ( i don't do this, but it sounds more dramatic than "lie in bed frustrated about being jobless). I wanted to be more proactive today.



I know that i won't be jobless forever, but this looking and feeling inadequate thing sucks. It's a big blow to the ego. I keep running through jobs that i can try if all else fails:



Beckett the train conductor: I would get to wear a cute little hat, and stamp people's ticket with a hole puncher. It's embarrassing that that is my sole attraction to the job but I really want a conductor hat though . I would work on the Metro North line doing the local stops throughout the day. I would get to view some of the pretty towns i wish i was living in, and tilt my hat to all the nice old people. Though i have never seen a women train conductor person, i play with the idea from time to time.



Beckett the Construction Worker: Yes, I'm small and dainty looking but i know my way around a power tool. Okay i don't really know my way around a power tool, but there must be some job where i can tell other people what to do. And maybe even get a hat. I really want a hat.



Beckett the Secret Shopper: I actually saw this ad on-line. I imagine it would be something like a candid camera job. I would go into whatever store was required from me. Buy an item, while internally rating the service. As soon as my change is handed back to me, i will surprise the employee with "I'm your secret shopper!!!" The well hidden camera people will emerge from their hiding spots to capture to surprise of the employee. And we would all I know it doesn't work like that, but in my mind it does.

Beckett the Coffee Shop Worker: I could see myself doing this. I love coffee. People who frequent coffee shop (not the popular ones) are usually intellectuals who love books. I will wear cute clothes and wipe tables down with a forlorn sadness that would propel a hot geeky guy to ask me what is wrong one day. And then we fall madly deeply in love. ( i love daydreaming).

Another busy day tomorrow. Job hunting, interview outfit shopping, and a visit from my uncle. Fingers crossed all will work out soon. I'm thinking of a small trip to New Haven on Thursday. I'm in need of some CT love.

Home Away from Home.

This homesickness is killing me.

It isn't even like i miss the location of my home but the actual house itself. The town i lived in sucked, along with the hot humid weather. And i had absolutely nothing to do there every day of every week. I just miss my actual home. Like my house, my mom, and my cats.

When you move in with someone else, you realize how differently their household is from yours (or at least the household you wish to build for yourself). My aunt lives in a chaotic mess of 3 year old toys and clothes she will never wear. Though she is a fabulous person and Michelle is fun to be around (when she isn't crying or screaming) her apartment isn't really home sweet home.

You know when you have the cool Uncle or Aunt who you think is so much better than your mom and dad because they let you eat snacks all the time and watch as much tv as you want. Then when you come home you can't help but feel like your house is so lame in comparison. You have to eat your vegetables at your house, tv time is limited, and there isn't a candy bar in sight. Of course if you lived with said Aunt and Uncle for longer than a week you'd realize all those luxuries become tiresome, and the excesses of candy, tv, and "fun" isn't what it is all cracked up to be.

That's exactly how i feel at this moment. There is absolutely no structure here. We eat out everyday ( i grab a salad), we watch TV (all day) and then when we aren't doing that we are walking around trying not to spend money we don't have (this is more her than me).

The food thing is killing me the most. I did not know i was such a proponent of healthy meals until i scarfed down my fourth pizza last week. At some point my mom called and asked me if i was eating healthy. I thought this was a weird question, because she knows that i don't over or under indulge my food, i eat when i'm hungry, i don't eat when i'm not.

Of course, my mom is more aware of my aunt's lack of cooking than i was. Which i am learning about the hard way. Yesterday my aunt said we were going to have steak, with rice and vegetables. I almost cried with happiness because i have been eating sandwiches all week. Of course by steak, rice and vegetables she meant lightly seasoned steak (salt and pepper) with rice and vegetables you can steam in the microwave. It's the closest thing i will get to a home cooked meal here unless i get in the kitchen myself.

Today is Sunday, and my mom and I usually make a huge brunch, enough for a firehouse full of men. I am usually in charge of making the pancakes or french toast, while my mom makes the eggs, bacon, sausage, and cuts up the strawberry for the fruit product. With a glass of orange juice and a side of coffee the huge breakfast lasts us through the day. This is my first Sunday without it, and my stomach is growling for "real" food, and hugs.

I wouldn't feel so shittastic about the job hunting situation if I had the luxury of home to soothe me. If only i could transport my home, my mom, and my cats to this location i would feel a little better about the future. But as i ate my season-less steak, hard rice and dry vegetables, the truth made my stomach ache.

I've been babysitting my aunt's kid the whole weekend, and when i am not on the edge of crying for my own mom, we are having an okay time. Of course this whole babysitting thing is preventing me from heading out of the house (or even writing a story or two for comfort) . By the time my aunt comes home from work, it is too dark to walk anywhere without a bodyguard. Tomorrow Michelle is headed to the babysitter (thank god) and i am job hunting again. Hopefully, as September gets closer and closer and jobs open up, i will have better news to write. Like "I got a job!!!!". Until there "hanging in their" is the caption of the week.

On Wednesday i am headed to Soho for a luncheon with an editor lady Frogboots knows. Thank God because I am trapped in the world of a toddler and will be happy to talk with someone who can count past 20. It's just an informational meeting, but i know she can give me some pointers on how to break into publishing, so i don't end up working at subway when I'm 40. Until then, the search continues tomorrow. I applied to Barnes & Noble on Friday and there are a few more stores that i have to apply to. I just need something while i continue to apply to editorial assistant positions.

Fingers crossed.

Still Here.

I have not abandoned this blog ( i could never do something like that), i've just been highly disillusioned, slightly depressed, and exhausted from my job search and writing endeavors.



It's stupid that you spend four years in college, earning a degree with limited ,though various, job experience but employers do not want to hire somebody who has recently graduated from college. Well sir, than what is the point of earning a degree?



I don't know what i was expecting when i moved here. But it most likely included finding a job right away. Excluding last week (because my mom was here) this week has been a total bust in the job market. No one has contacted me about any of the jobs i have applied to, and i am now a sitting duck with limited funds.

Having a job will a) put money in my pocket b) allow me to get out of this house and c) meet people my own age (because right now my BFF is a three year old).

I am most concerned about the money situation. I know any day now i will have to pay my first loan payment and that scares the shit out of me. Though i worked this summer to ensure that i would have the money needed for that first payment, i can't say anything about the 2nd.

There is something about this place that makes you feel like a total success or total failure. And i am feeling the effects of the latter. As a jobless, homeless (because i don't have my own apartment), moneyless, and car less college graduate with a social life that consist of watching Barney over and over again...i am not in the best of spirits.

My mom continues to cheer me up with her "have patience you just got there" speeches. But my optimism is waning. Fast. There are moments when i want to pack up and move back home. To my cats and big bed. I'm trying to remember the things that brought me here, but without something soon..i don't know.

Speciality Insurance. Really?

I am usually very good at interviews. If i could put that on my resume i would, but at the risk of sounding pompous and arrogant i refrain. But because I'm more of a one on one person, my interview skills are good. I'm personable, genuine, and funny when it's just me and one other person. I can't say I'm like that all the time, but when it comes down to talking with a professor or an employee...it seems to come out of nowhere.

Last Thursday i had an interview with this staffing agency. They place you in a job that fits "your" needs. When a representative first called me, i was super excited. I mean i need a job, and to get a phone call from some lady talking about a potential job opportunity out of the blue is wicked awesome. As the days got closer and closer to our meeting i became a little less enthusiastic about the whole thing. I looked up the staffing place on line and noticed that most of the jobs were administrative assistant work. Putting the word administrative in front of assistant doesn't hide the stench of a desk job and a life of boredom.

The meeting was in Connecticut, and the morning of i was not to happy about going. I couldn't figure out what to wear (since everyone in this town is dressed like a model from vogue which makes me look like a bum) because my clothes reek of college life. I bought an ugly shirt from H & M (which is shocking because it's a great store) that i refused to wear. It's nice but wasn't at all my style and i spent a good 30 minutes taking it off and putting it back on. After all of that I wore something more "me" which consisted of a cardigan and trousers.

My mom came along because she wanted to explore the town while i had my interview. She was more excited about the job then i was. She kept giving me interview tips the whole bus ride there, which drove me crazy to no end. After getting lost on foot, flailing down a cab, and arriving two hours early to the building way outside of the city, i was sweaty and hungry. Luckily there was a Italian restaurant right next door, which me and my mom dinned in until i had to leave.

For some reason, my interview skills failed me that day. If you could say all the completely wrong things to say during an interview, i did ("i plan on traveling in the near future' "there may be an internship soon" "my dream job is in editorial work" "this would be good though until something better comes up"). Though this is just a staffing place, and they were just interviewing me as an candidate for placement in one of the companies affiliated with them...i still sucked. By the time i arrived up there i was full (from the pizza and bread) sweaty (from the walking) and irritable (because i knew this would not provide me placement in a creative job).


The rep and I have been corresponding since early August, via email and phone. When i met her i wanted to stand by the impression i made with her on the phone. But as i walked in sweaty, limping (heels) and full, i knew this was not going to go as planned.

She asked me questions from my resume which i was not expecting. She asked me about my favorite class in college, my experience with Microsoft, and how much i wanted to make. For some reason i couldn't produce a good answer for any of them. I made up for that with some witty observation which she thought was very funny. But then came the part where she explained what job she had in mind for me:

An administrative assistant at Firm specializing in speciality insurance.

Let the boredom begin.

Though i am usually good at fanning excitement/interest for things i don't care about, i do not think i showed that during this part of the interview. I once listened to a friend of mine talk about a Sci-fi series the whole bus ride from school to his house. He would have never known that i did not like sci-fi things, and did not read the book he loaned me were it not for Marie and her big mouth.

As she started talking about speciality insurance, i felt my body go numb. I was trying with desperation to suppress a yawn, and my eyes kept moving from her face to a pretty object in the corner. You know when you're really tired and your eye lids become so heavy you can't even keep them up. Well...that's pretty much what happen. There was a point when she was talking about cow insurance that my head may have nodded a little. When it was all over and done with i thanked her for her time and limped back downstairs. Needless to say i don't think I'll be hearing from her again.

In the few days i have had to readjust the plans for myself. I want so badly to work in a related field, if not for the money than surely for the experience. My mom left today, and though i was confidant that i would not be upset, i literally wept on the Metro when she left . I was suppose to take her to Grand Central Station and then ride the train back, but she wanted to make sure i got on the right train home so she waited with me until my train came. I still had about 10 minutes before my train departed, so i quickly said goodbye gave her a long hug, and then sat on the stalled car.

As i waited, these tears just came streaming down my face. Like uncontrollably. I swiped at my eyes the best that i could, but to no avail. She of course was still waiting outside and came to my window to see me balling my eyes out. She kissed me goodbye through the window and then left. Which of course caused even more tears.

It's a little lonely here, even though i have my aunt, and two cousins (but the three year old doesn't count because she is still working on articulating her thoughts) . I am starting at the bottom and i have to build something new and fresh for myself in a town that has changed so much since i was last here. I walk around and i see people with their friends and i hope that i will have that too. I want some aspect of a social/work life. But i know the only way i can make friends, create some sort of career for myself, and get rid of this homesickness is to get immersed in the writing/and or academic world. I need to be around people with my same interest, and working at some crap job being an assistant for a speciality insurance firm will make me depressed.

No one has yet to contact me about a publishing job, and i have just applied to an fall internship (not the main internship which would start January 1st) at a small publishing company in the city. It is unpaid, but i figure 15 hours/week and a part time job on the side may do the trick. I have a crap load of stuff to do, but it's worth it. I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time and i can't let nerves, loneliness, and a little sadness deter me.

A Love Story

This is not my love story about NYC. I wish it was. I am headed to the city tomorrow to roam the offices of Random House, my internship, and try to find a small artist community somewhere.



I should have a new york state of mind since i am now so close to the city. But i have spent the last days in the arms of Connecticut. I f*cking love that state. I have a lot to post about, but my legs hurt (from all the walking) my head hurts (from lack of sleep) and my eyes hurt (from all the wide eye staring).



I had (have) a dream of living in New Haven and commuting to the city. I concocted this idea after learning that their is a direct line from the city to Connecticut. Though i am a New Yorker at heart, the constant noise, dirt, smell of funk, and concrete buildings...is not appealing. Not for writing any way. I'm a person who needs to be clutter free when writing. That also includes my exterior scenery. There is something about looking out my window, seeing a high rise, hearing a taxi cab and other miscellaneous noise...does not get me in the mood to write.



I don't know much about Connecticut but from online pictures, i envisioned it as a writing haven for me. Lots of greenery. Minimal noise. Near the water and boats. And down right pretty. Though i often exaggerate and create ideals that never pan out the way i want to....Connecticut was just as i dreamed.

My mom and i left for New Haven early in the morning. We had to take the bus to Stamford ($2.50) to catch the train to New Haven ($12.50 round trip/each) and then a cab to Yale University ($7.25). A pricey trip but worth it. Before we even got on the train i got a call from some apartment lady in New Haven. I don't have the money (or job) for an apartment but i wanted to at least get the ball rolling. She asked me what i was looking for, in what price range and about my job (my imaginary job in midtown. I had to make up something). During the conversation i mentioned that i would be commuting from the city to New Haven. There was a long pause on the other end, followed by a "You'll hate the commute". Of course i had to get stuck with the young, bitter Realtor.

She went on, for at least 5 minutes, about the evil commute. She had a dream job in NYC, she said, and figured she could commute from New Haven to the city. She said she quit her dream job because the commute was so unbearable. 2 hours back and forth. Rain.Sleet. Or Snow. "Traveling back and forth all day, early in the morning then late in the evening plus the cost of travel. You'll be spending 700 on rent, plus several hundred on commuting. That right there would be the cost of an apartment in NYC. But I'll be happy to show you some listings." She added at the end.

I was a little discouraged by this conversation. I know the commute is shit. But hearing that the commute is shit is different. We still went to New Haven, because i just wanted to get a sense of the town. As soon as we stepped off the train, i was in love. It's beautiful. There are bookstores on every corner, free museums, a crap load of 20 somethings running around and talking about literature and art. There is a level of pretentiousness (because um...Yale is the middle of downtown) that makes you want to pinch New Haven on the cheek and say "aren't you cute".

If we could have spent all day there, we would have. It was a little crowded due to several exhibitions, but i managed to see a few hiding spots for me in the near future. One being a book trade/coffee shop. It's the store of my dreams. Used books at a cheap price plus coffee plus cute coffee shop boys with tattoos. I almost cried.

It is a clean, friendly city where the girl dress nice and the boys are pretty. I said it..pretty. The whole time we were walking around i kept saying to my mom "i could be one of these girls. Book in hand, cute outfit, and lean legs from all the walking." The whole day was a dream.

As we left, the commute thing stayed with me. It is shit. We were lucky to commute on a nice cool day, with a few passengers and no time schedule. But add a job, a 9-5 work day (or even more if i get this internship), no car, and more than 20 bucks on travel just from New Haven to NYC sounds....ugly.

But New Haven is perfect for me and i don't want a long distance relationship with it. What will i do? i'm glad at this age, this is the only thing i have to worry about =).

The Last Time.

Not only is that the title of one of my favorite songs (by Shea Seager) but it is also a constant phrase i have been hearing lately.

Tomorrow i will be in the NYC area. I have successfully turned my nerves into excitement.But I cannot say that my mom and brother have the same sentiment. I understand that college life and the "real world" are two very different things. I won't have a fall or spring break. Nor will i have a month off for Christmas. I think i can swing two days for Thanksgiving and Christmas, but i won't know that for sure until November and December are here.

My mom and i have been driving all over the place, tying up some loose ends. She likes to make sure all the bills are paid up before she leaves, so she doesn't come back having to pay the electric, cable or water bill. I have been packing, deciding what is important to take (my Sufjan Stevens poster and GQ magazines) and what i can leave (books that i will never read but can't fathom throwing away).

During our errand run my mom always says "take your last look, this the last time you'll see this place". What? I'm not dying. I'm just moving away. I don't really see the difference (as much as my mom does) because while i was at school i didn't really come home much. I came home only during breaks, and all of my weekends were spent in my dorm or at the bookstore. I know that the travel distance has tripled, and my vacation time has diminished but that doesn't mean that i won't be able to visit (maybe not as much) or that this isn't home (because it sort of is, My other home where my mom lives.)

Even my brother has been acting weird. Yesterday, out of the blue, he gave me a hug. Like a real hug. I'm a hugger. My mom's a hugger. But my brother? No way. Than on the phone yesterday, he was talking to somebody about how much he'll miss me. That this will be the "last time" he will see me in a while. These last couple of days i have not been acting like this will be the last time i see this place. It's where my mom lives, It's where my brother and cats live. And that alone means it's sort of home.

I don't know.

I have a kind of job interview on Thursday. It isn't at all in publishing, but i need something temporary until i can get a job as an editorial assistant or at least until i get the internship. Ideally Random House would send me a email or give me a phone call about the positions I've applied too. But that has not been the case. Instead it's been a waiting game. Have you the beginning of The Devil Wears Prada, where Anne Hathaway is telling Meryl Streep that "it was this or Auto Universe". I feel like that at this point. I've applied to so many editorial assistant positions i can't even count them.

But i am patient and persistent, and if i do get this crap job as an Administrative Assistant, it will be another thing to include on my resume.

Time to finish packing. I've waited this long to leave and I'm still procrastinating. I'm thinking about buying a new camera before i leave. It would be a graduation present to myself and the last big purchase i make for a long time.

See in you "the city"

Blind Faith?

I graduated from college yesterday! What a crazy thing to finally write and see.



I had to wake up at 4:30 so we (my mom and I) could leave at 5:30, so i would arrive on time (8:30) for the 10:30 commencement ceremony. It was brutal. By the time we arrived i was in no mood for my moms trigger happy finger on the camera. "Stand by that fountain" "Smile" "A real smile" "Did i take the picture" "I didn't take the picture" "is this camera on?"



After 15 minutes of that i was done with the camera and any more damn fountains. Truth be told, i did not want to walk at my graduation. I'm not a fan of commencement ceremonies. I believe they are long, drawn out, and hella boring. This day was more for my mom than anyone else, including me.

Because it was a august commencement there was only 694 graduates (undergrads & graduate students). Luckily since my last name starts with H i was on the second row. Unfortunately i was wedged because a really tall girl and a really tall guy, and i looked small and out of place. I didn't recognize anyone from my class or clubs i was in(for a short time), so i played some game on my phone and listened the band butchered Hey Jude.



As soon as i got to the ceremonies i noticed that everyone had a some weird badge on their black robe. My robe was plain black with no nice badge or special colors. Apparently if i would have just joined the honor society (who has been sending me letters for 3 semesters) i would have gotten a stupid lovely badge to adorn my robe.



I couldn't help but stare at all the graduate students who had these nice robes with a color satchel around the collar. At that moment i realized that i'll have to apply to grad school again, so i can graduate in a nice robe. I know i shouldn't base my academic career on earning a nice color satchel, but hey on the pro and con list of going to graduate school: graduating with a satchel is definitely on the pro side.

The actual ceremony itself was short. The new president of the university(this cool guy in his mid 50's who made a wicked awesome speech) said it would last only 80 minutes. And it pretty much did last that long. After walking the stage, and listening to a crap load of other names being called out, it was all over. My mom and I planned to head back home, but my grandma said she planned a dinner for me with a bunch of other family members. I expected some sweet graduation money, so even though we were both tired and in no mood for a party...we went.

It ended up being pretty cool. Since my medical career was over before it began, i wasn't sure of the reaction from my family, since i've been talking about being a doctor since i was 3. Not that i particularly cared, but you get a different reaction when you say "I'm going to be a doctor" rather than when you admit "i'm going to be a writer". However, my great uncles (my grandma's brothers) were hella excited about having a potential novelist in the family. And not in that fake pretentious way.

Great Uncle Robert (the reformed bad boy of the family who has become my favorite great uncle because of his humor and wit) was grinning from ear to ear. He wanted to know all about writing and what i wanted to do. "You're going to be in the history books (I'm guessing literary history)" he said. That's a far stretch from the truth, but it was a good feeling, especially since no one from my family (excluding my mom) has read anything i've written. There was a blind faith in my possibilities which i didn't expect. I told him i'd send him something in advance for him to read. It's the least i can do since he did give me a nice card, encouragement, and money.

I spent the rest of the night entertaining a 7 year old. At 7 she can apparently do magic, is the strongest women in the world, and is going to open up a restaurant solely selling Lemonade. I helped her draw up a menu.

At one point in the evening she told me that she could magically turn into anything she wanted, like a shape shifter or something (my term not hers). A cat, a dog, a snake. She brought me some invisible powers, thrust them my way and i was apparently equipped with this ability too.

7 year old: Do you want to transform into a cat?
Me: I've never been a cat before. But okay.

Yes. I really am a college graduate. It's hard to believe i know.

All in all it was a good weekend. I should be in the NYC area on Wednesday, ending my chapter here and starting my new thing in a couple of days. I'm not as nervous now, i'm trying to transform the nerves into productivity. That's what i keep telling myself anyway.

I guess i have a little blind faith in myself these days too. Whatever keeps the nerves at bay.

Time to take a nap. I have some swimming and gymnastics to watch tonight and i have to be rested for that.

08-08-08

F-ck the *Olympics.

Today marks the day i got my license. Road Trip anyone?

More to come after my victory drive.

Next step Graduation.

*all kidding aside the Olympics is wicked awesome. I can't wait for the diving and gymnastic competition.

I Wake Up.

Everyday i wake up, and i can swear i see a visual countdown of my last few days here.

Nina (the grey cat) is always at my feet, the sound of my noise machine is whirling, books are everywhere, and Seth Rogen is staring at me from the magazine rack on my desk.

I wake up. I stare at the ceiling for a while, and then there it is ,like some scene from a movie, the visual countdown telling me i have only 3 days left. I know I'm imaging it, i know the letters and numbers are not really spelled out for me. Over my head like some mirage that i can't get rid of. But it's as real to me as anything else.

I pull the covers back. I get up. I pet Nina (the grey one) who is usually purring. I can hear the internal soundtrack of my life right now. Some James Newton Howard or Deborah Lurie score: a little moody, simple, and quiet.

I shower, brush, and moisturize. I check my email and miscellaneous websites. I read to get my mind off of things. I write to remind myself of things. I watch as much tv as i can without going insane. I nap with Nelly ( the other one, who snores) and Nina. I wake up. I get up. I pack or attempt to. And the rest of the day is just a blur.

I realize that my life here is boring and monotonous. I realize that i spent the last 3 years of college hating the experience until the last moment. I realize that I've waited for this moment since i moved here. To get out of this stupid town, and head out there into the real world. But now i cannot understand where this feeling of fear is coming from.

I do this often. I get nostalgic about a place and a time, blurring reality from what really occurred. I have forgotten about all the bad years wrapped up in boredom, self doubt, shitty friends, and people my age who are all getting married and starting families. In this town some people's only way out is through the false security of married life. There is no potential for growth here, you come here to rest, settle down into a complacent existence.

I have forgotten all that of course, for fond and often embellished memories of idyllic times. Good thing i have a documented history of the last three or so years to smack some reality into me.

I'm glad that i am graduating (this Saturday to be exact) but that doesn't mean i haven't fretted over why i was deteremined to gradaute in 3 1/2 years. Why i didn't just take the slow and easy path like Mike, Steph-en, or even Katherine. Of course i realize that all three of these people are struggling to grow up. That they have bombed classes, switched majors more than anyone else, and are looking at least 2 more years of college life. But that doesn't mean it hasn't crossed my mind that maybe extending a few more semesters wouldn't have been that bad?

These are just crazy thoughts ,i know, that are working as my defense mechanism. I am afraid of what the future has in store for me, because i haven't yet planned it out. I once had a dream that i was on this extremely fast train. It was so fast that i didn't know where the hell i was or where i was going. I knew that i wanted to get off, but that i spiraling to a place faster than i wanted to go. I had thoughts of jumping off, as it rocked back and forth with acceleration. I woke up before i could make a decision. I woke up.

With 3 days until graduation and 5 days until NYC, I must turn this anxiety into something productive. For it threatens me, with it's looming promises of false safety in a place i never really liked.