Nearly seven months elapsed between my last real piece (March 7, 2015) and the NaBloPoMo announcement I put up yesterday–and as I noted in that post, it’s been almost a year since I was truly active here. While I try to keep this blog from being too mundanely personal, I think it’s worth taking a moment to look at where I am now compared to where I was then.
There are three big things that have changed since last November.
- I graduated, but you knew that already. I’ve been happily out of school for the better part of a year now. I walked at graduation with the rest of my year in May, which was probably far less exciting for me than it was for most of my peers. Because I clearly don’t know what’s good for me, I’m now looking into grad school. (I don’t want to talk about it.)
- I have a proper grown-up job now. Last year I spent nine months interning with Education Week, primarily writing for their Teaching Now blog. While I loved it, my credit card statement did not love it nearly as much. At the end of May, I took a full-time job at Georgetown University as an administrative assistant in the same department where I got my very first job as a student.
- I moved! While I was #blessed to have a roommate I actually liked last year, there’s a lot to be said for having a space that is completely, absolutely, 100% yours. Even when that space is a 480-square-foot studio.
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It looks like you’re a cool, hip fella who enjoys such cool, hip activities as “occasionally leaving your house” and “interacting with other people.” Congrats! While involved in one such activity, you’ve come across an attractive young woman who happens to be working, perhaps at a restaurant or event venue. You would like to get to know her better. Here’s how to go about that.
Step 1: Don’t.
You’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you.
Fine. Continue reading →
Or, How I Learned to Stop Being a Scrooge and Love Valentine’s Day (and Myself)
Everyone knows the story of A Christmas Carol. A grumpy old miser who hates Christmas and all it stands for is visited by three ghosts who show him the light, and come Christmas morning, Ebenezer Scrooge is the most festive gentleman you could ever hope to meet.
I am the Ebenezer Scrooge of Valentine’s Day, only instead of three ghosts, I got a space ship, some knitting needles, and a very tiny dinosaur.
I have never not been single on Valentine’s Day. The closest I’ve come was in fourth grade, when a boy in my class gave me a valentine that said that my crush—his best friend—loved me. I reacted as any lovesick 10-year-old would: by chasing him around the playground for embarrassing me.
In high school, while I appreciated the opportunity to dress up in festive outfits, I sometimes chose instead to recognize National Ferris Wheel Day or, mostly-jokingly, Singles Awareness Day. By college, I had dropped even that. I had meetings to go to and midterms to study for. Valentine’s Day had no place in my plans. Continue reading →
My mom always says that what you’re doing at midnight on New Year’s is what you’ll be doing for the rest of the year. If that’s the case, then I’ll be spending 2015 working and hiding in coat closets.* Yes, I was at work on New Year’s Eve–not exactly the most auspicious start to the year, truth be told.
First impressions are important, but I suspect that in this case, 2015’s thoroughly meh first impression on me doesn’t necessarily mean anything. For the first time in several years, I don’t know where the next 365 days will take me. After 17 years, I finally find myself facing a year where I won’t be going to school. By January 1, 2016, I will almost certainly have a new job and a new apartment, possibly in a new city. All of those things, and many others, are up in the air, and only time will tell how they will fall. Continue reading →
Two weeks ago, sitting at my sister’s desk in Oregon, I submitted my last paper of undergrad.
It was, as endings go, a very sedate one. No big stressful final exam, just a five-page paper and a short email. I had told people I was graduating, but I hadn’t made any big announcement about it. There was no ceremony before I left for Christmas, not even a reception; I’ll walk at the regular commencement in May, but until then I’ll just quietly disappear from campus, remove myself from student mailing lists, and try to get a head start on real life while I wait for the rest of my class to catch up.
If my high school graduation was a whirlwind of deadlines and events and people and emotions, then my college graduation is the opposite. All the energy that built up as I finished that chapter of my life is being released as I close out this one, a calming of the waves rather than a rising of the tide. Continue reading →
“Oh, you’re not really from DC.” I was sitting at the dinner table at my Lisbon hostel, chatting with a group of my fellow travelers. She was another student, from California but in Copenhagen for the spring. “You just go to school there.”
She had a certain point—and to be honest, I mostly said I was from DC because it was easier than explaining to Europeans where Oregon was—but at the same time I was a little bothered by the assertion. The man to my right had introduced himself as Matt from Brooklyn, but he had only moved to New York about six months prior. I had been in DC for nearly four times that long, even considering the few weeks each year when I left to make the trek back west and the months I’d been in France. At what point did DC start being home? Continue reading →
I was considering writing a story about cat eggs this evening, but instead we’re going to go for a little change of pace. Here’s a selection of things from my browser history today. If nothing else, it makes me feel better about not reading as many books as I used to, because clearly I still do a lot of reading–it’s just all online now.
This morning I learned that I am the sort of person who will read a 17-minute piece about typesetting and 1970s printing methods before even eating breakfast. This piece is fascinating, and I say that with all seriousness.
Even longer but also even better: “My Life In The Locker Room: A Female Sportswriter Remembers The Dicks.” (This one came post-breakfast but before I’d finished my tea.)
Long before I was allowed to eat fish with bones, could go all night without peeing in my bed, or understood Gilligan’s Island wasn’t real, I loved baseball. It’s the reason I’m a sportswriter, and I learned it from my dad. Back then, almost 30 years ago, passion for the national pastime was an heirloom fathers passed to their sons. But a little girl with blonde pin curls somehow slipped into the line of succession.
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