An Open Letter (To Myself)

Dear Self,

Stop wallowing at your pity party. Winter happens to everybody and it's not an excuse to throw away your entire education. That's right. Now pick up your textbook and read a little Emerson. Yes, I know that you don't want to and that you'd rather be sitting in your sad worn-out underwear, stuffing your face with fig newtons. No, just because they have figs in them does not mean that they are healthy. On that note, go to the freaking gym. You're a student and it's free. They have these awesome machines that allow you to run in place while you watch TV or there's this other machine that allows you to walk up stairs that lead to nowhere. Throw a couple This American Life podcasts on your ipod, make a Prince playlist, and hustle. Not only will you look better, but you'll feel better, too. Trust me, I know you.

Now, once you do that, start putting other things into place. This blog? Severely neglected. Put your fingers to the keyboard. It's okay if you don't get any comments. It's just good to have it out there. While you're in front of the computer, set a little non-internet related writing time aside. You've had some short story ideas floating around since Christmas. Don't those ideas deserve to become tangible? And how about typing up a cover letter and applying for those internships that you were so excited for? I know that it's scary to apply and risk being rejected, but, if you don't, you'll never get anywhere. Remember that movie about that guy who sat around and never did anything exciting? You don't because they never made that movie. As a friend, I want your life to be bio-pic material. Think of who could play you! Dakota Fanning, perhaps? Deroda from Gossip Girl? The list goes on.

As soon as all of that mental clutter is cleared up, move on to the physical clutter. Actually, why wait. Get on it now. Girl, your room is disgusting. I thought that you had standards, but, being the you have to wade through wrinkled sweaters, thrice worn t-shirts, and the occasional crumpled-up shopping bag just to get to your closet, I was obviously wrong. You're not a lost cause, but you will be if you don't do some laundry. You'll appreciate this when you realize how much nicer people are to you when you don't have wine and cheeto stains down your front.

Did you know that next Saturday you'll be twenty-two years old? Can you figure out why that feels so much older than twenty-one? I'm not sure why, but I'll take a stab at it. I think that it's because you've made a lot of progress in this past year. Yeah, give yourself a pat on the back for confronting some things that certainly weren't easy and coming out the better for it. The process isn't over, which can be discouraging, but I'm sure that you can keep going. Don't pull the covers over your head, only to peer out when there happens to be something with Jon Hamm on T.V. Hop out of bed, slap on your reading glasses, some running shoes, and better yourself.

Lastly, give yourself a goddamn break. That's right, I'm a flip-flopper, but sometimes you gotta flip and other times you gotta flop. And no, this not an excuse to skip Emerson.

Love,
Me

small spaces #1

Come August, I will likely be making the move from a quaint three bedroom house to a studio apartment. These are sad tidings as I love where I live. The house is cute from the outside, cozily furnished from the inside, I've painted my room the perfect color, and one of my roommates often makes lasagna or other savory goodies that he is generally willing to share. Our living room is full of records and band equipment (none of which belong to me) that frequently provide a relaxing soundtrack to my Sunday mornings (as long as they stay away from reggae). As someone who has a hard time getting out, another perk of my living arrangement is having friends who live right across the hall. Alas, these friends are ready to move on to different things and I'm both too lazy and socially sensitive to try and find new roommates.

Luckily, I'm finding ways to stay positive about the whole thing. There are some great perks to living alone. For one, I get to go to bed without worrying whether or not I'll be woken up by my roommates when they come home at bar time (respectful as they are). And what if I don't want a Sunday morning soundtrack? No problem... unless I have awful neighbors.

One of the main things that I'm looking forward to is the prospect of decorating my own place and making the best out of a very small space. There will be no need to compromise if one roommate does not like this painting here or there. It will go where I like it. And if I stop liking it there? I will move it.

I've been spending a lot of time at interior design blogs like Apartment Therapy, looking for inspiration and have certainly found plenty. It's amazing what people do with small spaces.



Though I'm quite certain that I won't be moving to a tiny cabin, I do love the idea of it, right down to the dog on the porch.

Are you there, blog? It's me, the PQK

Alright, yall. It’s been awhile. Many of you have probably gone on to find new and better blogs. How can I blame you? I wouldn’t want to be in a relationship with a blog this unreliable and distant either. But please, I’m begging you to give me one more shot to explain myself.

Over the past month, there have been numerous occasions where I have sat down to write entries, like “What would it be like to live with aliens?!” (I sort of know, I live with a Canadian) or “If I was a has-been Backstreet Boy, which one would I be?” (Wikipedia has just informed me that they are still together. I wonder how that’s going), but for each crazy topic line, I was only left with a blinking curser.

Truth be told, there were a lot of other things keeping me from the blogosphere. University (yes, I’ve acquired British dialect since I’ve been gone and am far to sophisticated to say “college”) has been working me to the bone (and not in a sexy way)—essay after essay, exam after exam. While I’ve only been working weekends, work has been driving me a little cuckoo, too. Gosh, it’s a good thing that the creative writing degree that I’m so tirelessly working on will provide such a lucrative career. Then I’ll really get out of the service industry, huh? crickets
There’s been a wee bit of fun in there, too. I went to visit my friends, nicknamed A-mos (a lá Bennifer), in Philadelphia. Maybe I’ll do a Philly post in honor of the upcoming primary, complete with photos.

I digress. The fact is I was feeling pretty void of creativity and the little bit that I could muster generally went into dressing up in spring ensembles and narcissistically photographing myself in front of my window. Keep in mind, I really wanted to write, but geez louise was it not going well. What was wrong with me? Usually blogging is a welcomed form of procrastination from my wacky schooly world. Was I sick? Was it time to throw in the towel?

I did a little research, scouring the web for new blogs and carefully reading my old favorites. What do these people have that I didn’t? It hit me. I was trying way too hard. Each entry I tried to write in the last month was so lame because all it was was me trying to show you how clever and awesome I am. Somehow, through the internet, I had reverted back to the Pop Quiz Kid of middle school days, showing up to class in my new sketchers and Jennifer Aniston haircut only to have the popular kids laugh about it later.

So I’ve decided to make the same decision now that I did then (only this time, it won’t involve flared jeans and Blink 182 t-shirts) and stop trying so god damn hard. One thing that all of the bloggers that I like have in common is their sincerity or at least the talents to fake it. So here we go, embarking on a new path with the Pop Quiz Kid… that is if you’ll have me back.