Comfort Food Weekend

It was a good weekend for comfort foods.  L was sick with a cold and I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the end of school.  Saturday dinner:

Lemon Chicken Soup. Lots of garlic, lemon, and herbs for banishing illness, and lots of veggies for yumminess. And farfelle because it makes me happy in a way that only fun noodle shapes can.

After a minor meltdown and subsequent reality check, I have learned that the end of school does not necessarily mean that my life becomes a meaningless, directionless abyss. I’m still feeling a little cranky about it, though, so I made myself an enviable lunch:

Apricot and Cream Cheese Stuffed French Toast. Lots of cinnamon and cloves plus a drizzle of New Hampshire maple syrup make this a warm and cozy kind of food.

There is also a large quantity of chocolate in my apartment at the moment, but I didn’t photograph it because, well, you’ve all seen Hershey’s Kisses before. Probably. And if not, the fact that you are reading this indicates that you have access to the internet, so you can Google that shit.

Sorry, I’m awfully profane today.

That’s all, folks. Off to write that last paper…

Revision, or My Brain’s Sabbatical

It’s spring!! No, really, this time! It’s absolutely gorgeous in these fine cities of mine. You know how they say smell is the most powerful trigger of memory? I think weather conditions are equally powerful. The weather often inspires me to think about the last day that felt the same or maybe a particularly noteworthy day that felt the same. It’s not that every day I walk out of my apartment building and am hit with a tidal wave of memories of days that had the same atmospheric conditions (although there are certainly days where it feels like I’m wading through a hip-deep sea of memory), but quite frequently I am reminded of a similar season from some past year.  Lately I’ve mostly been reminded of my first year living in Cambridge.

Everything was so foreign to me. I was a pedestrian for the first time in my life, which actually worried me.  How backwards and screwy is that? What could I possibly rely on more than my own body? A hunk of machinery? Yeah, right. But I guess back then I really didn’t rely on my body for much. I mean, other than basic life functions, my world revolved around intellectual activity, not physical activity. A year and a half later, that couldn’t be less true.  It’s surely no coincidence that the least intellectually stimulating years of my life have coincided with my long-overdue attention to physical health.  It’s certainly been a gradual change.  At first it was just the matter-of-fact lifestyle change of moving to a city and walking everywhere rather than driving. Quite obviously, that meant I was more physically active in a really basic, everyday way. But that change in behavior, although minor, was the start of a sea change in my life. As my graduate studies progressed and I was forced to accept that my program is just not intellectual (practical and useful, but not remotely intellectual), I really began to need something more.  At some point last spring, I made the conscious decision that if I wasn’t getting what I wanted from school, I had better be making every effort to get what I wanted from the other areas of my life.  The results: traveling to Europe, first of all, and finally embracing a healthy lifestyle. And perhaps also worthy of making this list is my decision to let new people into my life.

So, I’ve written more than enough (or have I?) about my trip to Europe; I don’t need to rehash it all right now. But it was easily and by far the most liberating, empowering, thrilling, terrifying, wonderful, exhausting, and brilliant thing I’ve ever done. No contest. It will probably always be winner of some of those superlatives (at least “liberating” and “empowering,” although the others I am by no means done with trying to reuse). Only wait, maybe getting my own body within my control (acknowledged: it always has been, even if I didn’t know it) is even more empowering and liberating than that. (Mind = blown.)

Decisiveness not being my strong suit, I’ll leave the assignment of superlatives for another day. But my point still stands. Without intellectual stimulation, I had to find something else to focus my considerable will power on. Hello, new body, it’s great to see you.

But that really wasn’t what I wanted to write about today. But what was? I’m not totally certain, although I think I wanted to write about my birthday. Which sounds really obnoxious and self-serving, but … wait, that’s what a blog is! Obnoxious and self-serving! So yes, that. But with a few deep and meaningful observations about life thrown in (and upon further reflection, maybe the above paragraphs were what I wanted to write about, but just somehow out of order).

So, about two weeks ago I turned 25. Big milestone! And one that represents about 1,000 other big milestones for me.  In a two month span, I will have both turned 25 and graduated from my graduate program. This also means that I’m currently seeking full-time employment (I’m a great archivist, hey!), which brings with it a slew of anxiety-inducing question marks.  For instance, who the heck is going to pay my rent and student loans payments? Because I’m sure as hell not equipped to take those on. Ok, I guess with a “real” job I might be able to, but those are pretty dang hard to come by these days. Here’s another example: where exactly am I going to live? Where I’d like to live is obvious (Cambridge, please and thank you), but where I can find work and where I want to live are two vastly and painfully different things. So where am I looking for work? Quite literally everywhere in the country (with the exception of Nebraska and North Dakota) and even a few international locations. The upshot of all of this is that my 25-year-iversary seemed like a death sentence as it loomed ever nearer. I was paralyzed with fear. Of age, of adulthood, of change. But then I remembered some stuff.

1. The things that scare you are always (always, always) the things you grow the most from doing. Lucky for me, you can’t opt out of aging, so I couldn’t hit the panic button and get out of this one.

2. Even if some of my life circumstances change, there is absolutely no reason that I won’t enjoy my life.

3. The worst thing that happens is that I work two part-time jobs for a while with continued aid from my family. Holy shit, could I be any more spoiled? (Well, actually yes. See future blog posts.) Seriously, what the fuck am I worried about? Chipping a nail?

Sometime around 24 hours after I turned 25 and the world didn’t end, I realized that I’ve been being a big baby (say that three times fast). Everything is going to be just fine. And if 25 isn’t the best age to be unemployed, what is? So, my job applications go on, and so does life. And isn’t 25 the perfect age to reflect on how far I’ve come? Why, yes, I believe it is! But I think I already did that earlier in this post. Suffice to say that I’m virtually unrecognizable when compared to myself of three years ago (or even two), both literally and figuratively. Year one: mental revision. Year two: world view revision. Year three: physical revision.

The nice thing about revision is that you’re never really done.

I think I need to revise my attitude about real life. It’s coming, it’s not stopping, and I am no longer able to pretend that it’s taking me by surprise.

Today is sunny and warm (“warm” meaning above freezing) here in this fine city of mine, and I think I might finally be emerging from my yearly wintertime funk. Whew! It’s exponentially better/shorter in the city, but still no fun for me or anyone around me. Yuck.

Yesterday was the first day of class of my last semester. [Please give me a moment to hyperventilate.] It’s a little hard to believe that I’m going to be done in May, and even harder to believe that I have to start making big ol’ decisions. I found my dream job in San Diego. San Diego is sunny and warm. This should be a no-brainer. But it’s not. Because San Diego also has a grand total of zero people I care about in it. Zero isn’t very many, and Cambridge/Boston and the larger New England area have 90% of the people I care about.  Thus my conundrum.  Imagine that my job accounts for 40% of my total happiness/unhappiness.  Imagine that I live in Boston and have a mediocre job, but that everything else is pretty great (as it has been).  I’m estimating about 80-85% total happiness.  Imagine instead that I live in San Diego. My job is fantabulous, the weather is great, but everything else is pretty mediocre.  I’m estimating about 55-60% total happiness.  So, the solution is clear:

Hey, everyone I know! Let’s move to San Diego! Please RSVP by February 1st.

 

Or something.  Anyway, this semester should be interesting.  I’m only taking two classes: Photographic Archives and Archives Field Experience.  The field experience consists almost entirely of an internship, with just a couple of complementary class sessions. Photographic Archives is a regular course, but on my all-time-favorite subject. Yesterday I had my first session of the field experience course with a professor I’ve taken a course with before.  She’s extremely knowledgeable about the field, and I really appreciate that she knows what she’s talking about.  I also really appreciate that she got me really pumped up about my profession yesterday afternoon at a time when I was feeling pretty bummed about it.  The job market might blow, but the profession doesn’t, especially when there are people like her in it who actually care about their work, see a bigger picture than their daily tasks, and are really striving for the best from the profession.  She’s so great.

Right now I’m rocking out to the best mix ever. Dancing around, singing, cleaning my room. All the things that make me feel the best in the world. :D

 

 

Pip pip and tally ho.

Life is crazy shiz sometimes, folks.  November was total insanity from start to finish, as were the first few days of December. As a matter of actual fact, I started writing this post nearly a month ago, and have been so neglectful that I’m only now getting around to finishing it (after adding and editing about once a week in the mean time).  That is how crazy my life is. And how bad I am at remembering things and/or completing tasks I begin.  IRREGARDLESS (do you see what I did there?), I am now officially done with the fall semester and happily enjoying my first few days of winter break.  Over the next few weeks, I anticipate sleeping as much as I want and doing brainless fun things and socializing and probably sleeping some more and maybe baking and practicing how to write run-on sentences. Oh man. OH MAN, I cannot wait.

NOTABLE EVENTS IN NOVEMBER:

1. My former roommate (from the year I spent pretending I wasn’t a pathological student) came to visit me here in the big ol’ citaaaay (we lived in the woods of New Hampshire in a town that was not a town in any recognizable way and LOVED it).  We went to see one of my favorite musicians, Mat Kearney, whom I forced this tolerant roommate to listen to so many times while we lived together that she actually came to believe she liked him, too.  He was performing at the Boston House of Blues.  It was a good show (he opened with one of my all-time-favorite of his songs and closed with my roomie’s), and my roomie and I had a blast dancing foolishly, singing foolishly, and texting each other foolishly.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t terribly engaged with the audience so it wasn’t that great of a show in some ways, but the goal (having fun) was heartily achieved.

Other activities of that weekend involved shopping extensively (but largely fruitlessly) at the Pru (I can call it that because I live here and sometimes like to role play by carrying a Starbucks coffee around while pretending to spend money) and along Newbury Street, eating large quantities of delicious foods, and hanging out at my favorite international cooking co-op whilst listening to tunes and literally discussing the ways in which we appreciate our lives and the world and the universe, etc.  This included a group Queen rock out session and an earnest assessment of what brings us joy.  If you don’t immediately understand why this remains one of my favorite evenings in recent memory, we have probably never met and probably never should.

2. I visited a place I used to live (when I lived with above roomie, if you care to connect the dots) and got to see a number of people whom I hold quite dear but rarely see.  The weekend involved some much needed catching up with a large number of former colleagues (who also happen to be treasured friends) -including a fellow blogger!- and a handful of people whom I count as my family.  You know how people say you can’t pick your family? WRONG. I did, and that’s them.

It was such a good visit!  I stayed with one of these people (whom I also formerly lived with but who is NOT the above mentioned roomie… just to confuse you), who introduced me to Zumba. Oh baby. My secret suspicions that I am the least coordinated human being alive and am not destined to ever dance in any capacity ever, ever, ever have been thoroughly confirmed.  But I had fun and burned lots of calories, two of my favorite things.  I also got to visit with my pseudo-parents, two of the greatest people alive.  I can honestly say I’m not sure where I’d be today without them (plus they always feed me… in this case giant, delicious cookies).  And last but not least, I spent an absolutely fantastic evening visiting with two more of my all-time-favorite people in the world (there is a very high concentration of such people in this region, as you may have noticed). This included visiting my favorite feline friends as well as a dinner full of hilarity. There is little better in this world than laughing heartily with people you love.

3. My dad came to visit me! We had a delightful time that included giraffes, a flock of sheep, and PHiZZ units.  If you think that makes sense, reassess your life. We attended the first ever OrigaMIT Convention. I can’t believe I just outed myself on the internet. That’s right, I FOLD PAPER. Get over it. We used to attend the OUSA annual convention in NYC, although we stopped doing that most of a decade ago.  This was a fun trip down memory lane and an interesting experiment in exploring the longevity of folding skills after years of neglect.  I like to think I haven’t lost my touch, although I didn’t practice my greatest party trick.*

This was followed by a rather delightful (and delicious) dinner at my favorite Indian restaurant in Harvard Square at which my father met a fellow I often spend time with (and to whom I apparently only refer with vague identifying phrases and who has once before made a cameo on this blog as the kindhearted soul who took me to the ER when my armpit tried to kill me).  It was splendid. We also drank John Harvard’s beer. Or something. I can’t really remember that part of the evening. Oh ho, I joke.

I’ve never before played host to a parent. It was mildly surreal, as it implies that I have a life of my own that is separate from my parents’ lives (not news) and that I am moving merrily along toward adulthood (breaking news).  I had a nasty shock a little while ago; I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror one day and actually did a double take because I thought I’d seen an adult woman in the room with me. An adult woman who looked just like me. Sweet baby Jesus, when did that happen?

4. Another landmark event (and traditional November activity for many an American) was Thanksgiving.  This was an event rife with anguish and confusion… or something like that.  In true Abby fashion, I made the decision not to invite above mentioned young man (to be referred to henceforth as L. for the sake of simplicity and because I’m running out of unique and long-winded monikers for each time I mention him) many weeks in advance of the event.  Fast forward to the Monday before Thanksgiving and voila, you see me doing what a wild Abby does in her native habitat: changing her mind.  Yes, that’s right folks, I invited this mysterious L. character to Thanksgiving with my family at the absolute last possible moment.  Why, you ask?  Because I’m lacking marbles, that’s why.

Anywhooo, also in attendance at this meal were my mother, sister, brother-in-law, nephew, niece, and Buddy the elf. Oh, family fun time!  First, we ate things. Then, we ate more things. Then L. and I made an apple pie (with invaluable help from the young ones). Then we ate some more.  Then L. charmed my niece and nephew. Then we ate some more. Then we watched Elf and all suffered from extreme danger of wetting ourselves. Then we ate more. And then we ate more. And then we ate more.  It was Thanksgiving, dammit.  Neuroses regarding decision making aside, it was quite nice.

And that, folks, was November. I guess there was also some school work in there somewhere (well, in theory anyway), but it made absolutely no impression on me whatsoever.  I will now refrain from making this a post dedicated to how much my program is not awesome. All in all, November was a pretty great month.  December started out slightly less awesome because my non-awesome program insisted on giving me totally-un-awesome finals.  But it hasn’t really been too bad and has really taken an upswing of late: school has successfully been put to rest for the semester, a significant portion of my Christmas shopping has been completed, and touristy adventures about town have been executed, including a trip to the Museum of Science and photo shoot at the Boston Public Library.  What more do you expect from a scientist and a librarian?

In sum: I still think my life is pretty rad. [Imagine a supreme sense of well-being and happiness.]  Until the start of the new year, I am willing myself to be blissfully unaware of my impending doom job search and graduation and am instead imagining all of the delights the upcoming semester and year might hold.  My intention is to ignore real life and do little other than sleep and pursue wintry delights for at least the next two weeks.  Huzzah, bring on the eggnog and carols! Pip pip and tally ho.

*I once folded a Flapping Bird out of 3-inch paper one-handed, left-handed (I’m a righty), behind my back. And flapped it. Mad skillz, yo.

Studious Abby Makes a Comeback

I had a bit of a revelation the other day.  It went something like this:

If you aren’t taking what you do seriously, in effect you are not taking yourself seriously.

 

I take my job very seriously, and I take my future career very seriously.  Great!  But here’s the thing, I can barely muster respect for my graduate program lately.  I’m very much looking forward to next semester (a class about photographic archives, a class about digital libraries, and an internship/field experience, oh my!), but this semester is so dry and boring that it’s really a struggle to get motivated or engaged.  I was remembering last night that I used to go to the library most days of the week, have study sessions with classmates regularly, and do additional work at home, all the while calling myself a “slacker” because it was only a fraction of the investment I made in my undergraduate education.  Well, things have changed, and somehow I turned into an actual slacker.  I’m trying to turn that around this week, spending many hours at the library or the tech lab plunking away at a keyboard or reading my eyes out. 

Initially, this week’s motivation came out of an impending deadline, but now that I’m getting back into the swing of things I’m loath to let myself slip back into my slacker habits. I suppose I should find it no surprise that I’m actually enjoying getting back into school, being the nerd that I am.  My classes may not be very intellectually challenging, but I forgot one of my MAJOR beliefs about school: what you get out of school is a direct reflection of what you put into it.  I’ve been blaming my lack of inspiration on my classes themselves, but it’s high-time I admit to myself that it’s entirely possible that the only difference between this and any other semester is my own approach.  Instead of admitting defeat and letting the lackluster atmosphere in class suck the life out of me, perhaps I should be the one trying to liven things up.  Take THAT, Slacker Abby! (The fact that I appear to have a split personality disorder is a subject for another post at another time.)