Goodbye, Jammer

Last night, I broke up with someone. This person had been known, and will heretofore be known as 'The Jammer' due to his former membership in a 'jam band' and his tendency to initiate and participate in irritatingly long 'jam sessions'. [It should be noted that I hate jamming in all its iterations. It should also be noted that during the first occasion we spent time together, he became involved in a jam session, and had to be threatened (not by me) with my departure lest he cease jamming.]

I'm making myself slightly ill by even typing the word 'jam/jamming' so many times.

The conversation was very short, and I'm not even sure it could be quantified as an official break-up due to the fact that we never established a formal relationship. Also, due to the fact that I'm not even sure he knows my last name, what I'm studying in graduate school, or the color of my eyes. Seriously.

I explained that we weren't connecting on the levels that are essential for me in any relationship. Also, for whatever reason, that we weren't able to find anything to talk about (and no, Jammer, your 'horniness' and/or 2:14 am text messages related to said 'horniness' do not count as conversational topics) even though we are both interesting people. That I felt that he is a nice guy, and I appreciated knowing him, but did not want to continue to date him (and once again, no, Jammer, an invitation to your apartment at 2:14 am is not a date).

Nice enough, right? Succinct. No finger-pointing.

In fairness to The Jammer, I believe he was taken aback by my declarations, as I think he felt that our interactions were going along just fine. So, he wasn't prepared. He began by repeating back everything that I said to him. In school, we call this 'reflecting' and it can be a valuable communication tool. However, when there is reflection and no summarizing or responding, it becomes evident that the person is not hearing/listening/processing anything that you are saying. Then he decided to get aggressive.

'Well, I'm not going to browbeat you into staying with me.'
'I figured there was something going on inside your head.'
'So, what do you want me to say?'

Excuse me, asshole. I'm not asking to be persuaded of the worth of your company, nor am I playing a game so that you'll beg me to stay or declare your love for me. Ideally, we'd have a conversation about what I've told you, but I don't require that you agree with me. I was angry, and was about to vent that anger, when I realized that this situation wasn't worth it. I could present a list of things that he did wrong, and maybe we'd debate that for a while. But who cares? When you take away the stupidity (on both our parts) and yes, even the jamming, I meant what I said: there were missing elements which were not being met. I make time for the people in my life who know me and support me, who listen to me without judgement and who are willing to travel with me as I find my way. It's as simple as someone offering to make alcohol-free plans during the next month, or asking me how an assignment turned out.

And it's as complex as realizing that I hate jamming.


Very Drunk

I eat, making poor choices at 4:00 am (cornachos, gravy fries, pizza, chips) and horrible choices when I wake up the following afternoon (McDonald's).

I chain-smoke, later throwing out the remainder of the pack while calculating the cost per cigarette.

I'm not able to listen to friends, or to focus on their conversation, even when they are telling me that they need me.

I sometimes offend. I note the looks, the raised eyebrows, the few seconds of silence before nervous laughter, but I continue anyway.

I'm emotional, an unfillable void. Attempts to fill the emptiness (see: food, cigarettes, more alcohol) fail, not for lack of trying.

I float. Nothing touches me, and I touch nothing.

I laugh, I sing, I dance, I flirt.


On The Wagon

I've decided to quit drinking for a month, starting February 1st. This decision comes not from any calamitous night out (although there have been plenty of those) or embarrassing situation (and those too).

Of course, now that I've made the decision, my e-mail Inbox has been flooded with evites. And I really wonder what that Syracuse v. Georgetown game debauchery/college reunion is going to be like while I am sober. But if I look at every month of my life, there's going to be events and parties and girl's dinners which will cause me to reconsider.

I want to see what my life is like without alcohol. I think I'll feel better physically, and I anticipate feeling less emotional regret. I also wonder that I chose February, the shortest month.


The Persistence of Memory

Two of us, each on a treadmill. We're subtly competing with each other, inching the speed higher and higher. I wouldn't figure out that we were competing, or why, until later. Much later. I can be so stupid sometimes.


Only slightly out of breath, she asks me how I feel about my fiance joining the fire department. Do I worry about him getting hurt? Not coming home? (He'd already started not coming home, for reasons that I couldn't discuss with myself, or my friends or my family. Certainly not her.)

I answer, casually, something about wanting him to be happy, and fate and love.

We keep running, her perfect blond hair streaming behind her, her strides even and sure.


Weeks later: we laugh at you.

He's drunk, but calm. This is because he's already yelled, and thrown things, and ripped my engagement ring off my finger. He looks at me, triumphant. He knows how to hurt: we laugh at you.

The answer that I gave without thinking has been dissected and thrown back at me. Too late, I understand why she asked me.

We laugh at you. I guess it was funny.


Concentrate. Concentrate!

  • I spent a fair amount of time this morning in my Adult Psychopathology and Pathways to Wellness class strategizing about buying these pants,even though I love the class and am interested in the subject matter.
  • I was distracted in yoga on Saturday by the instructor calling certain poses 'extra yummy'. I couldn't figure out if I agreed or disagreed, and whether I was annoyed or amusing by her phrasing. Then I thought that I was thinking too much, and thus affecting the impact of yoga, and resolved to think less, but couldn't, which made me anxious.
  • Most of my time in the school computer lab is consumed with reading other people's blogs, checking e-mail and surfing various entertainment websites. This is going to bite me in the ass in about 3 weeks when I am hopelessly behind in my readings.
In other news, while I was out to dinner on Sunday night, my waiter told me I was 'too thin' and that I looked '18 years old'. I told him he was my new best friend.


In and Out of Love

I feel like my blogging has been atrocious lately - flat and uninspired, containing nothing of real substance. Of course, this statement implies that in the past, my entries have been interesting, thought-provoking and substantive, which I'm not sure is the case either.

I can't really pinpoint the reason for the slump. For months, I was overwhelmed by topics that I could write about, which would spring to mind throughout the day. I had to carry a notebook with me (to capture my brilliance) so I would remember to write about it at a later point in time. I would harrass my friends with ideas, asking for their opinions. I even made frequent references to my blog in conversation (which was probably pretty annoying, reflecting back).

Lately, though, nothing. I have to force myself to think of stuff to write about, if I even remember at all.

I think I've fallen out of love with my blog.



Readers, a moment of silence, please.

Over brunch (specifically, my cheddar cheese, mushroom and bacon omlette) on Sunday, JP informed me that my favorite bartender is now living in Ireland permanently, thus greatly reducing my opportunities to a) procure free drinks and b) flirt shamelessly.


Today is the Greatest

Today is my first day back to school in a month and I am estatic to be here (note to self: review that sentence in approximately three weeks, assess mental state, and determine how you feel about school at that point in time). It feels great to use my brain again, to start thinking about the issues that I care about, and to begin my final semester in graduate school. As DJ said today - the sooner we start, we finish (which makes perfect sense, if you think about it).

I've already put together the first 'Girl's Night' of 2006, which will be held in my new apartment on Thursday, with the understanding that we will all be eating on the floor as I still have not procured any furniture other than my bed. I'm not quite sure about the logistics of the night, as there will mostly likely be a surplus of people in my tiny space, but someone is bringing vodka, which (to me, at least) ensures a good time. I'm anticipating 13 social work students (at last count), sitting in a circle on my living room floor, passing the bottle around. And maybe eating a little bit.

In more, um, sobering news...my boys lost last night.


Cold Feet

I'm writing from my desk at my internship. The college is pretty empty today, with students walking by the office at infrequent intervals. They all have the same look of annoyance of their faces, which I'm guessing is due to the fact that they are weighed down with luggage, and that their Winter Break is over. Or maybe they're just scowling when they see me, anticipating another 5 months of alcohol and substance use education to be sprung upon them in the dining hall and student center.

I've told myself that I am here to get a jump on the next semester, to make sure that I am well prepared for Wednesday, but I've mostly been taking advantage of internet with no time limits. The only drawback is that it is just as cold as it usually is in this office, and my feet (despite being cased in two pairs of socks) are twin blocks of ice. My need for warmth is battling my enjoyment of computer use.



It is really difficult to write at the New York Public Library, especially the one in my neighborhood, which is always busy. Who knew?

*sigh* I need to buy a new computer. Soon.

I went running yesterday. In Central Park. I thought I was going to die. Most of the time, I fool myself into thinking that I am reasonably athletic. During my lap around the resevoir, there was no way to avoid the truth. I was wheezing and panting and being passed by elderly women. When I finally caught my breath (two hours later), I faced the truth: I am never going to be a runner.


Writer's Block(head)

There's been a lot going on with me lately, in New York City, graduate school and dating, but I don't feel equipped to write about it. I'm in a strange emotional place, which I can't write about until I can gain some clarity on my own.

Just to complicate things further, I have an offer to appear on The Daily Show in a segment they are doing about the bedbug epidemic in New York. I'm considering it, but I have a feeling that this can't end well.


Real Genius

Based upon a visit to the National Museum of American History yesterday, DM and I are developing a jaunty tune entitled 'My Name is Jonas (Salk)' about the inventor of the polio vaccine, which is set to Weezer's 'My Name is Jonas'.

Trust me, it's going to sweep the nation.



Discovered during a looooooong car trip to DC.

Hate: Cabin John, Harris Teeter, hoi polloi, Fredrick, ballyhoo, Glebe, long instrumental intros to classic rock songs, hyper disc jockeys, Starbucks that close at 10:00pm, being described as a 'lady', complex maneuvers to unlock gas tanks, do-it-yourself paint jobs on cars, any kind of minivan, the Ford Probe

Love: Bethesda, Abermarle, Havre de Grace, donnybrook, Decoy Museum, nacho cheese combos, hijinks (only when wacky), shennanigans, [whisper] Kelly Clarkson, Marine Animal Rescue Program, Miller High Life, Little Gunpowder Falls, the National Archives