i'm just gonna go fuck myself

for someone like me (i.e. someone who really likes eating past the point of fullness), thanksgiving is a pretty fucking awesome day. on thanksgiving, my tendency to overeat (a tendency that is normally looked down upon) is not only excused, but strongly encouraged. on thanksgiving, i don't have to hold back the inner fat person whose sole desire is to eat until my stomach feels like it will explode. 

as far as thanksgivings go, yesterday was the best one i've had in a while--for many different reasons. the first reason, of course, is alcohol. sweet, wonderful, beautiful alcohol (i feel more like lucille bluth every day). aside from one year in college when my grandmother let me have a few sips of brandy, this is the first thanksgiving in which it was okay to drink all day. and considering my usual m.o. of drinking as much as possible in a couple of hours and then either passing out or getting sick, i think did a pretty good job of pacing myself (i'm sure the ridiculous amounts of food didn't hurt). speaking of food. reason number two for why this thanksgiving was phenomenal. i think this is the first year since childhood that i was able to have banana cream pie on thanksgiving. granted, i suppose i could have made one any other year, but since i've never before been responsible for providing food, i guess it never occurred to me to do so. and since apparently banana cream pie is not a staple thanksgiving dessert (who knew?), the various relatives i've spent thanksgiving with in the last seven or eight years have not provided it for me. 

this is all just a really roundabout way of saying that although yesterday's thanksgiving was spectacular for many reasons (i forgot to mention emily's drawing game, which involved the drawing and narrating of various scenes involving, among other things, penises, cannibals, and luaus), there is something irreplaceable about my mother's thanksgiving dishes. maybe it's because we stopped celebrating christmas when i was 9 (and even before that, christmas dinner was never a big thing with my family), or because i have strong emotional attachments to food anyway, or because i regret growing up, but for whatever reason, i have a very strong nostalgia for thanksgiving and the way my mother's food tasted (and how comforting the memory of her food is). and even though i know that i'll never be able to feel that way again, there is always a part of me that hopes to re-experience childhood feelings on thanksgiving. and, of course, i am always a little bit let down. 

(but seriously, thanksgiving at the reeder's was awesome. it makes the idea of being in madison for another 5 or 6 or 18 years not quite so horrifying.)

room for squares

i'm having a quarter-life crisis. i was going to write about it, but i don't feel like it anymore. 

i do, however, feel like writing about the things i miss from my childhood. i keep being reminded of shit from when i was a kid, and since i don't know what the fuck my future looks like, i might as well dwell on the past. 

when i was like 10 (if you don't already know, i was homeschooled, so my memories are in ages, not grades) my mom helped me sew the most awesome dress ever. it was a spaghetti strap, a-line, knee-length dress (as were all my dresses at that moment), and was my second (and last?) sewing endeavor. but the best part wasn't the quality time i spent sewing with my mom, the cut of the dress, or even the fact that it was a birthday dress; the best part was that the whole dress was covered in sunflowers. big, yellow, beautiful sunflowers. i used to love sunflowers. almost obsessively. i totally forgot about that dress until the other day when i was watching an episode of ugly betty and she had on a t-shirt with sunflowers that looked very much like the ones on my dress. the sad thing about that dress was that, unlike all the other clothing i got attached to, i didn't wear it for years until it was too tattered or small and my mom put the veto on it. no, this beautiful dress had a tragic ending. after only having it for a few months, one night i fell asleep (with the dress on, of course) on top of a black marker (i'm going to assume i was coloring or something). by the morning there was marker all over the dress and, try as my mother might, the stain wouldn't come out. i was devastated. alas, i think if i ever come across a dress with big sunflowers on it i'd be tempted to buy it just for the sake of nostalgia (personal nostalgia. not borrowed.). 

i take back what i said about my memories being catalogued according to age. well, they are to some extent, but more accurately, my memories are stored according to where we lived at any given time. my family moved around a lot, so naturally, my memories are inextricably linked to the home in which they occurred. sunflower dress, for instance, happened when we were living in everett. that was the house where i had my first and only tree swing (installed by my dad). i frickin loved that thing. and tropical flavored mr. freeze bars from costco. and snow that only stays for a couple of weeks. and spending whole days in the front yard reading nancy drew 'cause man that shit was so riveting i couldn't stop until i finished the whole thing. 

but that was only my second favorite home. my home home was our apartment in the u-district in seattle. i miss everything about that place. except maybe my wildly unruly hair. but i miss almost everything. i miss riding down hills in the back of josh's toy dump truck. or playing in the rain and splashing (sometimes even laying) in the puddles that formed in the parts where the sidewalk was all fucked up. i miss playing sorry with my mom and josh and feeling more competitive at that game than i've ever felt about anything. i miss going to the park or taking the bus downtown to go to the dollar store. i miss nasai teriyaki (seriously, the best teriyaki on the face of the planet). i miss riding our bikes with my dad down to gasworks park and playing freeze-tag. i miss freeze-tag. i miss being taken care of when i got sick and getting to eat pudding and watch my favorite cartoon of swan lake. now when i get sick i have to suck it up and still do shit. now i have to make huge life decisions and feel the weight of wondering if my next decision is going to totally fuck up my life or if it's going to make me the happiest person ever. or maybe i'm just never going to be happy doing anything. 

time is a mindfuck.  

something about us (ode to autumn revisited)

you are my one, my only.

how could i go on without the sweet caresses of your embrace?

without the gentle comfort of your scent?

stepping out into your crisp, cool air

is an invigoration only akin to sex and coffee first thing in the morning.

curling up with a blanket and a pumpkin spice latté while watching you rain

is almost better than nuzzling my face between a warm pair of breasts.

but i know that you cannot always be mine.

you think i am too clingy, and you feel the need to put some distance between us.

soon you will leave, and give your friend winter

the go-ahead to fuck me in the ass while you're gone.

and i let him

because i know that enduring his cold disinterest

is the only way to get you back.

so while you're here,

i wanted to remind you how deeply i love you.

how, without you, my life would be stripped of its happiest moments.

without you, my favorite plaid jacket would stay hidden forever.

my favorite flavors would forever be a mystery.

and i would forget why i started running.

i know you hate when i get clingy,

so i won't tell you how much i'm going to cry when you leave.

but, just this once, won't you think about staying?

because i suck at life

here i find myself, yet again, writing on this here blog machine as a means of procrastination. i have to write a presentation paper on a moretti article which, unlike most secondary reading for this class, i actually comprehended. the problem is, i'm not a tree maker, so i don't quite know how to make a presentation on this piece that isn't a mere summary. thus, i write blog instead. 

i don't really have much to say; i'm tired of telling the identity theft (and loss of precious percocet!) story, so if you don't know about it already you can ask me at a later date. or ask someone else who can tell it. i have, however, been thinking a lot lately about how i feel uncomfortable in much of the clothing i own. a good portion of the time, i dress myself for the day, theoretically okay with what i have put on, only to later realize that no, in fact i hate what i'm wearing. why do i even own this atrocity? who was i when i bought this? because surely i wasn't myself. and then it occurs to me that i no longer have a sure sense of what is "myself" when it comes  to clothes. sure, i've had different phases, and i've never maintained a consistent aesthetic, but at any given moment in my life i've always felt like me in my clothes (we'll conveniently ignore ages 14-17 for the purposes of this exploration. i'm going to chalk up those years to extenuating circumstances). for example, although i now dismiss most people with dreadlocks who wear skirts over their jeans as stupid hippies, there was a time when i felt comfortable in such an aesthetic. even my 9-year-old fashion (bold as it was), with my neon blue leggings, canvas flats, and oversized, overworn t-shirt with bunnies on it, felt, at the time, like me. 

but now i don't feel like me. i've thrust myself into a semi-professional environment, with neither the money nor the time to develop a wardrobe that reflects both my environment and my personality. i still wear the things i have, but they are beginning to feel less and less like me. and when i do acquire something new, it seems out of place in the clothing limbo that i currently feel stuck in. it seems that part of the problem, like i mentioned, is a lack of the resources necessary (money and time) for the creation of a new aesthetic. another part of the problem (perhaps the most substantial part) is that i still haven't quite discovered what that aesthetic is. in other words, despite constantly realizing what isn't me, i still can't figure out what is me (the right now me). 

am i having an identity crisis? maybe. mostly, though, i just don't want to write this presentation.