neurotica_redux

My Farmhouse

Just watched Anthony Bourdain's "Maine" episode and it has the wheels turning again. I AM approaching 30 after all and even though I'm at least half a decade from settling down in any traditional sense, it's still interesting to think a little beyond. Over Christmas I went to visit Carrie and Veej at their place in Cambden and fell in love with their home. It was an old, creaky, hopelessly charming farmhouse that I absolutely adored. I have never wanted (ever) to own a house until I spend the night in theirs. It was cold, it was a little musty, and a total fixer-upper - but I loved it. Something with that much character is worth owning and making yours, it's generally how I feel about people too....

So I started to think that one day (oh, ONE DAY) maybe I would like a house like that, somewhere on the coast, in some rugged town that's not too far from civilization where I can write in the barn and take long trail runs with a hypo-allergenic dog of some sort. That sounds nice right? But, the truth is - and I learned it well in Montana- that I'm not ready for that kind of quiet, simple life. I'm just not there yet. And it's hard for me to imagine not being in a city, or near a city. But there are those people who do both - have permanent residences in one place and spend a good deal of time traveling or city'ing elsewhere. Maybe if there is a husband and kids in this mix, that won't seem as vital, but in the near future at least, that would be a necessity for me.

I'm getting the strangest feeling that I've written about this before? Jesus, am I that derivative. I'm stealing my own ideas? Anyway. House. Yes. Maybe. Hopefully. But it would have to be perfect, and I mean PERFECT. It would have to be the type of house I walk in and with one breath in the foyer I say, oh hello, yes, you, hi - you're it. But then what I would probably do is rent it half the year (to the PERFECT people of course) and spend that time in San Francisco, or New York or wherever else my cosmopolitan yearnings need to play out. While we're in fantasy land, I'll also be traveling to europe for book tours when my novel hits the translation circuit. The thing is, I feel like this (the house, at least) will totally happen. I know, somewhere deep, that I can make it happen. I think it's just a matter of when I'm ready for it. It's really interesting to know the next step so far down the road. I'm not sure how I will get there, but there is a leaky faucet, and a hand-carved railing, and a reading nook, and a writing studio in the barn, and a path that leads through the bog to the beach in my future. Maybe I have written about this before, this once and future farmhouse. Yeah, maybe I have.

Speak, cosmos.

Two days in a row? That's right, people. I'm back. Still working up to a really epic navel-gazing post though. Not quite there yet. Just a baby one.

Last night I went to green drinks with Meg, Wheeze, and Ericka. I haven't laughed that hard in a really long time. Four dead baby jokes and several ill-timed ironic comments about climate change. (We were at green drinks after all, where everyone is very earnest about the environment.) We, however don't do earnest, we only do gin and bourbon. Both Ericka and Meg are practically indentured servants so I barely get to see them. Last night was a treat. Then in an amazingly timed move Umpa and Maura left me a hilarious message that I listened to on the cab ride home. Between all of them and my montana friends that I am missing so much I could die, I am left to wonder how I got so lucky. They are a varied and motley crew but they all match up perfectly and directly with a little piece of me, and there's something cosmic about it, pure and simple. The universe's way of toying with you, making it interesting for the cynic in you who mostly just tightrope walks over the abyss. It makes you realize that there more to it than you think.

On a different note, my attention span has completely disintegrated since grad school. I'm reading "Speak, memory", Nabokov's autobiography right now, and while by no means dull, I can't seem to stay awake for more then ten pages at time. It's layered and nuanced and I can't seem to get my mind to hook on to it for very long. I hate that part about being out of academia and back in the mainstream where everything is soundbites and interactive media. Nothing lasts more than two minutes. No wonder I feel like my brain is rusty. It is.

Work has been gloriously slow this week. GLORIOUSLY. And I have been devoting almost all my time to downloading the shit out of all the music I can find. Gearing up for Coachella and researching all the bands, burning cd's etc. Also migrating all my information from the old computer to the new beautiful baby. I'm going a little crazy with all the music though. I'm so weird, I'll listen to the same shit for like 9 months then all of a sudden I'm totally sick of it and want/need to replace it all. So then I go on a binge and download everything under the sun. I'm up to my ears in Deadmau5 and David Guetta. But, am so freaking excited for Coachella I could die. Once all the downloading is done my goal is to focus my attention on more academic pursuits, re-train my brain with a little Proust perhaps.

We'll see how that goes.

next time I'll bring wine

I just tried to write a broad-strokes post to get this going but it failed miserably. I think I actually yawned as I was writing it, and not because I haven't had enough coffee.  First blog attempt in four months: FAIL. Oh well, I guess it's just better to dive into the minutia. Or pretend that you all already know what's going on in my life even though I've kept the internets hopelessly in the dark for far too long. The truth is that I missed you! I miss the ether, what can I say. Sending words/thoughts/energy/bullshit/emotion/grace out into the infinite beyond is just another swipe at existential angst, but the action itself is the prize. What? Okay, enough of that.

I got a new computer! RIP iBook G4, you were a good friend.

I'm saying good-bye to lots of old friends lately, Prince RIP - is a much more emotional story that I think may have jumped the shark. But for me the wound still stings. Back to the happy thing: my new computer is beautiful! I can't quite figure out if it's a girl or a boy yet. I think it might be a girl. So far she's a little stiff, she's got her guard up, maybe is pretending she just wants to be business partners. Soon we'll be braiding each other's hair and eating popcorn while we watch Grey's Anatomy (yep, still watching that tripe).

One thing I do not like is information migration. The very phrase is painful. The practical reality even more so. Do you know how many word documents I have? How many drafts? How much errata? It boggles the mind. I'm also incredibly hesitant to litter my new uncomplicated baby with electronic piles of paper. But decisions need to be made, do I keep this folder or that? Will I need this in the near future? What if I want it? It all makes me want to drink.

But these are the inanities of the day to day, the big picture is much brighter, though still littered with paper. In the near future I see: Coachella with friends, sisters coming to visit, best friends getting married, an entire month to write, sharing europe with my mother, and a solid work/social/emotional life to come back to. It's been a long road out of that in-between, but I'm here and life? Life is good.

Okay so this will take a little time, our getting used to each other again. I feel like we've been on a nervous date. But I'm willing to give it a second chance if you are. Next time, I'll bring wine.