The beginning of 2008 was rather awful. This is an understatement. Mostly I slept, cried, drank too much, and threw up whatever I tried to eat. There's nothing like a close friend almost dying, then verbally assaulting you because you got sad after listening to two months' worth of his tragic stories.
It was much meaner than that, from my perspective. But I already posted all of the truly mean event and unposted them. It was therapeutic, although I sense no one probably read what I wrote and he likely doesn't remember what he said.
At any rate, those good times ended when said individual requested a "respite" from me. Although he has contacted me since to tell me that he's getting married and that I shouldn't forget that I'm an artist and other nonsense I don't care about, I plan to continue the respite, because I'm just maudlin and juvenile like that.
Technology Brings Us Closer(ish)
This year introduced me to such wondrous technological innovations as gchat, facebook, and (sigh) World of Warcraft. (WoW is entirely the fault of my little sister, who hoped I would play so that we could spend quality time together online. It's always helpful to be able to lay the blame for your addictions at the feet of another.)
Sure, I've had people discover me online that I had rather hoped would remain buried, but I've resuscitated old friendships and grown closer to several people I didn't think I would ever really get to know well. It's hard to imagine, but this year would have been infinitely more difficult for me without gchat. I would give gchat a big hug, if it had arms or a body.
No Nebraska
I just couldn't do it, at the end of the day. Really, I wanted to go to graduate school in Nebraska because I had given up entirely on love, and I needed a distraction.
Given what happened immediately after I decided not to go, I suspect that I made the right choice.
Cinco de Mayo
Everything changed on Cinco de Mayo, when my Knight in Shining Interpol T-shirt arrived. My knight's name is Chuck. (And so is his father's, and my father's, and my grandfather's.) More on this later.
Tim Russert
In May, Tim Russert passed away. Anyone who knows me decently well has probably heard me discussing the degree to which Tim affected my life. He was my Sunday, every Sunday. I was at my parents' house introducing them to Chuck when I learned that Tim had died. Friends called offering condolences. I cried into my new boyfriend's chest for days. I teared up seeing Tim's face on the cover of People in the grocery store. I never met Tim Russert, but his intelligence and humor and compassion will be with me always.
David Gregory is a suitable host for Meet the Press, but Sunday will never be quite the same to me.
The Axis of Evil
Continuing this year's theme of betrayal, I was outed by a close friend to some colleagues at my old place of employment as having referred to them as the Axis of Evil.
I denied it when confronted, but I'm willing to confess to it now. Because they deserved it, and it's wickedly witty.
Entertainingly, one of the Axis felt that I was referring to only her, and claimed that she "didn't even know what it meant!" I guess this explains why she thought she could be a triumvirate of potential nuclear threats to the United States of America.
This event reinforced for me that I will never, never, never be friends with anyone who was born on October 28 (see entry #1 for another offender born on this date). At least, they will have to provide compelling evidence that I should be their friend, and possibly cheese.
I Quit!
I didn't really intend to quit my job and leave Culpeper. It just happened. I went to visit Chuck in Richmond in the middle of June, and never went back. Radar enjoyed playing with his new friends, Charlie (who, as an adopted dog, my boyfriend did not name after himself, he swears) and Nomi. I interviewed at a community college and got the job. I unceremoniously dumped the prestigious middle school job that I had held for the past three years, and left.
I miss my old friends who now live two hours away, and I know that I don't communicate with them nearly enough. I'll be sure to add that to my list of New Year's Resolutions.
Good Rejections
After a streak of publishing success in the past few years, this has been the year of the Good Rejection for me as a writer. I was a contest finalist and quarterfinalist. I received a series of encouraging notes about poems that didn't get published.
So, while I suck this year as a writer, I could definitely have sucked worse.
In fact, the only thing I got accepted was a pedagogy paper for the annual AWP conference, which I plan on attending next February. Look out, Chicago, as I prepare to unleash my lesson plan on writing about ugliness.
30
I turned 30 this year. Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I was teaching my second day of classes at the college, and some of my students wondered how old I was.
"How old do you think I am?" I asked.
"I dunno. Like, 24?"
As I grow increasingly older, I'm sure I'll appreciate these incidents still more, even when I'm getting carded trying to buy Bacardi Pomegranate Mojitos at the grocery store for the bazillionth time.
Jamie
When I met Chuck, one of the first things he wanted was for me to meet his cousin Jamie. Actually, what he said was, "If you want to be with me, you need to meet Jamie."
Jamie had serious medical problems since she was born, and they grew progressively worse until she finally lost the ability to walk. By the time I met her, strokes had left her unable to speak, either. Still, she laughed watching Chuck pretend to fall down (apparently something that had entertained her for many years).
Jamie died in September. She was 23. I'm grateful that I knew her.
Obama
Like many others I know, I became excited about Barack Obama after the Democratic Convention in 2004. I remember sitting in Ex-fiancee's apartment listening to the speech and feeling as though, in some small way, something had changed.
After the election was finalized, Chuck told me that he remembered watching the convention with his ex as well, feeling the same sort of elation I had felt then.
This just goes to prove that, while love doesn't always last, Barack is Forever.
2009
It's been an uneventful fall. I'm glad to be beyond the drama that usually follows me from place to place, to be sitting contentedly with Chuck's feet in my lap and the dogs loudly protecting us from squirrels (or neighbors on skateboards, or leaves, or whatever they're barking at).
It's refreshing that, as I write The Love Project's final entry for 2008, I am actually in love.
At any rate, those good times ended when said individual requested a "respite" from me. Although he has contacted me since to tell me that he's getting married and that I shouldn't forget that I'm an artist and other nonsense I don't care about, I plan to continue the respite, because I'm just maudlin and juvenile like that.
Technology Brings Us Closer(ish)
This year introduced me to such wondrous technological innovations as gchat, facebook, and (sigh) World of Warcraft. (WoW is entirely the fault of my little sister, who hoped I would play so that we could spend quality time together online. It's always helpful to be able to lay the blame for your addictions at the feet of another.)
Sure, I've had people discover me online that I had rather hoped would remain buried, but I've resuscitated old friendships and grown closer to several people I didn't think I would ever really get to know well. It's hard to imagine, but this year would have been infinitely more difficult for me without gchat. I would give gchat a big hug, if it had arms or a body.
No Nebraska
I just couldn't do it, at the end of the day. Really, I wanted to go to graduate school in Nebraska because I had given up entirely on love, and I needed a distraction.
Given what happened immediately after I decided not to go, I suspect that I made the right choice.
Cinco de Mayo
Everything changed on Cinco de Mayo, when my Knight in Shining Interpol T-shirt arrived. My knight's name is Chuck. (And so is his father's, and my father's, and my grandfather's.) More on this later.
Tim Russert
In May, Tim Russert passed away. Anyone who knows me decently well has probably heard me discussing the degree to which Tim affected my life. He was my Sunday, every Sunday. I was at my parents' house introducing them to Chuck when I learned that Tim had died. Friends called offering condolences. I cried into my new boyfriend's chest for days. I teared up seeing Tim's face on the cover of People in the grocery store. I never met Tim Russert, but his intelligence and humor and compassion will be with me always.
David Gregory is a suitable host for Meet the Press, but Sunday will never be quite the same to me.
The Axis of Evil
Continuing this year's theme of betrayal, I was outed by a close friend to some colleagues at my old place of employment as having referred to them as the Axis of Evil.
I denied it when confronted, but I'm willing to confess to it now. Because they deserved it, and it's wickedly witty.
Entertainingly, one of the Axis felt that I was referring to only her, and claimed that she "didn't even know what it meant!" I guess this explains why she thought she could be a triumvirate of potential nuclear threats to the United States of America.
This event reinforced for me that I will never, never, never be friends with anyone who was born on October 28 (see entry #1 for another offender born on this date). At least, they will have to provide compelling evidence that I should be their friend, and possibly cheese.
I Quit!
I didn't really intend to quit my job and leave Culpeper. It just happened. I went to visit Chuck in Richmond in the middle of June, and never went back. Radar enjoyed playing with his new friends, Charlie (who, as an adopted dog, my boyfriend did not name after himself, he swears) and Nomi. I interviewed at a community college and got the job. I unceremoniously dumped the prestigious middle school job that I had held for the past three years, and left.
I miss my old friends who now live two hours away, and I know that I don't communicate with them nearly enough. I'll be sure to add that to my list of New Year's Resolutions.
Good Rejections
After a streak of publishing success in the past few years, this has been the year of the Good Rejection for me as a writer. I was a contest finalist and quarterfinalist. I received a series of encouraging notes about poems that didn't get published.
So, while I suck this year as a writer, I could definitely have sucked worse.
In fact, the only thing I got accepted was a pedagogy paper for the annual AWP conference, which I plan on attending next February. Look out, Chicago, as I prepare to unleash my lesson plan on writing about ugliness.
30
I turned 30 this year. Honestly, it wasn't a big deal. I was teaching my second day of classes at the college, and some of my students wondered how old I was.
"How old do you think I am?" I asked.
"I dunno. Like, 24?"
As I grow increasingly older, I'm sure I'll appreciate these incidents still more, even when I'm getting carded trying to buy Bacardi Pomegranate Mojitos at the grocery store for the bazillionth time.
Jamie
When I met Chuck, one of the first things he wanted was for me to meet his cousin Jamie. Actually, what he said was, "If you want to be with me, you need to meet Jamie."
Jamie had serious medical problems since she was born, and they grew progressively worse until she finally lost the ability to walk. By the time I met her, strokes had left her unable to speak, either. Still, she laughed watching Chuck pretend to fall down (apparently something that had entertained her for many years).
Jamie died in September. She was 23. I'm grateful that I knew her.
Obama
Like many others I know, I became excited about Barack Obama after the Democratic Convention in 2004. I remember sitting in Ex-fiancee's apartment listening to the speech and feeling as though, in some small way, something had changed.
After the election was finalized, Chuck told me that he remembered watching the convention with his ex as well, feeling the same sort of elation I had felt then.
This just goes to prove that, while love doesn't always last, Barack is Forever.
2009
It's been an uneventful fall. I'm glad to be beyond the drama that usually follows me from place to place, to be sitting contentedly with Chuck's feet in my lap and the dogs loudly protecting us from squirrels (or neighbors on skateboards, or leaves, or whatever they're barking at).
It's refreshing that, as I write The Love Project's final entry for 2008, I am actually in love.
