Had you asked me a month ago, I would have told you that I had been depressed for a few years. Which, of course, was true. With the occasional reprieve offered by a "good" day or week, depression has been a constant companion. But it's only recently, as I come to strange degree of comfort, do I finally recognize that I have been in an exhausted, joyless shell for more than half a decade. And, for the first time since then, I can honestly say that I feel wide awake.
We start the year with the best of intentions. But how could we not when we prime ourselves to fall in love with a new year? We throw parties for them. We toast to their good health. We dress up. We make them feel special. For the moment, 2018 is the most beautiful thing to grace your presence since you treated yourself to Chipotle last week. But much like your relationship with that burrito bowl, it's hard to know how long the love will last.
The end of the year is upon us (thank God), and I must admit that it has been the strangest 12 months of my life. I mean, outside of the current political fiasco/hellish nightmare that is our country right now, 2017 was a changeable creature. To go from a pile of dust to a kick-ass, globe trotting, career gal in such a small amount of time is astounding. I'm proud of myself. For the first time in my life I can say, without a doubt, that I am proud of who I am.
Coming into my third week of full-time Boston living, I must admit that I've learned a lot. Between coming to terms with the fact that the weather is a merciless, changeable bitch and telling myself it's okay to layer 6 sweaters and look like Violet Beauregard, I feel as though I'm becoming a real Bostonian. And since so many of you have been kind enough to ask after my well being and what it's like living up in a frozen tundra, I'm ready to share some of the things I've learned on public transportation.
Walking down the streets of your hometown is a surreal experience. I don't know if that's true for everyone, but this weekend was like some sort of fever dream for me. How is it that a road can send you back in time and make you feel every bit your 16 year old self? How is it that that same road can send you barreling into the future?
I haven't written lately. It hasn't been for a lack of trying or desire. I've been simultaneously busy and bored out of my fucking mind. But let's forget all that. Let's move on and into something wonderful together. My spring was a tsunami of sorrow. My summer was restorative and transformative (is that even a word?). My autumn is going to be the part of my life where I turn into a bomb ass bitch. Gone is the Summer of Yes. Welcome, Autumn of Anything Goes.
When I remember my childhood, it always feels like fall. Let's not dwell on the fact that I grew up in Florida and that it was below 75 for about three weeks a year. For some reason, I remember doing arts in crafts in the front room of my best friend's house with a bunch of other girls while we waited for Girl Scouts to start. It's always fall. If that's not a season of nostalgia, I don't know what is.
I don't necessarily have anything to say, but I do feel obligated to update. Since Paris, I've been getting my ducks in a row for a big move to Boston. There'll be plenty to say about that soon, I'm sure. For now, here's this: moving sucks.
It's been several weeks since I last blogged. I'm not sure if that's because Canton is low-key, or if I'm just boring. Probably the latter. Something that I have done with great vigor lately is figuring out how to be a better person. Well, I guess to be more precise: I've been trying to figure out how to stop being such a shit bird.
I've been working hard on the same story for months. Years, really. I know I've mentioned that before, but sometimes it's hard for me to get my head wrapped around. My thesis has consumed every bit of me and there doesn't seem like an end in sight. The goal has been to write out fifty pages every week, which is an ambitious goal. Sure, I write quickly, but that much output is exhausting.