Wednesday, February 28, 2007

I kind of wish we had backup singers.

I suspect that I am boring you all with talk of my thesis. I apologize. Not because I feel I have to, but because I want to. And because I'm more tired of the damn thing than all of you put together. The best part is, I still don't think I've written a single sentence that will withstand the omniscience of my thesis committee.

So, other things I could blog about, in no particular order:

Raj, Ryan, and Sally (real names here, not 'nyms) have all heard back from PhD programs. I am jealous and finding reasons to be home when the mailman comes, answering all phone calls from unidentified callers, and basiscally waiting to tell everyone I have no chance at a future.

Luckily I don't have to tell anyone that (I have no chance of a future), because it is made clear to me every time I walk about campus or talk to Lauren for more than two minutes. Future = babies. Not just one baby. Babies. Stupid Whitney Houston. And apparently, I am devoid of a future until I start reproducing. I'm okay with this.

In other news, an online Poetaster reunion commenced with an email from Tolkien Boy requesting Disney-themed poems. Speaking of selling your soul. . . however, I do have one good line: "bland-faced Disney boys." Now I just need the rest of the poem.

Finally. . . there is no finally. Not yet anyway. I'm going to keep thinking "thesis" and writing poems and blog posts and someday something will be produced. I just hope it's an 80-page paper and not an infant.

Monday, February 26, 2007

They just get me


Thursday, February 22, 2007

I am blogging

in bed. This is not an unusual occurrence, but I feel the need to mention it tonight. Partially because I told Saule Cogneur I was crashing for the night and needed to take a rain check on our conversation, but mostly because the brother-in-law has mission buddies over and they're watching Mystery Science Theater directly below my bedroom. And they're loud.

It seems strange to write "brother-in-law." Stranger to write that Lauren is pregnant. I'll add to that that I'm throwing my first baby shower on Saturday--not for Lauren, but for my cousin Meghan. And today I got an email announcing Aislin's second daughter. And a wedding announcement in the mail for an old roommate.

I don't like change. I also don't like being left behind. And I don't like feeling guilty because I don't feel ready for any of the changes my sister and cousin and friends are taking on. I know guilt isn't the usual reaction. I'm not sure what is, but I think I'm the only person in the world who apologizes for not being in a relationship. Or getting pregnant.

This wasn't supposed to be the point of this post. I was going to write about inscape, about how last night was my last night with inscape. The release party for my issue. Featuring Kapka and Tolkien Boy and the mad layout skills of the Duchess. But only the Duchess was at the party. And an inscape event without, well, everyone was just too weird. Too empty. Odd to think I could move on from that time in my life, but I think I have. No choice. I guess I'm trying to say that I've changed.

Cue David Bowie.

message for my thesis chair

I have survived my first (and hopefully only) breakdown, and have had my first (and hopefully not last) breakthrough. I'll have something for you on Monday.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

speech for my thesis chair

Remember how you said this was crunch time? That I hadn't left myself room for writer's block, which I then interpreted as errors? Well, writer's block isn't the problem. I don't think. First I got sick and then depressed--which is just about the lamest excuses I can think of. But I can't say "I spent an entire weekend curled up in my grandfather's armchair watching old cycles of America's Next Top Model on youtube." I mean, I could. And it would be the truth, even if it wasn't this past weekend but three weekends ago. And it even sounds better than "I spent the weekend sleeping," which was last weekend. During the weeks I have an excuse--I'm busy--but what can I do to account for those weekends? How can I explain that I feel so much of my rep riding on this thesis? So much of my future? She wants to read the chapter on her poetry when it's ready. I'm supposedly an excellent writer. But what if I'm not? What if this 80-page paper will prove that I've been faking it? What if I don't deserve any of this? What if I can't pull it off?

Monday, February 19, 2007

listening to the the Shins

and wishing that I could rewind the past weekend and be standing in the middle of a mass of people listening to the glory. And then I'd still have three days ahead of me to work on my thesis. And the hope that I'd actually work on my thesis.

What have I accomplished?


Not a damn thing. Unless staring at my computer screen trying to rescue the Osherow chapter counts for something. Which it doesn't.

Sunday, February 18, 2007

kind of like dancing in the rain

So on Friday night the Shins rocked. Amazing live show. Amazing. There are no words. Only a few awkwardly snapped pics.

Thursday, February 15, 2007


finally. a post. and i'm really going to post this, not just type it up and then delete it. which is what i've been doing for the past week or so. nothing seems all that important and all writing-energies have been going towards this article and that essay and, oh yeah, the thesis.

Is me lowercasing it a completely not-eg thing? I'm going to go with "yes" here.

I said I wasn't going to delete this, so I won't. But I would like to acknowledge that there are better plog posts to read. Better things to do with your time. So move along--there's nothing to see here.

Still nothing.

Monday, February 05, 2007

the turn

So I'm using his name and I'm going to admit that he's not attractive and that he's not worth my time and he's not good enough for me.

Except he is.

I had a rough night last night. I fell asleep listing everything I remember about Michael. The stupid thing, of course, is that it's a relationship that doesn't exist anymore and that never really existed enough to merit how I feel. Note the present tense. Note that when I see his picture I feel my pulse. Note that my only solution is to never see him, in any form, again. Note that this is not working.

I've been in a funk all day. Until I started diatribing at (not to) ginsberg. Trust him to get me to this point:

I don't care what men think. I really don't. Because I honestly believe that someday I'll find the person who will understand that I am brilliant and worth eternity. I haven't given up. I just get impatient. I see my sister married and pregnant, and my brother's beautiful girlfriend waiting for him and I wonder why I have to wait. Or why I can't at least have some fun while I'm waiting. I've pretty much decided it's going to be a relationship worth waiting for.

Can I get an amen?


P.S. If I get around to it, I'll direct you to a post about why I admire Elinor Dashwood more than Elizabeth Bennet.

Sunday, February 04, 2007

eg is nowhere

ah the beauty of the compound word. am i no-where or am i now-here? either way, the real question is "where the hell is sarah?" and right now i'm not sure of the answer.

No more lowercased. I can't rock it the way oh!res does. It could be the lack of punctuation in my nym. Or it could be my dependency on hair. Or it could just be that I'm not oh!res. I'm sorry if this revelation disappoints.

Saule and I had a little chat the other night. Something about worries. My worries. He pointed out that I don't have many worries (or I say I don't) because I assign those things to the realm of the impossible. I hate it when he's right, but he's right.

Here are my worries: budgeting my time, my money, and my weight. I never thought I'd admit to those on this blog. This blog is for eg the brilliant. But these are the areas where I just fall on my face. I wait for the last minute, I live to the last dollar, and I have no idea how to apply this all to my weight and diet.

Here's what I know: I have to budget if this spring is going to pan out. I have to finish my thesis. I have to keep up on my grading. I have to save so that I can go to London. And I have to get myself back into some form of shape if I'm going to walk across England.

Across England.

What the hell am I thinking?

And where the hell is Sarah?

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