Tonight I am cleaning out my childhood bedroom, which my mom "converted" into a place to contain her piles of purses, psychoanalytic journals, and failed electronics. I just found a credit card receipt that she signed from the Veselka, the restaurant across from my parents' apartment, that's dated December 28. She went into the hospital on the 26th. When I read that I thought, wait, has this whole thing been a mistake? It was like the dream I had, right before she died, that she came to my apartment to pick me up and drive me back to the hospital to see her. Then, I realized it was from December 28 2006. It's 2008 now!
Today I worked at my "writing consultant" job all day. Usually it's just helping undergraduates write essays for Core classes, but today I had mostly graduate students -- a big relief. Even better, they were all guys, and all cute. I know, you are probably saying to yourself, "this is a travesty, Zoe is not qualified to give advice to real graduate students." Well, I agree, but we live in an unfair world. At least I know that you "impregnate" a solution rather than "seed"-ing it, and that "World's Fair" is capitalized and has an apostrophe. At least there's that.
Yesterday I went to see a psychologist up at school. I was hoping she would give me some kind of emergency psychological relief package -- you know, some mood stabilizers, some coupons for Ben and Jerry's -- but no such luck. I told her I've been sleeping on my parents' couch for the past three weeks and that I'm freaked out about going home. She said, "you should go home." I told her I've been having trouble sleeping. She said, "you should go to bed earlier." I told her I think I might be depressed, and she said it doesn't count as depression if something sad has actually happened. The spin instructors at the gym I go are more helpful than that! Anyway, I was going to go home tonight, but then I didn't.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
Do you have a style icon?
Maybe you don't have one -- some of my favorite friends do not have style icons.
Maybe you have more than one. I have more than one!
Tonight I am going to tell you about Cindy Wilson. Cindy was my first style icon. For many years I have said that I love the B-52s, but I think it's actually Cindy that I love. When she's performing, she is fascinating to watch -- she's not "theatrical" like, say, Debbie Harry or that girl from Metric, but she conveys a lot of emotion and looks so cool. I also feel a connection to her because she's a Pisces vegetarian, and she had a big brother who was also in the band ('til he died). Plus, she sings "Hero Worship," which is one of my top five fave songs of all time.
But maybe you know all this stuff! Anyway, it was from Cindy that I learned about thrift store dresses, eye makeup, and the importance of having your own style of dancing.
Maybe you have more than one. I have more than one!
Tonight I am going to tell you about Cindy Wilson. Cindy was my first style icon. For many years I have said that I love the B-52s, but I think it's actually Cindy that I love. When she's performing, she is fascinating to watch -- she's not "theatrical" like, say, Debbie Harry or that girl from Metric, but she conveys a lot of emotion and looks so cool. I also feel a connection to her because she's a Pisces vegetarian, and she had a big brother who was also in the band ('til he died). Plus, she sings "Hero Worship," which is one of my top five fave songs of all time.
But maybe you know all this stuff! Anyway, it was from Cindy that I learned about thrift store dresses, eye makeup, and the importance of having your own style of dancing.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
First absurd, and then commonplace.
Last weekend I discovered a cold-weather post-brunch alternative to looking at the dogs in the Tompkins Square Park dog run: looking at the rescue cats at PetCo on Union Square!
On Monday I took a spin class with my new favorite teacher, Derek -- he makes us do unusual yoga stretches at the end of class. And, he says "this song is really good, you guys" before every song starts. That new Cassie single is really good, though.
I went out on Monday night and Tuesday was hung-over alllll day. It was pleasant to go out but not 100% fun. I had this revelation about how old everyone is getting! Like, there's a definite generation gap between the people I'm used to seeing around and the 23-year-olds that are suddenly everywhere. The 23-year-olds are fatter, for one thing. And they have a lot more energy. I guess I was hoping people would start to seem more amazing to me now, if that makes sense, but instead, everyone seems less amazing than ever! And my friend who was DJing kept playing a party horn noise in the middle of songs, ugh.
Yesterday I suddenly got totally psyched about doing lots of work, which was almost a lost feeling in my life. Then, Antonia and I ate omelettes and went to American Apparel and talked about the evolution of our personal styles. I said mine is "'70s kindergarten teacher," and we also decided that hers is "'70s prep school student." I bought a cardigan at American Apparel.
Then, last night, I got a summer job offer in Madrid! And Princeton. What an embarrassment of riches. Figuratively, I mean -- the pay would not actually be that great. Then, today, I did more work. I think that's it so far.
Happy Valentines Day!
On Monday I took a spin class with my new favorite teacher, Derek -- he makes us do unusual yoga stretches at the end of class. And, he says "this song is really good, you guys" before every song starts. That new Cassie single is really good, though.
I went out on Monday night and Tuesday was hung-over alllll day. It was pleasant to go out but not 100% fun. I had this revelation about how old everyone is getting! Like, there's a definite generation gap between the people I'm used to seeing around and the 23-year-olds that are suddenly everywhere. The 23-year-olds are fatter, for one thing. And they have a lot more energy. I guess I was hoping people would start to seem more amazing to me now, if that makes sense, but instead, everyone seems less amazing than ever! And my friend who was DJing kept playing a party horn noise in the middle of songs, ugh.
Yesterday I suddenly got totally psyched about doing lots of work, which was almost a lost feeling in my life. Then, Antonia and I ate omelettes and went to American Apparel and talked about the evolution of our personal styles. I said mine is "'70s kindergarten teacher," and we also decided that hers is "'70s prep school student." I bought a cardigan at American Apparel.
Then, last night, I got a summer job offer in Madrid! And Princeton. What an embarrassment of riches. Figuratively, I mean -- the pay would not actually be that great. Then, today, I did more work. I think that's it so far.
Happy Valentines Day!
Monday, February 4, 2008
Any day now
My mom passed away a week ago. I don't really feel like talking about it or writing about it. Today my dad said to me that he feels like he has to put on a performance of grieving every time someone calls him to talk about what happened. I agree -- whenever one of my mom's friends calls to check on me, or when people bring casseroles and pies over to my parents' apartment and want to hear about how I'm feeling, I have to fake it and make a little speech, and then they tell me I sound strong.
The truth is, I think I probably am strong, and I guess I will admit that it gives me a (terrible, smug) sense of satisfaction that I'm the only one of my dad's kids who's been reasonable and sensible about this whole thing, in spite of the fact that it's my mother -- not theirs -- who's dead. But it's also true that I would trade that sense of satisfaction for someone I could count on, or even just someone who would always be around to understand what I'm feeling and tell me I'm doing okay.
And, the truth is that I am doing okay. But I'm also not doing okay. I feel like I'm already working through things, but at the same time like I'll never get through this. I don't want to think about it, but I can't think about anything else. I don't want to write about this in my blog, but I feel like it would be wrong not to, and just as wrong to write about anything else. I don't want anything anymore -- to make something good, to fall in love, to become enlightened -- but I want tons of things -- a new house, a new car, new boots, a trip to London. It feels exactly the same as any other February of my life, any other week, but also like nothing else. I'm not sure if I'm even feeling the feeling or just feeling a feeling about a feeling that's still indescribable and inaccessible even to me.
I told my dad that I think we're traumatized. The thing is, next to the abstract truth that my mother doesn't exist in this world anymore, that she's never coming back, is the reality of the terrible illness that destroyed her body. And the reality of the last month of her life in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit. I wish I could talk or write about the visions of my mother's sickness and death that are burned into my brain, but it feels too private. Like the things I said to my mom and the songs we listened to together on my ipod on her last days, all that stuff is stuck between her and me. No one else except for my dad really understands what happened, and as much as I can pretend that doesn't matter when I'm reassuring people about it, it does matter, and I can't imagine that there will ever be a time when I don't feel sad and angry about that anymore.
But I know patience is the thing. Like all feelings, this one is going to take time to develop. Something is changing in me, I think -- it must be. And in a month or a year or seven years I'll be able to look back and see that, no matter what else, today was the beginning of something.
The truth is, I think I probably am strong, and I guess I will admit that it gives me a (terrible, smug) sense of satisfaction that I'm the only one of my dad's kids who's been reasonable and sensible about this whole thing, in spite of the fact that it's my mother -- not theirs -- who's dead. But it's also true that I would trade that sense of satisfaction for someone I could count on, or even just someone who would always be around to understand what I'm feeling and tell me I'm doing okay.
And, the truth is that I am doing okay. But I'm also not doing okay. I feel like I'm already working through things, but at the same time like I'll never get through this. I don't want to think about it, but I can't think about anything else. I don't want to write about this in my blog, but I feel like it would be wrong not to, and just as wrong to write about anything else. I don't want anything anymore -- to make something good, to fall in love, to become enlightened -- but I want tons of things -- a new house, a new car, new boots, a trip to London. It feels exactly the same as any other February of my life, any other week, but also like nothing else. I'm not sure if I'm even feeling the feeling or just feeling a feeling about a feeling that's still indescribable and inaccessible even to me.
I told my dad that I think we're traumatized. The thing is, next to the abstract truth that my mother doesn't exist in this world anymore, that she's never coming back, is the reality of the terrible illness that destroyed her body. And the reality of the last month of her life in the Surgical Intensive Care Unit. I wish I could talk or write about the visions of my mother's sickness and death that are burned into my brain, but it feels too private. Like the things I said to my mom and the songs we listened to together on my ipod on her last days, all that stuff is stuck between her and me. No one else except for my dad really understands what happened, and as much as I can pretend that doesn't matter when I'm reassuring people about it, it does matter, and I can't imagine that there will ever be a time when I don't feel sad and angry about that anymore.
But I know patience is the thing. Like all feelings, this one is going to take time to develop. Something is changing in me, I think -- it must be. And in a month or a year or seven years I'll be able to look back and see that, no matter what else, today was the beginning of something.
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