Lately, I have been having fantasies about living with Martha Stewart.
Stay with me.
Can you imagine the startling amount one would produce while living with Martha Stewart? I would make all kinds of shit! Namely, I would finish knitting every scarf I have ever started (which adds up to somewhere around twelve bajillion), I would needlepoint the hell out of some bad words. I would make a whole fabulous strawberry cake something (I have two cups of strawberries in the fridge, and they are calling my name), and then, after forty-five hours of working hard in my five acre herb garden, I would take off my hand-stitched apron, lightly fold it before placing it on my felted lily pad apron mat (because I would have one of those), and then me and Martha would go snort a line of coke.
It would be organic and hand-made, so don’t start tripping balls.
I really have been fantasizing about moments alone with Martha. This week has been rough, to say the least. The whole boyfriend unemployed thing has finally burrowed its way deep into my tear ducts, and has steadily worked its way out every night for the past four nights in bouts of crying that have resulted in mascara splotches on all my text books. What is tough about this sort of pathetic terror is that it hinders any productivity. What also pisses me off is that I am lucid during these crying sessions, and I think to myself If I weren’t crying, I could actually be getting shit done. And then I cry harder. Because I’m not getting shit done.
See how this works?
Here is what I have decided:
Today will be better.
With almost zero productivity this week, being productive today and writing to you guys has already made my morning brighter. And I have to look at the positive things. For example, my cat:
Look at that face. How could I be sad when I look into those eyes? Yes, she has an aggressive streak. We don’t let her outside for fear that she will bring back a small, half-eaten child. Be we love her.
I can also look towards the failures of other people for happiness. Let me explain: there is this dude in two of my classes who I have had in other classes, particularly in my creative writing class last semester, and I think it is safe to say that he is my arch nemesis. He does not know this, nor does he need to. I am perfectly happy hating him quietly. And before we keep going, don’t get into that “hate is a strong word” bullshit. Listen, I want to make it perfectly clear that I am venting at this moment. I really do wish this guy the best, I would never want harm to come to him. Yes, I did laugh a little last semester when his car was stolen with his laptop, which contained all of his completed final papers, but I did that quietly behind his back like a person should. Also, I tried my best to send good vibes his way that he would get his car and laptop back very soon. What I am trying to illustrate here is that I am human. It’s OK to really despise someone in a healthy way. Don’t, you know, kill people or fuck with their shit.
Anyway, Douchebag McGee gave a presentation the other day, and it was a total train wreck. For anyone who isn’t in grad school, you don’t see train wrecks in grad school. Grad students are in a program because they want to be there. There are no train wrecks because the students are prepared and ready to go. So, to see a train wreck of such epic proportions was . . . exciting.
For the first few minutes.
Then it just got sad.
Now, in a sick way, these kinds of things make me feel better about my not so great, but really not terrible, situation. At least I’m not the train wreck. Ya dig?
By the way – the reason I really hate that dude? In our creative writing class last semester, instead of giving me constructive criticism like one is supposed to in a writing workshop environment, he told me I shouldn’t be a writer, and that shit don’t fly, son.
Anyone can be a writer, you just have to write and love writing.
It is exactly his kind of negative attitude that just pisses me and Martha right the fuck off.
On the lighter side of things, this book exists:
Whenever I think I have some real depressing shit going on, I remember this book. And then I remember how awesome it is that I live in California and that there isn’t a war going on in my backyard. It helps to put things in perspective. It’s also by a woman, and it’s a very unique book (and a movie!) that everyone should check out if they have the time.
Do you guys have a book that you turn to when you’re feeling blue? Do you also have an arch nemesis?