What are you looking at?

Reflecting on the (degree) path not taken

First of all, I want to give myself a huge pat on the back for reclaiming my "reader" label this year. We're halfway through 2013 and I've logged nine books so far. That's more than my number for the last few years COMBINED. I've read a writer's manual, spiritual books, memoirs, business manifestos and children's lit (with Kara and Nathan, making them even more fun), and I've had an on-again, off-again relationship with the Bible. My commitment to read more has officially become a habit. Welcome back, words on paper, I missed you.

Second, one book I've been thinking about buying is Ctrl Alt Delete by Mitch Joel, who's part of the elite group of thin, bald men in glasses who wax poetic on marketing and business. Last night I spent almost 40 minutes watching a video where he and Seth Godin, another brilliant baldie, talked about ideas in the book, including re-imagining how companies conduct business, how working folks manage their careers and finding your place in the idea business. 

The link to this video sat in my inbox for two weeks, so if you're pressed for time, here are a few quotes from the beginning that really spoke to me.

"You as individuals are solely reliant on yourself for your financial success."

"We've never lived in a more interesting time for people to be more than their job titles."

"I'm somewhat frustrated with people who don't love what they do for a living."

That last one is the most interesting to me, because it reminds me that we are in the driver's seat of our own lives. Not every person has the perks and flexibility of a mid-level, white collar job, so it's also a tad naive, but I get it, Mitch. It's up to me.

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The bit about doing what you love reminded me of my senior year in college when I was choosing a grad school. I had been accepted into two very different writing programs in Chicago: an MFA degree at a fine arts college where I would learn alongside budding novelists, painters, dancers and fim directors, and a more academic degree from a prestigious university whose name would look great on a resume.

Guess which path I chose?

It's not that I regret making the choice that I did. The more structured program gave me the best of both worlds. Yes, there were practical classes like composition theory, magazine writing and copyediting, but I also took autobiography, fiction and scriptwriting. Autobiography is where I first discovered blogging! How could I possibly regret that?

It's how I made my choice that tugs on my heartstrings a little.

I spent my entire childhood writing and illustrating short stories. I gave them to my teachers with pride, and they wrote comments in the margins and branded the covers with As because they wanted to encourage me. One of my teachers, my beloved Mrs. Erber, set aside 10 minutes after lunch one afternoon so I could read my stories out loud to my classmates. Public speaking is on my LinkedIn profile for a reason, people!

In seventh grade I tied for first place in the Chicago Young Authors Contest. In eighth grade, my homeroom teacher signed my memory book with, "One day I know I'll pick up a book and you will be the author!"

I have accordion folders filled with poems and song lyrics I wrote in junior high and high school. As a teenager I spent hours at a time on the floor in my bedroom, boom box blaring, writing furiously in my notebooks.

My whole life, I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to write powerful, beautiful words I would unleash on the world. I majored in English as an undergrad with no plans to teach. I was going to write and publish books.

And then I actually went through college, and I accrued a hella amount of debt, and once I graduated I wanted to be on my own. I didn't want to live with my parents. I didn't want to be a starving artist who waited tables by day and labored over book proposals in a studio hole at night. I was ambitious, and I already had a job with my alma mater where I would be writing feature stories and editing the campus magazine. I felt pretty lucky to get such an amazing job straight out of school and wanted more jobs like that in the future. I thought the academic route was the way to go.

I didn't want to suffer for my art. So I set my lofty creative ambitions aside and played it safe. I went full-force into a publications, marketing and communications career that allowed me to spend my days writing and oh, yeah, pay my bills.

Looking back, I feel like I betrayed lil' Frema a bit. Now I see that the best time to suffer for your art is at the beginning, where you have little to no responsibilites: no car payments, no mortagage, no family to support. No material wealth to speak of, just a love for what you do and willingness to do the work.

Just like I don't regret my degree path, I do not regret my career. The last eleven years have been so good to me. I've learned so much, and met so many people who are now part of my life forever. And I may not have written a book, but I've produced many things I'm extremely proud of.

On the other hand, I want my kids to take more chances than I did. I want them to see the starving artist and think of her as brave, not foolish or scary. I want them to find what they love - what they TRULY love, not a second cousin twice removed - and go after it with all they have.

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On a somewhat related note: Before I watched Mitch and Seth's video, I read Mitch's latest blog post on the end of writer's block. It very much reminds me of my dear writing mentor, Anne Lamott, and her encouragement of shitty first drafts. 

"Not every word is gold. The words don't always flow easily, on a consistent basis on every day. Sometimes it seems so easy. Sometimes nothing could be harder. But a blockage? Nothing? I don't believe it." 

"Force yourself to write anywhere and everywhere. It's going to be hard. It's not going to feel right. Keep at it. You will get there."

I'm terrible at this, agonizing over this word and that to the point that it's no longer beneficial, and meticulous editing become a means to avoid starting something I may not be brave enough to finish.

But on Saturday night I tweeted this:

At 33, I'm finally getting braver.

Follow-through

Since my last post, I have:

Disconnected satellite
For the second time in my life, I have bid farewell to premium-grade television in order to save money; we don't even have basic yet, as we are putting off the purchase of an antennae until September, the hope that is a new budget month. And so far, it's not been terrible at all. We prepared appropriately for the loss of Nick, Jr. filling several VHS tapes (remember those?) with favorite episodes of Toot and Puddle, Olivia, Jack's Big Music Show, Oswald, and Max and Ruby, but we are still grieving our SIRIUS music stations. Other than that, though, we are surviving just fine. We were even able to catch the Indianapolis installment of Man vs. Food at Luke's parents' house this weekend, which aired two days before we officially pulled the plug. (Did you think of me, Internet? Did you recall Luke's taking on of the Big Ugly earlier this year?) I'm sure this is part of other decisions Luke and I have made in terms of how to spend our time, but since I called DISH last Monday, life seems quieter somehow, less busy. Plus, now we have an excellent reason to resurrect our beloved collection of situation comedies on DVD. Hello, Scrubs, we have missed you. (But not the Med School spin-off.)

Joined a book club
This thanks to Katy, who I lunched with last Wednesday and who allowed me to sort of finagle an invitation. Reading has been unfortunately sporadic for me since having kids - I used to get through at least one book every couple of months, but now I'm lucky if I make one book a year. My only read for 2010 thus far is Liz Gilbert's Committed, which I tackled back in March. So hopefully this will be the kick in the pants I need to step it up again. It will also be a fun way to mingle with more people in the area and hang out with Katy. From her description, it sounds like a pretty well-read group, but maybe one day over margaritas I can convince them to give a classic Frema staple a try.

Had the bejeezus scared out of me by my innocent toddler daughter
We can thank the big-girl bed for this one, which has enabled Kara to leave her mattress at leisure and at unpredictable times during the night. One evening I was washing my face at the sink in our bathroom after saying good-night for the upteenth time, thinking, How crazy would it be for Kara to just show up here in my face like that girl from The Grudge?, and when I turned my head to reassure myself that no, my child is not a starring character in a low-grade horor film, you guys, THERE SHE WAS. Just standing there, staring, not unlike the zombie-dwellers from Night of the Living Dead. I swear I nearly wet myself. 

Thanks to my instinctual response (which thankfully involved dry under garments), now Kara likes to say, "I scared Mommy!" I'm trying to spin the phrase into something less negative, like, "No, honey, you just surprised her." Though I suppose that is a better description of Nathan.

Abandoned pursuit of another degree
A graduate certificate, actually, in professional and technical editing from a local university that I could have finished in 18 months, taking one class per quarter, no summers, if interested. I visited with the professor in charge of the program this past Monday to get more information, and learned that this track would prepare me for critical editing jobs with a university press or scholarly journal. If I weren't a working mom with two little kids at home, I probably would have gone for it, you know, as sort of a just in case measure, but it's too big a time investment when the target market is so small and my understanding of the discipline can only be described as open-minded at best. It did lead me to realize, though, that as much as I love the idea of going back to school again, now is not the time. As I consider new possibilities for my career and home base, the last thing on my to-do list should be dropping another anchor into the waters of central Indiana. Whether I decide to move on in two years or plant roots here long-term, I want to be open to whatever opportunities come my way. School can wait, for now.

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My mind lately continues to swirl with upcoming activities and previous happenings. Deaths of friends' family members and troops from my brother-in-law's platoon in Afghanistan. The upcoming month of September, which will have my little family out of town four weekends in a row to attend one reunion, two weddings, and visit with my sister Ryan during her brief stay in Chi-town. I will coach my sister Samantha through the labor of her second child, advise my youngest sister Donna on the college decision-making process, and be part of a sorely needed girls' night in honor of Molly's sister's wedding. My father's father, with whom I have never been close, is dying, and it is rippling through his entire family. And in a surprising turn of events, I am serving as "pre-editor" for my ex-boyfriend's memoir. (And I owe it all to Facebook!)

I find myself turning inward, these days, pulling loved ones closer, continually re-evaluating where I need to be, where to focus my energy, and how to make myself available for the next big step. I am also finding my voice again, which has been invaluable.

Picture me holding up my fingers and whispering "Seven" just like Monica in that one Friends episode

Technically seven and a half, but the title was already clunky enough.

I ended up solving last week's problem of balancing a second short run with my first long run in a month by skipping the shorter one completely, allowing me to stay on track with Saturday's six-to-eight miler while also maintaining my delicate balance of training, work, and motherhood. The morning and early afternoon were pretty hectic--the fam and I did the one-mile family walk for the local Race for the Cure and then went on to spend a couple of hours at the zoo--so my legs were already aching as I changed into running clothes, taped my knees, and updated my iPod. But hey, you take the time when you have the time, and it was a beautiful day, and I was itching to see how much distance I could cover after being out of practice for so long.

That distance was seven and a half miles. But at this point you probably know that.

Anyway, it was a great run. Difficult sometimes, in that I experienced a few sharp pains on the outside of my right knee (the more troublesome of the two), but slowing from a jog to a walk gave me the relief I needed to push on. I took several walking breaks overall but still managed to finish in an hour and thirty-five minutes--an average pace of twelve and a half minutes per mile. Not record-breaking, by any means, but a respectable pace for a first-timer, according to my PT.

Speaking of physical therapy, yesterday was my last session. Keith (what, you aren't on a first-name basis with your PT?) had me run a mile on the treadmill to confirm my progress, and I finished in just under twelve minutes with a few short twinges in my knee and calves but no real pain. I should be fine for the Mini, he said, so long as I continue to listen to my body and walk/rest as needed. Katy and I are scheduled to attempt a ten-miler this Saturday, my first and only double-digit run before race day. Keith has instructed me to prepare for this long run the same way I would for the Mini, probably because when he asked me what I planned to eat before and during the race, I raised my eyebrows at him and tilted my head as if he had just spoken French. There's plenty of time to figure all that out! I said. We are weeks away!

That's when he raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. Apparently, the time is now.

(I figured it wasn't worth mentioning that I don't have my race outfit yet. Didn't want to give the poor guy a heart attack.)

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It feels so good to finally be on track again, and except for the loss in mileage, the break doesn't seem to have done any major damage to my training. It feels so good, in fact, that last night I registered for the Rock 'n Roll Chicago Half Marathon taking place on August 1. I almost wet my pants a little bit when turning over my credit card information (races sure are expensive when they aren't comped by work!), but it seems like a logical next step for after the Mini. Having one half under my belt will allow me to prepare for Chicago with more concrete knowledge of what I am capable of, timing-wise, and maintain a more reasonable approach to training. Plus, that whole series looks like so much fun, and it's in my hometown, and the course runs along part of Lake Michigan. Why the hell not, right?

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Let's see, what else can I tell you? I'm feeling especially wordy today, as at the time of this writing my coworkers are off to lunch and I'm parked at my desk with a turkey sandwich and absolutely no motivation to eat it.

Those of you not reading this entry through a feed reader will notice I updated my blog banner. It only took two years? Aren't you proud of me? It's not the most eye-catching design in the world, and when I first published it, it took me two hours before I realized I had forgotten to include my blog name, but it features the people most important to me and a cool running quote from one of the most famous ultramarathoners in the world, and I cleaned up the awkard contractions in my title, and overall it just seems like a better representation of who I am right now. Luke has been charged with designing a banner that's a little more creative (see the fun-looking pirate ship featured on HIS blog? All Luke, baby), but he's had no time, and suddenly I just couldn't wait a second longer. You are welcome.

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Two days ago I did something insane and requested information from a nearby university about graduate school. School! Again! WTF? The whole rationale for getting my master's degree right out of college was so that I could focus on the demands of school without the distractions of a family. Now I have an M.A. from a reputable institution, along with a good job working for a great company in a fast-moving field. Mission accomplished, right? Plus there are two itty-bitty children who can't get enough of me as it is and a husband who has dreams and goals of his own he would like to pursue someday, thank you very much, and a running hobby that will have me going after my first marathon before I turn 35, a hobby with the potential to be just as time-consuming as school. Hell, with all the time I would spend researching and studying, I could be learning how to cook something for my family that doesn't involve bread or a microwave.

But...I don't know. For Christmas last year my brother's family gifted me a year-long subscription to Runner's World, and after my first issue I was already salivating at the mouth over the idea of writing for such a neat publication. Reading Kara Goucher's profile in the March issue only added fuel to the fire, so that by April I was asking myself some pretty serious career questions. If I really am going to be the primary breadwinner for my family, the last thing I want to model for my kids is that you can't find joy in your work. Not that I don't like what I do now. It's interesting, challenging, the company I work for couldn't be more family-friendly if they tried, and the people I work with are phenomenal. It's hard to imagine ever wanting to be in a different place. Then again, I'm only 30, and while my education and experience are pretty well matched with my current responsibilities, in order for me to advance to the next level professionally, I need more training. MBA, communications degree, accreditation in public relations, something a little more business-driven than what I took from my creative writing and grammar classes. Which would be fine, if any of those options appealed to me at all.

So, what do I want to do?

My dream job is writing beautiful stories about interesting people, trends, and events; stories that take months of research and investigative reporting and careful editing to convey something important about the human condition. The Kara Goucher profile is a good example of that. I believe I am certainly capable of that. But I haven't achieved it just yet.

Enter more school, in a program specifically grounded in the nitty-gritty aspects of journalistic, magazine-style writing. Like, say, an M.A. in journalism. And the best time to enroll would be when you work for an employer that would fit the majority of the bill.

Like, say, mine.

No decisions have been made yet; all I did was drop an e-mail to the graduate school office asking for information. But the wheels in my brain are definitely turning.

(Luke is thrilled, I'm sure.)

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I'm traveling to Long Beach, New York for a two-day sales meeting this week. My blog will turn six next week. My sister Ryan will be visiting from Germany in May, I've got two work trips in June, and Luke and I will see U2 in Chi-town in July. Samantha is having a baby, her second, in September, the same month I will walk down the aisle as a bridesmaid in my friend Gina's wedding and spend four days in Minneapolis for a conference. The kids are getting older and more easily transportable, as evidenced by our recent weekend activities and travel plans for summer--water parks, state parks, beaches, and museums. Our house is slowly starting to come together with a replaced kitchen faucet here, a dining room curtain rod there, and goals to repaint our kitchen. We're getting ready to celebrate four years of marriage in between potty-training Kara (half-heartedly) and weaning Nathan off his morning bottle, the last of the bottles to go. We are discussing family size and coming to an arrangement I think I can live with.

In other words, we are throwing ourselves into life. And it's pretty damn nice.

You might also like to know that I once wore part of my uniform in a self-directed parody of "Hit Me, Baby, One More Time"

Two weeks ago I went to my ten-year high school reunion. In the days leading up to what I believed would be a life-changing event, I tried to find time to write this really insightful piece about how much I loved high school and how those four years contributed to the person I am today and how grateful I was to attend an all-girls private school and how I never minded the uniforms because I didn't know how to dress myself and how much I appreciated being exposed to different cultural and religious backgrounds and how college was a slap in the face because more than half of the (white bread) student body was going on Mommy and Daddy's dime and how one of my friends drove around campus in a BMV she got as a graduation present while I peddled on a ten-speed bicycle that was stolen two months into my freshman year.

But then life got in the way, and also a new episode of Lost, so instead I decided to wait until the reunion had passed, allowing me to reflect on the relationships I formed as a teenager and which ones held up and which ones I outgrew and how at 18 my life goals included becoming a campus minister and driving a "sporty, zippy thing" (thank you, senior memory book) and maybe having children, "but I'm not making it a goal," and how never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined just how wonderful my life would be, not to mention how very proud I would be of my new family.

But then I actually WENT to the reunion, where only seven members of my class even bothered to show up, and it took the wind right out of my sails. I went on to cover a couple of more important topics, but still I came back to my reunion, determined to capture the essence of lil' Frema's character, to the point that I was afraid of posting anything else because my reunion, my reunion, my ten-year high school REUNION, I must do it justice, even if nobody cares about it but me.

And now? Now we are two weeks out, and the Frema-Useless Clutter household is currently engaged in the Great Aunt Flo Watch of 2008. Waxing poetic about the time I used to crank call toll-free counseling hotlines while waiting for the train will just have to wait.

Seriously, high school was special to me, and I will talk more about it someday. Until then, here is a picture of me standing at the bottom of a staircase next to blue and gold balloons. Pretend I said something witty, and then compliment my hair.

In Frema's Gym Shoes

I worked in a shoe store once. It was my sophomore year in college, and I was looking for another job to supplement my part-time position at the local Sam Goody. (Actually, it was On Cue, a franchise of the Musicland Corporation specially designed for small-town populations, but my discount was applicable towards Sam Goody, and I was transferred to Chicagoland Sam Goodys for summer and Christmas vacations, so it may as well have been.) It was a pretty boring job, as my routine consisted of aligning the sole of each left shoe toward the inside of the box, gossiping with the assistant manager over bad Chinese food, and alternating my Dixie Chicks and Faith Hill CDs in the disc player. Rensselaer has no more than seven thousand residents, and for six thousand nine hundred and eighty-three of them, their daily agendas did not include updating their edition of the little black heel or pimping out their eight-month-old baby with fifty-dollar Nikes. When the remaining seven did grace us with their presence, they didn't ask a lot of questions, opting instead to pull box after box off the shelf to play Cinderella with pair after pair of Carhart steel-toe boots. We had those silver insert-your-heel-here foot measurements seen in department stores and reruns of Married, With Children, gathering dust behind the cash register, but nobody requested such service, and I never thought to offer.

I mention this because I was in a shoe store last weekend, and for the first time since my age could be expressed in single digits, both of my feet were examined by an industry professional.

At first I thought the visit was pretty self-indulgent, having purchased a pair of cross-trainers two months ago specifically for exercising at the Y, a pair Luke argued were eerily similar to the ones I was already sporting, but I think he exaggerated. See for yourself.

See the thicker blue zig-zag, the extra mesh on the new shoe? Totally different!

While the shoes cast a lean look on my ginormous nine-and-a-half stompers, after ten minutes of wear my baby piggies were pushing against the outer walls much like the way a quarterback charges through an opposing team's defensive line. (I said that correctly, didn't I?) Not exactly inspiring for a health-resistant twenty-something who doesn't need any more excuses to pull off the road to wellness. Turns out the problem's been related to my shoe size this whole time, and was only resolved due to the clerk's insistence that I try on a ten. A TEN, people. I've worn a size nine dress shoe since high school and eventually upgraded my gym shoe to a nine and a half to allow a bit of breathing room for my toes, which never seemed to be comfortable, but I had refused to entertain the possibility that my feet were as big as my waistline. So I couldn't remember what it felt like to wiggle my big toe. Who needs the damn things anyway?

Now, thanks to my SIZE TEN SHOES, OH MY HOLY GOD, I offer humble apologies to the largest little piggies of the bunch. They've been quite useful during our fitness excursions, stabilizing my balance on the treadmill and in step class, blissfully unaware of the swelling, crushing, and crippling pain that once dominated their past. How my heart sings for all three of us! Behold the monsters that made this new courtship possible.

On first glance, these were my least favorite pair, and the last ones I tried, because for some reason my subconscious associates pink sneakers with nineteen eighties L.A. Gear. However, they were the only ones narrow enough to support my arch and long enough to bestow upon my toes some much needed personal space. So far I've worn them twice, and each time I fall a little more in love. I even like the pink. When I'm grunting like a dog in heat and sweat is coagulating in the crevices of my sports bra, their implied femininity couldn't be more appreciated.

I guess size really does matter.

For more soleful goodness, see parts one and two.

The Best of 2005, The Worst of 2005

When I was a teenager, every December 31st I compiled a list of highlights from the last twelve months. The list featured top songs, favorite reads, and significant milestones I'd experienced relating to school, love, friendships, and personal goals. This year's tally won't include Ace of Base, Ann M. Martin, or my first French, but no one said life was fair.

School
I graduated college for the second (and possibly last) time of my life. This is still weird for me, as the Intellectual part of myself still has longings for textbooks, classrooms, and blue-book final exams. But I'm the first family member to hold a master's degree, and I can suffix "MA" after my last name. Some people with fewer diplomas listed on their resume wrongly believe this makes me smarter. It doesn't. I'm just more in debt than they are.

I also have mixed feelings about pursuing my writing degree immediately after wrapping up undergrad. When I first began talks with my current boss about taking a job with the lab, he stressed that his interest in me had less to do with my credentials and more about the job experience I'd gained in my position at Saint Joe. Knowing this three and a half years ago would have saved me forty thousand dollars in loans, a couple of hundred bucks in ink cartridges, and precious VHS tape that can never be recovered. I'd have an extra five hundred smackers each month for paying off my car. Financing my wedding. Purchasing my first house. There are hard compromises to make when taking on such a huge financial commitment.

But I also have a sense of accomplishment for managing my time so efficiently (or at least enough to get by). I have something tangible that helps me to hold my own in the presence of older peers who think they can treat me like a little girl on her first day of kindergarten. And did I mention I can add a suffix after my last name? Total coolness.

Love
I moved away from my boyfriend. I moved in with my boyfriend. I became engaged to my boyfriend. Wee for me!

I also learned it's not the end of the world to make decisions loved ones don't agree with. Living In Sin was not on my original list of things to do this year, nor was it an unfulfilled dream held by Mom and Dad on my behalf, but it turned out to be the best decision Luke and I could have made. That doesn't mean I think every couple and/or Mary Beth in Cincinnati and/or even you should do it. But I do think it's OK that it worked out for me.

Friendships
A tricky subject, as the majority of my relationships are maintained long-distance, and I haven't had an "everyday" gal pal for a long time. I miss that. There are certain things you can only do with a girlfriend. Eat ice cream in your sweatpants while watching Father of the Bride. Crochet blankets you'll never finish. Have your dinner covered by the restaurant's bus boys. You know, real bonding moments that weave together your very souls. In that respect, I truly feel a loss.

However, I've had wonderful, wonderful conversations courtesy of SBC, and I've been introduced to a number of fabulous individuals through the Internet. I've laughed and cried for women I may never meet in person, and I've seen new layers of those I've known for years. Amen for the world of personal publishing!

Personal Goals
On the surface, I've done great things. There was the landing a new job with great pay and even greater potential. Publishing an article about pee in a national magazine. Affording Prada (read: Pra.da.!) glasses, for cripe's sake. And yet, I'm still not passionate about what I do. It's the same problem I had at Saint Joe. I loved elements of my job, but I didn't love my job. I envy people like Samantha and Number Twelve, who make their living in fields perfectly suited for them. I sure as hell don't love sitting through weekly production meetings, filling out requisition forms, and hauling my @$$ out the door at ten to eight every morning. I'm also not crazy about being in a work environment for six months without making one real friend. Surely a change is in order. I just don't know what that change should be.

But I'll figure out. After all, I did survive scary car accidents, several bouts of Baby Fever, and countless incidents of sporting food on my person. That has to count for something.

Anyway, may your 2006 be filled with wine, spinach dip, a great support system, and endless good cheer. And possibly even suffixes.

Almost Pomp and Circumstance

Elated parents? Check. Cap and gown? Check. Funny hood thing that one can't quite figure how to wear (hence the Flying Nun imitation)? Check. It really looks like I went to the commencement ceremony for my master's degree. It really does. But by now, you've probably figured out that I didn't.

I had planned on going to the ceremony. I picked up the regalia on Monday and complained for a whole week about the anticipated FOUR-HOUR ceremony that didn't begin until 3:30 p.m. on a SUNDAY, for cripe's sake. I woke up that morning planning to attend; it wasn't until Luke and I were leaving from a quick breakfast in Merrillville that I thought, "Yeah. I'm just not gonna go." I was worried that everyone would be upset with me for waiting until the last minute to announce my new decision, but the family seemed fine. However, since I did have my blue suit of armor, it had to be returned, because I WASN'T fine about paying a $300- to $800-dollar price tag. So Luke, my sister Donna, and I suffered the drive to the Allstate Arena to return said suit, spending a total of two-and-a-half hours in the car. But when we came back, there was pizza, the bags game, and my family--three things there would have been no time to enjoy had I ended up going to the ceremony. I don't think I will ever regret my decision. As much as I loved my classes and my professors, graduate school was not the life-altering experience that undergrad was for me. As a commuter, I didn't participate in campus activities. I didn't live in a dorm. I was friendly with some students, but the number of long-lasting relationships? Maybe one. I never met the president, so it didn't seem worth it, sitting through a bunch of mumbo-jumbo just to shake his hand.

And now, once again, I'm in the real world. I started my new job as communications director for a toxicology laboratory on Monday, and already I've produced a draft outlining the benefits of therapeutic drug monitoring in pain-management clinics. Who'd have thought I'd ever be interviewing my boss/company CEO to get the skinny on urine screens? It feels good to be working again, though, and wearing clothes that can't double as pajamas. Except for today, as Luke and I both have the day off in order to party it up at the Indiana Dunes for a three-day camping trip. It will be my first camping trip. We'll see how I do.

I'm Gonna Make It After All - Probably

It looks like some hope is entering into what I was dubbing a seriously bummed-out existence. My aunt might come home tomorrow, my work pile has been demoted to managable, and this Saturday I walked away with a 2005 graphite blue Chevy Cobalt. PLUS, my New York CitiCash is officially spendable this week, so I may have a mall detour on the way to Chicago for class. However, I do have to get past the introduction of Life of Pi in order to finish the book by Thursday, so there is still an element of drama.

And, as always when I can't think of anything profound to write about, here is a list of

Things Frema Wants RIGHT NOW

- A pedicure. Somehow she ripped the nail on her big left toe and doesn't know what to do!
- A big heaping bowl of spinach dip, no matter what gaseous effects may surface two hours later. (Sorry, Luke.)
- A pint of Ben and Jerry's Chunky Monkey.
- A dirty-dishes-free apartment.
- A day off that doesn't require calling her insurance company.
- A volunteer to do her laundry.
- A magically healed knee, which was mysteriously injured days before the accident.
- Her master's degree.
- A better idea for a blog entry.

Luke is feeling restless, too, and we've talked about taking a weekend trip. I think we both need to get away from the hum-drum of everyday life. We also need new jobs. At this point, either one will do.

The Accidental Student

Remember this?

"Oh, what a diligent student I will be this quarter. Straight A's to prevail all year round! I will walk across stage in June with magna cum laude status and seize the world!"

Yeah. Instead, I'm placing my hopes into this trusty equation

(easy class + busy work schedule) x just wanting to be done = revising undergraduate assignments to fulfill graduate needs

I've only done it once or twice, but it's like I've been kicked in the gut five inches from the finish line. If all I have to do is stretch out my hand to win the race, why go through the pain of dragging my entired battered carcass? Or something like that.

It's been an interesting couple of weeks. Lots of TV. Some job searching and even applying. (Brookfield Zoo, here I come?) Lots of interest in my financial well-being. According to the Primerica rep that visited me on Monday, it doesn't look so good right now. No renter's insurance (does anybody really have this?); a savings balance of $20; no IRA; $82,000 combined debt for my post-secondary education; and a near unhealthy obsession with New York and Company. (OK, he didn't say that last part, but who are we kidding?) It's all good, though - admitting you have a problem is the first step. He's coming back in two weeks to give me a complete Financial Needs Analysis and a plan to get me out of the red. Very good stuff.

I also have a visitor. My sister Ryan's been with me since Sunday; by Monday, she had locked herself in my bathroom for three hours. "Help me! Help me!" she screamed, using my plunger to disengage the doorknob, and eventually catching the attention of my next-door neighbor. The poor guy thinks he's coming home for some R and R, only to find a woman trapped in the next john, for God knows what reason.

"Miss?" he said.

To his credit, he did attempt to save her; finding the front door locked, he snuck around the back and "broke into" my bedroom, which apparently wasn't. He then proceeded to throw himself against the door in an attempt to break it down with his manly track-and-field muscles. Sadly, it did not work, but he was able to contact our landlord, whose wife set Ryan free. Happy 19th birthday!

I have a lot of energy for working out my finances, looking for new career opportunities, and catching up on two weeks of soap operas. Thus, I do not have much left for school and work. Or, by the looks of the last two entries I posted, blogging.

There Are Lurkers in Our Midst

I visited this blog today, which talked about celebrating the wonderful concept that is de-lurking: that is, "taking attendance" of those who visit your blog but don't speak up. It sounds like she has software that tracks the number of hits she gets each day. I, for one, do not, so I would appreciate it even more if you made your voice heard - whether you already comment or not.

Now, my life. Things are good. I had a root canal on Monday that went really well, and I'm in zero pain, though I keep forgetting that I no longer have to guard the tooth with my tongue when drinking milk. Next dental endeavor: replace the molar I had pulled this past summer. Then I can demote my activity to a normal biannual cleaning. In the meantime, I'm thinking a lot about school, which starts tomorrow (assuming the roads will be clear and the university doesn't close). My last winter class. Possibly my last Thursday class. Oh, what a diligent student I will be this quarter. Straight A's to prevail all year round! I will walk across stage in June with magna cum laude status and seize the world!

Since the new year began, my head has been spinning with the goals I want to accomplish, mainly find another job and become Money Saving Genius. I'm currently in the market for some kind of investment planner who can help me manage my moolah. Should I pay off my car early before student loan debt hits this December or funnel all extra income into an IRA? How much extra income do I actually have? How many shopping sprees am I allowed before they become obsessive? Absolutely mind boggling. And all in time for my very own 25th-no-longer-will-I-ever-again-be-early-twenties birthday. This Sunday. January 9th. Just in case you want to de-lurk and offer warm wishes.

So Long, Farewell, 2004

What a year this has been! I think my most adventurous year yet. There were fake nails, for heaven's sake. I highlighted my hair - a lot. And I cut most of it off before Christmas.

I spent this whole entire year in the same apartment - an apartment that I cleaned and painted and rearranged - a lot. And it really feels like home.

Next year there'll be even more changes. I'll graduate from DePaul with a MASTER'S DEGREE, which means my job opportunities will be very different once I decide to leave Saint Joe. At long last, I can finally shoot for those positions that say "graduate degree required." I'll help my sister plan The Wedding Of Her Dreams (I'm the maid of honor. Whoopee!). I'll be a pseudo-aunt to Luke's new little niece, due in the first part of the year.

And, hopefully, I'll continue to grow and change into a person I can be proud of. In order to do that,

I Won't Waste My Time in 2005...

- Pretending to be smarter than I am. My Poets and Writers subscription's left me with a year's worth of unread issues on my coffee table, hidden under more sophisticated material like Glamour and Soap Opera Digest. So AMC spoilers are more appealing to me than a cover story on some Rip-Van-Winkle-look-alike poet? I will no longer be ashamed!

- Splurging on items I can't afford. While I certainly loved my $100 visits to Victoria's Secret, maybe I didn't need 14 new pairs of underwear. Just this week I had to control an almost uncontrollable urge to head to The Limited for their fifty-percent-off-winter-sweaters sale. Can you blame me, though? Fifty percent! I start to twitch a little just thinking about it. Hopefully it'll still be going next week, when I'll actually have the cash to spend.

- Watching TV. I'm sure the third season of The Apprentice will survive without me. Although 24 may not; back-to-back new episodes the entire season, people!

- Wasting Time. I have a lot of things to do this year: work, study, find a new job, assist with a wedding, babysit, finally read Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events.... It's time to get movin'!

Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming...

Well, folks, the countdown is on. By next Wednesday night, I will have turned in all assignments for my fall classes at DePaul and received permission from said university to dance naked through the streets of Rensselaer until the first week of January. In the meantime, I have several papers to finish. So what the heck is she doing fiddling writing to us? you might ask. What the bejeezus, I'm on a study break!

In order to clear my head for the night of writing that lies ahead (nice, eh?), I present you with...

Things Frema Should be Embarrassed About But Isn't

- Her passionate love for All My Children and the station that is SoapNet.
- Not only remembering who Rhythm Syndicate is but including "Hey Donna" on a mixed CD. Is also not ashamed to say she had the lyrics committed to memory at age 10.
- Devouring her little sister's stash of The Baby-sitters Club when she should be studying the art of the personal essay.
- Wishing she'd made time to watch the premiere of The 25 Million-Dollar Hoax.
- Giving pens a prominent place at the table during meals.
- Collecting NKOTB trading cards in the fifth grade.
- Ever thinking Jewel was deep.
- Her inability to choose lipsticks.
- Having bangs. (Quiet, Luke!)
- Not knowing how to walk in high heels.
- Getting buzzed after one Sky Blue.
- Never remembering the definition of "facetious."
- This picture.

Actually, I take back that last one - I just wanted an excuse to show off my red highlights.

Sad Face...

...to turning down drinks with the guest speaker in my magazine class last night. Terry Sullivan, a contributing writer for GQ, not only gave a shpiel and answered questions for the group but also read the drafts we were workshopping. Guess who one of those drafts belonged to? Frema! He said that my transitions between paragraphs were very graceful and then complimented my use of the word "literally." He was not as kind to everyone else - he told one girl that her article rambled a lot and suggested that she read some Nora Ephron to get down the technique for the casual essay. No "nice effort" or "good try" - just "this stuff is hard to do."

Anyway, before class ended, my professor announced that everyone was invited to join him and Terry for a jolly good time at a local pub. I was a little bummed that I hadn't brought my wallet but not too concerned, until I was stopped by two classmates on my way out. They asked me if I was going along, and when I said that I thought I wouldn't have time, they said, "We're only stopping in for one. We won't be long." This time I felt like crap as I said no again but made it a point to thank them for including me. As I walked away, I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I cried a little more when I got home.

Stupid, huh? It's hard to explain. Graduate school, for the most part, has been a very solitary experience for me. I live too far away to be a part of a study group or have any regular involvement with campus life, so when these two students made such an effort to extend an invitation, it felt awful to have to say no; like maybe I had just missed my chance to be a part of something outside of the university. I'm not saying that having a drink with these guys would've made us lifelong pals, but who knows? Every connection has to start somewhere, right?

The odds of me keeping in touch with anyone after graduation in June are slim, even though there are several people I'd enjoy getting to know better. But it's hard to know the appropriate way to reach out. It's not like grad students are looking for new friends the way they were in high school. They're adults now, with full-fledged careers and spouses and children and friends of their own. And since I do live in Indiana, what's my opening line? "Maybe the next time I'm in the city we could hang out?" "Drive two hours to Rensselaer and we can have coffee?" I barely have time to see my established friends, let alone develop new ones. But who DOESN'T have room for more quality friendships? It's really pretty depressing.

Tomorrow I promise to be happier. It's Friday, after all, and I get to babysit an adorable little girl this weekend. Hooray for babies and days off!

College is Fun!

Right now I'm feelin' pretty cool in Ryan's dorm room at Columbia College. We had lunch in the University Center cafeteria, and I took care of some work e-mails while she fixed herself up for class. The rooms she shares with her roommate is awesome; they each have their own computer, their own desk, and they share a private bathroom (also huge) with two other girls. It makes me think about when I was an undergrad and skipped class to play Nintendo and watch Kevin Smith movies. Those were the days....

It's been a rough week. I had to drive to Chicago on Monday night to hear Julia Alvarez speak at the Chicago Public Library, which was wonderful, but I had to drive back to Rensselaer in time for work on Tuesday morning, only to leave again at 3:00 for class last night. I've been pretty tired, but there's only three weeks of class left, so I think I can keep it together. Once done, I plan on celebrating with a weekend of sweat pants, spinach dip, Soap Net, and Sex and the City. (Love those ladies!) My mom calls it "that nasty show," but seeing as she watched the premiere of He's a Lady and is waiting patiently for the second season of The Swan, she has no room to talk about what constitutes as trashy programming. "But those ugly girls needed it!" she said. "It changed their lives!"

Welcome to the new millenium.

Cybercry

It's 2:00 p.m. and I'm at work; thus, I should be working. But as I feel I'm on the verge of losing it, I'm going to take five minutes (especially since I'm staying late anyway) to vent at this here keyboard.

Let me say first that I know about all the good things in my life. Work lets me take time out to go to grad school in Chicago, and they're great about vacation days and encouraging you to "take back time for yourself" when work schedules get especially hectic. My courses are stimulating and my classmates (for the most part) have really innovative ideas. I have wonderful family and friends scattered around in both Indiana and Illinois. But even after a four-day hiatus from the office, I still feel like I can't keep it together.

First of all, I can't seem to get back into the groove with school. There's not any more reading to do than last year, but there are plenty more assignments to deal with that invoke stress just thinking about them. Secondly, because my classes fall on two consecutive nights instead of two in one day, I'm out of the office a day and a half a week instead of just one day, which makes me feel disconnected to my work environment as well as the family and friends I was just bragging about a moment ago.

Lastly, I've made some goofs at work that came to light this week and will surely be addressed in my quarterly review tomorrow - one setback that wasn't my fault and two more that were, which doesn't add up well either way you look at it. My reviews usually go something like this:

Boss: "Frema, I can't think of any constructive criticism to give you. Your smile is a ray of sunshine, and your presence radiates warmth and peace to all who fall within your aura."

Frema: "Thanks."

Tomorrow morning could sound something like:

Boss: "Frema, I don't know what's going on with you, but I want you to get your head out your @$$ before I kick you to the employment curb and steal your goshdarn precious Post-Its."

Frema: Wets her pants and bursts into tears.

I'm exaggerating, of course. My boss is a very decent woman, and someone I also consider to be a friend. However, no matter how nice she is to me, she still has to give me a talking-to, and I will, as usual when I feel enveloped in embarrassment and shame, have to fight my big-fat-baby urge to cry. I can only hope giving in to this "cybercry" now will prevent me from losing my dignity and discoloring my underwear come 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.

On top of it all, I forgot to turn off my VCR before leaving for Chicago, which means I missed taping Sex and the City on TBS. No life-altering insights about love and relationships for me. I almost hate myself.

Maybe I'll just start tomorrow with a Schmirnoff.

The In Crowd

While doing my homework last night, one of the best distractors was coming up with this awesomely cool list of phrases that have the prepositional component "in the..." but have nothing to do with actually being in a physical location. Here's what I came up with:

- in the know
- in the dark
- in the closet
- in the lead
- in the moment
- in the spotlight
- in the nude
- in the eleventh hour
- in the flesh
- in the red
- in the hole
- in the heat of the night

Do I know how to avoid required reading or what?

I'll Be There For You, Friends Spin-Off

With a new school year comes the start of a new fall television season, and while I'm well aware that I should be spending less time in front of the tube, internally, I am charged with supporting the legacy that is Friends. So, this past Thursday, I watched the first episode of Joey. It was actually pretty funny, so my Friends spot has been successfully filled. Then, for good measure, I watched The Apprentice for the first time. Badly scripted at times, but overall, fabulous.

Here's my version of the TV Guide:

Monday:
All My Children

Tuesday:
All My Children
Scrubs
24 (once it starts in October)
American Idol (I think I've got til January)
Sex in the City (reruns on TBS)

Wednesday:
All My Children
Sex in the City
* They're just repeats of Tuesday's episodes, but sometimes for fun I watch them twice

Thursday:
All My Children
Joey
The Apprentice

Friday:
All My Children
What Not to Wear

It's not like I have a ton of free time on my hands - Tuesdays and Wednesdays are now spent in Chicago for class, so my VCR is working overtime. And when I AM home, valuable studying time is wasted catching up on episodes of shows I should have watched in their first run. But Carrie just broke up with Mr. Big for the second time! How can I stop watching now? Also, you just don't realize how hard it is to keep up with a daily soap opera. Thank goodness I have SoapNet: "The New Way to Watch Soaps." They're going to start airing Melrose Place tomorrow night.

Once grad school's done, I'll finally be able to concentrate on the really important things in life.

The Future and Beyond

Today is the first day of classes - hooray! As I begin my third and final year of graduate school at DePaul, I can't help but think about where I'll be a year from now. At this point in 2005, things should not be the same.

But what should they be like? Hmmm.... I think I'll be in a new job by then - as much as I enjoy Saint Joe, there's only so much time you can spend at your alma mater before you start craving change. That also means that I won't be in Rensselaer, as it's not the type of town that's flooded with professional openings. I'll be a year older; more startling is the fact that I will be closer to 30 than 20.

I could be married with child (not likely), or at least engaged (maybe). I could be an aunt, a godmother, a bridesmaid (I hope!). Holy crap, I could be addicted to The Swan. Who's to say?

But for now, I will try and focus on the present.

Top 10 Things I Like About September 8, 2004

1. The sun.
2. That fact that I am typing this entry in my underwear.
3. School today!
4. Having a great "first-day-of-school" outfit.
5. Seeing my family.
6. No work!
7. Trix for breakfast.
8. Eating breakfast at all.
9. Having money in my checking account. (thanks, Direct Loans!)
10. Knowing that I can once again watch people jam on their guitars and panhandle for change in Chicago's subways.

It's good to be alive.

School Daze

At 9:00 tonight, my parents will drop Samantha off at O'Hare airport so that she can make the big trip to Africa with SJC Habitat For Humanity members. Everyone's a little nervous to see her go, but I admire her so much for going to a place outside of her comfort zone in order to experience something new.

Meanwhile, as Ryan prepares for college life at Columbia and Saint Joe welcomes another freshman class, I can't help but remember what that time was like for me. The memories are fuzzy, not because I can't recall them, but because it feels like they happened to somebody else, not me. I think about my first roommate and clinging to her as we traveled from Chicago to a little town whose name I couldn't even pronounce. I hated the bugs, the lack of public transportation, the absence of a mall. I missed my family and friends. I missed feeling confident in the person I was. Thinking about that makes it even funnier to me that, almost seven years later, I'm still here.

While I certainly wasn't a wild child, there were definitely a few crazy times that I like to think about and laugh about; getting drunk for the first time; receiving out-of-town visitors at 3:00 in the morning; going to parties, throwing up, and then partying some more. Staying up late to play cards and eat Little Debbie snack packs, the mother of all food groups for broke teenagers. I can't say I had a bad time.

Some people say they don't believe in having regrets; because we have free will, we should embrace each choice we've made because it's our own. I don't think that's true. Having free will doesn't mean having full understanding of ourselves and our actions, and I sometimes wish I had branched out a little more in college--made a bigger effort to know more people, go out on a limb, try new things. As I see Ryan saving up money for dorm furniture and picking out her fall classes, it's hitting me harder than ever that I can never go back to that place again. I will never be 18 years old again. Never again will my life revolve around school. Gone are the days where 20 bucks could last me two weeks because all I needed was money for Grandma's pie. No more waiting for 3 a.m. visitors. I'm just too damn tired.

The upside: I'm glad I can't go back. I was too insecure, too dependent on the people around me, people who couldn't even get their own act together. It's only now that I truly feel confident in who I am and who I've become. But if I could capture those days on video, the good times and the bad, I'd happily watch them all.

Summer Fun - Oooh, Yeah

Just moments ago, I put the finishing touches on my Screenwriting portfolio, and having finished my Fiction one this morning before lunch, this might be the first time in my life I'm not pulling a late night to complete a major class project. It feels good. After my classes tomorrow, I'll be school-free (well, except for work, I guess) until September's fall quarter, when I'll be taking The Personal Essay and Writing For Magazines. For the winter and spring, two electives. The end is near.

In the meantime, though, it's time for some SUMMER FUN! With tons of vacation days at my disposal, I have visions of Friends-a-thons experienced with a tub of rainbow sherbet and my new Peace Frog pajama pants, dreams of rushing home after work to begin the Nancy Drew books (original hardcover, no less) I received for my birthday, which I've not yet had the time to touch. Even more exciting is the idea of watching Days of Our Lives and All My Children on their actual times instead of waiting for SoapNet reruns after 5:00. What will I do with my free time once I graduate? It's exciting to think about.

In other news: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban opens this weekend, and I am pumped up, baby! Luke and I have discussed waiting until Sunday to hit the theatre, with the hope that the rush will have slowed down somewhat. I'm also diving into a project for the writer's group I belong to, The Prairie Writers Guild. Because of school, I've only been able to attend one meeting, but we're working on producing an anthology of our work, based on a theme of place. I've got to get cracking.

On a depressing note: I've still not heard back from Glamour regarding their "Tell Us The Story Of Your Life!" contest, for which I submitted an entry back in April. The magazine said to include an SASE so that everyone could receive word that their work had been received. The deadline was April 30th, and still nothing. I'm assuming it's because a publication of that size is still sifting through entries and not that mine was lost in the mail. My fingers are still crossed, though. Are yours?

P.S. for Chicago residents: Be sure to pick up your copy of The Reader on June 4th and read all about my literary experience at DePaul!

I'm Gonna Be Published!

Kind of. My screenwriting professor asked me if she could include my documentary treatment in her upcoming book! How cool is that?!

For the same class, I watched Bowling for Columbine last night. Really great film. Powerful message. I highly recommend it.

I wish I had more, but I don't.

Nailbound

It's been a busy few days. On Wednesday I visited the nail salon again and had my fake nails shaped into less of a square shape and more of a rounded one. I like them a lot more now, so it looks like they're here to stay. I look at them a lot, and I'm surprised at just how much I do like them. This kind of thing is not something I've ever been into before, but it's so nice to have my hands look pretty on a daily basis and not have to do a thing. It also keeps me from chewing on my fingers - definitely a plus.

In Screenwriting, we've moved away from the dramatic script in order to focus on the documentary. We shared our treatments (proposals) with our group members on Thursday, and everyone (professor included - she sat in on my session) seemed to really like my idea, which is to follow the trials and tribulations of my sister Samantha as she works toward earning her teaching license.

I really love this class and the work we've been doing, in a way that's much different than my love for fiction. It's nice to be learning a new kind of writing, to get a fresh perspective on what you can do with words and how you can use them to affect others. I'm viewing movies in a brand-new way, even finding myself attracted to films that wouldn't have sparked my interest two months ago. Maybe this summer I'll buy a video camera and bring these scripts to life.

And finally, today: my sister, Ryan, graduated from high school. My family pulled double duty with the Mass and commencement ceremony taking place one right after the other. We were all very proud of her.

I'm a Star!

Yesterday, I was interviewed for an article about literacy programs in the city of Chicago for a magazine called The Reader. A woman in my fiction class was contacted by the reporter and she suggested that I give him a call as well. It was fun - he asked me about my reasons for choosing DePaul, what I thought of the program, my goals after graduation, etc. The issue will hit newsstands on June 4th.

Because I work in PR, I'm usually the one asking the questions, so this was a nice change of pace. The interview also got me thinking more about what I want to do once my time at DePaul is over. I assumed that I would just start looking for a different job closer to Chicago, but I also know that I want to earn an MFA in Creative Writing. Would it be wrong of me to enroll in another graduate program before paying off loans for my first two degrees?

I love school. I love learning new things. And I love being around people with whom I share this one common interest: we have something to say.

F - U - N at the B and N

Another great Sunday, another great hour spent at Barnes and Noble. Today I bought a large-print edition of The Fountainhead (one of the greatest books ever written), The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 1984, Animal Farm (both books I've read and deeply love), and a memoir by one of the actresses from Days of Our Lives. Once the spring quarter is over (three more weeks - woo hoo!), then I can get busy on my summer reading list. I'm currently in the middle of The Neverending Story, which is very good and much more involved than the movie, and I bought Haven Kimmel's first fiction novel a while back. I'd also like to dig into The Chronicles of Narnia series, and then, of course, there's my blog book. Busy, busy, busy.

One book that ALMOST made it into my pile was The Orchid Thief by Susan Orlean, the inspiration of the film Adaptation. I had to watch that for my screenwriting class and thought it was great. It also inspired a newfound interest with screenwriter Charlie Kaufman. Luke and I watched Being John Malkovich on Friday night and saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind about a month ago at the show - some really great stuff. Has Kaufman done anything else?

In other news: I received an A- on the rough draft of my screenplay. My professor thinks it's very strong but that the plot is a little overwhelming; she suggested editing out the mother-in-law's murder. But Lifetime will never buy it then!

Decisions, decisions....

Grads vs. Undergrads

Thursdays are the days that I spend in class at DePaul University in Chicago. By next June, I will have my very own Master of Arts in Writing.

In my Writing For Fiction class, there are several undergraduate students that didn't form a large enough group to create their own class, so they've been mixed into the graduate section - something I'm not thrilled with. I've only been out of undergrad for two years, but being with these students makes it feel like decades ago.

First, I'm amazed at the language they use in class. It's "F*** this" and "F*** that," with the professor right there. I'm not a prude or anything, but there's a time and place for that talk, and the classroom is not it. Secondly, they're constantly not completing assignments and constantly giving BS excuses - "I had a big test to study for and I didn't have time." "I didn't have the assignment written down so I didn't know what we were supposed to do." Never mind the fact that the assignment load isn't that heavy in the first place and that it is NOT acceptable to pick and choose the work you feel like completing for a particular week. Never mind that our professor created a sheet filled with students' names, phone numbers, and e-mail addresses JUST SO that we can contact other classmates if need be, AND that these undergrads are all friends and could've gotten any one of the assignments with little effort. And these excuses aren't just presented to the teacher during the designated break - for some reason, these students feel the need to share their cockamamee stories with the entire class. They constantly interrupt the professor when she's talking with inappropriate outbursts, and one student even said that she had probably read more on a particular subject and was therefore probably more knowledgable. The gall of these people!

As much as I enjoy Writing For Fiction, I'll be very glad when it's over.

Fake Nails - I'm Lovin' it?

Aesthetically, this has been a big year for me. I'm feeling more comfortable in my own skin, allowing myself to wear clothes of a more revealing nature, and "tainting" my hair color with fun summer highlights that I love enough to keep permanently. My newest venture - fake nails.

Huh.

Let me first say that these nails are beautiful - a French manicure, no less. I've never had a French anything before. (Well, I guess that's not entirely true.) And wearing them makes me feel a little more grown up, a little more sophisticated, even a little more womanly. It's like my normally ugly, chewed up fingers are wearing a Halloween costume that can safely stay put for three to six months. That being said, they're also a major pain in the ass. The first day was the worst. I couldn't turn the key in my car's ignition without my nails clinking against the steering wheel, and I almost broke one just by opening my car door. Handling towels and wash cloths are now brand new experiences, and I must take extra care when removing clothes from the washer and dryer. I had to get a brand new wallet because I can no longer thumb through my plastic cards. Picking my wedgies are a thing of the past. Hell, I can't even get my fingers through my hair in the shower without fear of the nails breaking off and getting lost. How has this phenomenon caught on with so many women?

Upside - I haven't chewed my fingernails since Tuesday because - well - it's simply no longer possible.

I have an image of this wonderfully sophisticated woman I want to be one day, and I thought these nails would bring me one step closer to that woman. Now I'm realizing that maybe she's not as cool as I once thought. I think I'd rather be able to pick my wedgies.

Other news: I have fallen in love with my screenwriting class and the art of writing for film. I recently turned in an 18-paged dramatic story filled with lust, betrayal, vomit, and murder. In it, a married woman feels trapped as the caregiver of her 82-year-old-dying-of-lung-cancer mother-in-law, has an affair with the neighborhood handyman, and kills the old woman with a pillow. Not a masterpiece, but definitely worthy of a Lifetime movie. Maybe one day I'll post it....

Today is also my two-year anniversary as an employee for Saint Joseph's College. I'm not sure whether to feel really proud or a little bit sad. It's probably both.