A confession

I haven't read GSS in almost three months...and while I understand this offense is punishable by death in most countries, I solemnly swear that I will spend all of tomorrow morning catching up on the latest posts.

p.s. I'm in Chicago with Sam, Rachel and Olivia now. Everyday I wake up with a delightful mixture of glee and terror.

Pretty Little Liars

It's late. I'm sitting up, thinking about stuff. I haven't slept much over the past week. I guess I have too much time on my hands, no direction, nothing to keep me occupied, keep me busy. I literally have nothing I need to get done, and the problem with that is that I can't do anything I want, either. I feel no contentment or satisfaction from reading, exploring, doing. It's worse than the despair and resentment I was feeling a week ago. At least then I was busy, trying to untie my knots.

I'm headed West. The big, bad city turned out to be too much for me. It denied me an opportunity to support myself, and I decided that the fight wasn't worth it. I had a short-term goal, here until April, and it's not worth it to me to stay in this place that doesn't get me off and sell my soul, rack up debt and try and work through my separation anxiety from clean air and water, for such a short commitment. That's what I'm trying to convince myself. But everyday since I booked that flight back to Washington, something amazing has happened, from meeting Dakota Fanning to being offered a job (guess American Apparel doesn't have a policy about showering often) to discovering I have actually made a really good, true friend.

Maybe I jumped the gun. Maybe I had Week 7 cold feet and hit the Buy button too soon. Or maybe my reasoning isn't off, and whatever path I choose is the right path, and I need to learn to go with it, to learn from what I've done and to look forward.

I moved here with $350 in my pocket and two phone numbers scribbled on the back of an envelope. The money is all gone, and the numbers never called me back. But I learned something really important. I learned what I value. I got to experience unconditional love from someone other than my parents, and I learned that I totally reciprocate that love. I learned that New York is a place of legend and lore, that it is what I make of it, and it will always be here, with its fish markets and bright lights, if I should ever need it.

Club 201, Or Acupuncture is the New Recliner Sofa

As the bicentenially-and-oneth poster (like, one who posts, not one which hangs, and by that I mean one which is mounted, but not... you know what I'm getting at), I'd hereby like to make a daring proclamation among Spiderettes and Spiderees alike: I am not moving to Chicago, and I'm very happy about it.

Me and Robin Williams hanging out in Missoula.

Big Sky Country is treating me very well for one or more reasons. I don't have to go to school but people respect me because I have (I finally received my diploma in the mail to prove it - but why does it take four months, might I ask?), I only work part-time, and it has been the freaking most beautiful end-of-summer I've ever seen. The leaves have just barely started changing color, our neighbor gave us a zucchini and a bucket of apples, and it only rains when we really need it. Autumn in Missoula is truly a wonderful sight.

Me and Robin Williams go fishing like, every day.

As a matter of fact, Haylee (cryptically and evasively part of the GSS as something donut-related) is coming to visit this weekend, and we have in our plans some or all of the following: Picking more apples and pressing them for cider both soft and hard; hanging out in my very own back yard with its very own greenhouse and yard furniture; drinking heavily; wearing sweatpants; attending the season's prime farmer's market; playing the baby grand piano which rests majestically in my very own living room; going back to bed; and acupuncture.

Acupuncture. I shall explain:

On our way back to Missoula from Maine this summer, we needed a place to stay somewhere in New York, so Kyle called up his photojournalism classmate whose boyfriend's parents lived outside Syracuse. Turns out the thread wasn't as thin as I imagined, and we arrived to the peaceful yet privileged town of Skeanateles ("skinny atlas"), where this boyfriend's mom served us a delicious Italian dinner and wine, and we camped on the shores of one of the cleanest lakes in the world.

Cue applause.

And also, Michael, said boyfriend, spoke to us about the ways of acupuncture. He had recently finished a program in New York that turned him, as a wand may turn a toad into a handsome prince, into a licensed acupuncturist and was moving back to Missoula to open a clinic downtown. It has since opened to an almost startlingly warm reception (I think or hope we've moved on from "Ancient Chinese Secret"); Clark has already been pinned, so to speak, once since they've opened, and made a second appointment for he and his bandmates for this Saturday.

At Missoula Community Acupuncture, you sit in a recliner in a big room and Michael puts 10 or 12 needles in your skin, or more or less, I suppose, depending on your "ailment." According to Clark, the needles themselves are hardly noticeable, and then you just sit for 45 minutes in this comfy chair, perfectly still, relaxing to the sweet new sounds of Enya and/or Philip Glass. Then you pay what you can afford (the average student rate is around $20) and go about your day.

Me and Robin Williams getting ready for some acupuncture.

If I hadn't have met Michael and talked with him about it, I'd still probably be a skeptic about the whole thing. After all, it is numerous sharp things in my oh-so-delicate skin. After all, his clinic is in a basement. After all, it is an mysterious practice from... the Orient. But I was so immediately at ease with and trusting of Michael, I thought, well, what the fuck. Might as well get acupuncture this weekend. It's affordable and interesting, and, after all, I could use some new prick jokes.

This is post number 200!!

At least, that's what my dashboard tells me.

So this Thursday Max and Olive will be arriving in Chicago. We have a quaint 2 1/2 bedroom apartment in Andersonville, directly across the street from a McDonalds (the golden arches taunt me from my desk [I caved and got a Big Mac a few days ago {it was delicious}]). I basically forced Max to move here, so hopefully I don't ruin his life.

Chynna: You should probably move over here. We have one more teeny room with your name on it. Chicago is pretty much the tits. There are a shit load of publishers here, and a huge zine and mini comic culture if you're in to that sort of thing. That would be five (counting Rachel) Giant Spiders under one roof. Imagine what we could do? We could write a zine or have a gallery show or make some comics or read some poetry. I have the technical skills and you have the talent to take GSS further.

Max: Halloween costume idea for you: sexy pikachu.

$%@#

I think we killed it, GSS.

All the better to tell my secrets. I hate NYC.

I'm about to generalize the shit out of one of the biggest, most notorious places in the world:

The city is ugly and dirty, jaded and snobby. From the architecture to the architects, the city reeks with conceit and bitterness and anger. No one is capable of smiling, of patience when I brush their arm with my purse, of kindness or hospitality.

My justification comes from my privileged past. I have lived in the sage-covered foothills of the the Sandias in New Mexico. I have lived on the lakeshore of pristine Payette Lake, surrounded by snow capped mountains and fresh air. I have lived in Missoula, Montana, a place known for its beauty, not only geographically, but the beauty of the people. People in the west (no generalizations here!), are happy and light and kind and accepting because they have room to move, fresh, clean air to breathe, and a contagious happiness because they know that they do not have to live in New York Goddamn City.

Did I mention I hate it here?

People are so materialistic that they have babies like they buy purses. And so they hire nannies. To raise their children. So that they can show them off at the company holiday galas (which they work through) and fulfill some convoluted ideal that that is the way life should be lived.

Of over 100 applications and resumes submitted, I have been called back to 10 interviews. Of those, I have heard back from 5. Of the 5, 3 denied me because I am too "new" to the city. Denied because they doubt my ability to catch the L train and hail a taxi. (I'm really good at both of those things.) The other 2, a bookstore and a publishing company, denied me because my education was not obtained from a reputable establishment. Based on the curses and grunts I muttered on my way out, they may just be right.

I am not sure what comes next.

Hope you are well, wherever you are, GSS!