Listen Here, Internet Girl

Month: November, 2012

A bad time for a sad song

When you are baking bread and “Storms” by Fleetwood Mac comes on. You are alone in your apartment so it is okay that when Stevie sings “Not a prayer in the world could save us” at the exact moment you realize your yeast is bad and your bread will not be rising, because no one got to see you bury your face into the palms of your flour-dusted hands.

You really gotta stop listening to that song.


This doesn’t count

“Your time will come, Teresa. Your time will come. I promise. Just keep writing, ugh why do you stop writing for months at a time? That story is not going to write itself”, I sing-song to myself as I pour my second glass of red wine and try not to spill it on my iPhone/down my shirt/on this first and only draft/all over my life.

I can say this now with some authority

I can say now with some authority, after spending a good chunk of my 20s learning and re-learning exactly this, that it is significantly heartbreaking to forget, even just for a little while, what it is you want to do, and who it is you want to be while in the dizzying and powerful process of falling for someone else.

Do not ever do that shit.

Earlier tonight I was sitting in a Starbucks doing work when I got a text message that kind of made me feel like what I imagine getting stabbed in the chest must feel like.

About four employees were running around the store, digging into boxes strewn about, setting up the Christmas displays all around me. One guy wore a Santa hat. Another employee said “excuse me” as she hung a window display next to the table I was sitting at. After she’d secured the decoration, it was just me and Rudolph at the table.I double-checked my phone to see if he (a man, not Rudolph) had replied to my last message. He hadn’t so I left before the room started to spin, or I got visibly upset in public for the thousandth time in my life, but not before “Jingle Bell Rock” came on.

It was extremely fucking surreal.

Peggy from Mad Men, or me

“She’d dated mostly smart, sensitive types (who made her smart sensitivity seem redundant), and a couple of slick industry types (whose ambition was like a second dick)….”