New Blog

I started a new blog over on Tumblr, because I like the simplicity of that platform better. So, uh, come check it out?

http://sincerelyjani.tumblr.com/

Sincerely,

Jani

Sorely Lacking

...is probably the best way to describe this blog. BUT, (oh yes, I just started a sentence with 'but') there's a good reason for that, and it's a nice little secret I'm going to keep to myself at the moment. However, I will say this: ...umm...ahh...

For the life of me, I forgot what I was going to say.

At any rate, I'll be revealing my secret plan to take over the world in just a little while...

NY Resolutions: I've Uttery Failed

I've failed horribly at most of my New Years Resolutions, and it is with a heart full of self-loathing that I take an in-depth look into my year so far.

1: I resolved not to get in shape. Instead of bringing on the rolls, I can't seem to stay away from the treadmill; those lovely gray curves and shiny buttons and the smell of sweat - they have entranced me! My lovely spare tire is slowly drifting away, much to my dismay. Oh chunky thighs! Where-for-art-thou chunky thighs? Please come back and soften this toned body!

2: I resolved to fail school and stay in it forever. I'm ashamed to admit that I graduated, and with honors no less. Yes, I can see how embarrassed you are for me - I know you can hardly stand to look in my face, it's just that...that those darn graduation gowns and tassels are so cute that I couldn't help myself. I got caught up in the spirit of it all and forgot to skip my classes. I can't bear to think of all the extra work I suckered myself into doing just so I could impress my teachers. Oh the shame, oh the misery.

3: I resolved not to publish anything but to instead hide all my work in the bottom of the pond at Lincoln Park. I can, with some minute bit of pleasure, say that I have not published anything...under my own name. A bitter concession, true, but I've so honorably tried to hide my work away. And it would have worked, I swear, if those darn swans hadn't waddled after me, honking and snapping wildly while papers flew helter-skelter across the sky.*

4: I resolved to watch more TV. Instead, I watched less. I'm a disgrace to my fellow Americans. I have personally thrown our statistics out of whack. It's all my fault.

5: I resolved to start smoking so I could cough a lot. There was one lovely round with hookah in a Persian tea house that seemed to be the promising start of a new relationship. Sadly, my inability to work a lighter, or find the correct end of a cigarette, has led to the demise of this resolution. Never fear! I shall do my best to find another destructive habit!

6: This resolution was such a good one: to wear sweatpants and Tweety-bird shirts six days a week with rats-nest hair. How could I have gone wrong? Alas, temptation proved to be too much and so I succumbed to Charlotte Russe and Salon 1800 respectively.

7: In this I can at least claim to be successful: I have painted my fingernails and chipped away most of the paint - within twenty-four hours no less! This resolution stands strong above them all!

8: I resolved to smell: does smelling like cocoa butter and honey/vanilla count? 'Cause my boyfriend told me that if I didn't shower, he wouldn't hang out with me any more.

9: As far as rubbing my face in the fur of a cat goes, and thereby causing a major allergic reaction which I would then complain about for two weeks...I tried. I really tried. But every cat I found in the alleyway would run away from me. It is of no consolation that several neighbors thanked me for peaceful nights of uninterrupted sleep.*

10: I resolved to complain more and this whole post has been one big complaint. Win!

11: I was supposed to eat beef jerky five times a day in order to support my efforts to smell. This stopped when I discovered truckers following me around a grocery store one day, sniffing the air and asking employees where the jerky was. *

12: You'd think of all resolutions that I could easily fulfill, that my resolution to be a financial wreck would be a guaranteed done-deal. But then the government had to go and interfere and provide affordable school loan repayment options. It's not all their fault though. I shamefully admit to secretly licking a few envelopes shut at three a.m. and sneaking my bills to the post office. At least I had the decency to hide them between thank-you cards and letters to my mother.

13: Ahh yes, the resolution to be stressed out every single day. Another bright spot in my hopeless track record. It is with great honor that I admit my stress levels continue to run on high, each and every day. Win!

14: It turns out that keeping your Christmas tree until June and then setting fire to it in the middle of the street is grounds for arrest by the City of Chicago. They didn't believe me when I said that the gas station twenty feet away would be safe; that there's no way the burning lumps of pine could drift...uh oh... *

15: I resolved to be a bimbo. Turns out this is easy to accomplish when you have very little sleep and bad cell phone reception. "Like, what?"

16: As far as my resolution to speak as though I'm on a soap opera, here's a direct quote: "Hahahahahahaha."

17: After several episodes of public puking and yells of "PDA!! PDA!!" we have substantiated the fact that yes, my boyfriend and I are disgustingly mushy. Resolution fulfilled! Despite a few bright moments, I would have to say that over-all, I have completely failed in my resolutions this year.

* --> I forgot why I kept putting this at the end of posts, probably to add some sort of disclaimer. Since I can't remember which disclaimer-of-the-day I was going to use, here's a few general ones: I'm not liable; it's probably not true; I can't say for sure either way; it could be yes and it could be no.

Little Small Mountain

As I'm packing up my life in Chicago and heading down to Georgia for the summer, I can't help but notice all the little things that color my world - the random pile of business cards I feel I should keep, but of people I probably won't ever contact; the endless piles of pens and little pieces of paper with important scribbles; "the odd collection" - an assortment of random things people have given me out of the blue, like a wooden flute that an American-Indian once gave me at a bar in my hometown, and the list goes on.

I want to know where this stuff goes. When people look at my house, my room, I'm sure they see it as a mess. It's an organized mess, and when I leave well enough alone, I can usually tell you exactly where that small collection of bobby pins has been growing, under the lamp, next to the half-empty packet of gum and my digital camera. But this stuff, this small stuff that clutters my life, I just don't know what to do with. I want to throw it away, but then I feel I'll end up needing it, so I stick it in a drawer that grows more unruly with each passing month until I'm not sure what it was I originally stuck in there.

I can file my bills. I can file my story ideas. I can file my stories, and cards, and appliance manuals, but how do I file that one magazine with the really cool article, or the extra batteries, the mini flashlight, or old notebook with important information that I know I'll need from time to time but don't actually need in my day to day life?

I'll say this - as frustrating, and daunting, and overwhelming, and downright maddening as this whole process has been; sorting, packing, un-packing and re-packing, giving away, storing, and setting-aside-to-take-with-me, I can't deny that it's also been good.

I hate clutter, I always have, it's the piles of little things that sit and grow, day after day, that eventually choke you. And, because of that, I'm sometimes ruthless about sorting through my things and tossing/giving them away. But like the weeds that pester the garden in the summer, those little clutter piles slink back in, unnoticed until they're a problem once again.

The Big Scary Unknown.

If you're just getting to know me, you'll soon find out that I have a tendency to collect school programs, degrees, and diplomas like some people collect cars. Over the past ten years I've attended no less than seven schools - some of them at the same time (oh yeah, I'm that crazy), only to graduate feeling unfinished and unable to transition to life post-school. Except this time.

I admit there was a point, roughly around the end of January this year, where I was panicking and simultaneously trying to apply for grad school while trying not to apply for grad school. My poor boyfriend probably thought I was crazy for having to put so much effort into not applying, but was gracious enough not to make a face and twirl one finger by his head when referring to me.

One half of me was convinced I needed a year or two off to try and start a life that didn't revolve around picking classes and buying textbooks with glossy, fresh print. The other half was sad to be ending just as my writing was starting to gain some good momentum. That same half was also pretty afraid that once again she'd graduate and her great expectations would dwindle into unfulfilled shadows. Always a cheery, delightful prospect.

Then I realized why this graduation is different and why I'll be a writer for the rest of my life.

See, every time I sit at my computer, hands poised above the keys, waiting to jump into a new story, I feel like I'm standing on ledge of the 25th floor of a building. I don't know how I'm gonna get down to the ground, but I know I have a matter of hours to do it. Every essay, story, chapter, or sentence written becomes a challenge in facing my fear of the unknown. I don't know how it's all going to turn out; I don't know what odd character or plot twist, or random thought may pop up along the way. I don't even know if it's all going to work out or fail spectacularly (there have been quite a few of those). But every time I've reached an end I can see I've learned just a little more about navigating through the unknown. More importantly, I've learned how to trust myself; my process.

And that's the key right there - trust. Trusting that I'll find the next spot to place my foot, or grab a ledge; trusting that if I take another go at diving into the unknown, I'll come up with something I know pretty well.

So while I search for a job and figure out where to live, and face the fact that I have no idea what life will look like next year, or even tomorrow, I can say I'm (mostly) ok with it.

My uhh...resolutions.

My resolutions for 2009...which I've finally posted here in February.

I resolve to not resolve to get in shape. Forget the gym. Forget healthy food. Bring on the fat and the sugar! I wanna see rolls baby, rolls.

I resolve to fail school and thereby stay in it forever. Just because.

I resolve to not publish anything. I'm hiding all my work in a closet... No, better yet, I'm gonna put it in a folder in a box in a three-foot hole in the ground under the animal farm in Lincoln Park. And just in case you go there looking for it, it's really on the bottom of the pond with the swan paddle boats.

I resolve to watch more TV. My goal is at least eight hours a day. Preferably lots of reality TV and those shows like Jerry Springer where people get dramatically angry about their cousin stealing their boyfriend who used to be a woman and now know one knows whose baby is whose.

I resolve to start smoking. I'd like to have empha...emph...uhhh...lots

of coughing.

I resolve to wear nothing but sweatpants and tweety bird shirts for six days a week. Rats-nest hair is a must.

I resolve to paint my nails then chip away half the paint. Every week.

I resolve to smell.

I resolve rub my face in the fur of a cat and cause a major allergic reaction then spend two weeks complaining about it.

In fact, I resolve to complain more.

I resolve to eat beef jerky for three of five meals a day. This is to help my resolution to smell.

I resolve to be a financial wreck. I'll see YOU in IHateSchoolLoans court! You think that could be a show on TV? 'cause that would help me with my TV goal...

I resolve to be stressed out. Every single day.

I resolve to keep my Christmas Tree until June. Then I resolve to set fire to it in the middle of the street. My pyrotechnics will last all of three seconds but it will be cool.

I resolve to be a bimbo. Like, what? *twirls hair*

I resolve to talk as though I'm living in a soap-opera world:
"Peter, I have to tell you something, it's..."
*cue dramatic song*
"...it's not your baby Peter! It's Jack's baby."
"Jack? So that was YOU at the chateau that one weekend when that thing happened with those people! I thought your ski boots looked familiar!"

I resolve to be disgustingly mushy with my boyfriend. Oh wait...

I resolve to write more snarky lists.