traveling bug is biting me hard

To say Georgetown is a strange place would be a gross understatement. As an employer, it might be best described as a schizophrenic monolith-- a tightly woven bureaucracy with an occasional mom-and-pop sensibility. It's both the Roman Empire right before the fall and Apple circa 2007--an ever expanding, customer-service minded, innovative, well-oiled machine.

And it's for that reason that I have somehow gone from being jobless next fall to having secured employment, once again, at Georgetown, based on a fortuitous run-in with an old colleague. And I'll be receiving full benefits. Amen.

When Nothing Goes According to Plan

I guess it's easy to forget the things that make you happy, but I am convinced that there's no better moment than when that feeling takes you by surprise and rushes back into you like a fierce wave of energy and anticipation. Having the opportunity, once again, to teach Shakespeare at Georgetown has put me back into that euphoric state of last April. I remember getting up really early and being unable to fall asleep at night because I loved what I was doing so much that I couldn't wait for the day to begin again. And each day on my way to work lines of dialogue would be floating around in my head and I'd recite Shakespeare's words over and over again like a prayer. And maybe accepting the opportunity to teach Othello this semester came at the cost of job security next fall, but a little voice keeps telling me that this was the right decision and from the delightful mess of books and old notebooks covering my floor and the sound of Harold Bloom's podcasts that have been echoing through my apartment all afternoon, I can''t imagine doing anything else.

Life seems to be piecing itself back together again. I haven't been this happy in a long while.

2011: Believe

I like to think that as the clock struck midnight and Friday became Saturday and 2010 turned into 2011, the sky opened up and covered the entire city in fluffy, white flakes. After all, can you imagine a more beautiful greeting to the New Year, a new decade?

Of course, in truth , the best New York could offer was leftover gray slush and instead of the soft patter of snow falling, the New Year sounded a lot more like strangers, angry neighbors, and music with too much bass.

Yet hours and days later, my memory is less true and more wishful and so I can tell myself that flakes really were falling as I left the party, jumped into a cab, and headed back to Stacey and Sarah’s apartment that night.

My second December trip to New York came and went too fast, and so did my trip to Florida. Both trips were reminders that there are people in my life who love me, unconditionally. Family count as most of those people, but so do Sarah and Stacey. I’ve known Stacey and Sarah for what seems like forever and it goes without saying that these girls are more like sisters than friends; we try on each other’s clothes, we set each other up on blind dates, we tell each other when there’s food stuck in our teeth (sometimes), and when we’re together we laugh so much our chests hurt and eyes begin to tear. But most of all, we’re there for each other, to hold each other up even when we feel like falling.

For me, the New Year, a year which seems more and more like a year of possibilities, didn't begin when the ball dropped or champagne bottles were opened, but rather, it began the next morning with hugs and words meant with love and understanding, while sitting in the living room with my two very best friends.

And so, later that morning, as I left that city to return to my own, the streets were still empty and quiet and the sky still gray and the slush still muddy. But because of that huge grin across my face and that warm, grateful feeling in my heart, I’d still like to believe it was snowing as my train pulled away from Penn Station.

Press the Pause

This morning I watched the city shake itself awake as the yellow cut into the gray, and I found myself trying to do the same.

These last few weeks have been a bit like that feeling you get right before you've had one glass too many, and last night, especially. You know, where the conversations around you and the clanking of silverware and the clinking of wine glasses melt together into a steady, low hum, and time slows down, just a little, and you begin to feel a bit flushed. You know, that feeling where the lights seem a little out of focus and you can't stop smiling and you find everything he says to be incredibly sweet and charming. Well, even if you don't know, that's the sort of happy buzz that so perfectly describes the (more) sober reality of recently; no matter where I am the cold doesn't ever really seem to touch me because my heart is always warm, and without realizing it I smile all the time now. But the best part is that he's that wonderful, even without a glass or two of chardonnay. So, while the new year signals the onset of another two blistery months and all sorts of endings, recently, everything feels like the beginning and possible.

I have no advice for anybody; except to, you know, be awake enough to see where you are

I've really got nothing to say this time, except that I've been listening to BBC radio nonstop all evening and that Mumford & Sons are rivaled perhaps only by the Mountain Goats in their ability to make music so incredibly beautiful that you barely notice that the lyrics are rapt with sadness.

You Smell Like Winter

Change was the name of the game this past year and this year is winding down because it's suddenly dark by five and every night that I walk home my hair inevitably ends up smelling like firewood.

The sadness is always the easiest to write, at least that's how I've always felt. The happiness seems always elusive and slightly out of reach and I've always had a hell of a time putting it into words. But I've made a promise to myself to try to write more often. 2010 came and went way too fast, and so, in these last few days, my goal is to slow things down, to grab hold of what's left of 2010 and keep it, momentarily, close and still.

Tonight, at the JCC, a lady told me that my wrapping looked "like crap" and kept complaining about how overpriced it was. I wanted to say "Hey lady, it all goes to charity. Chill," but my palms kept sweating as all my corners went to shit.

But, despite that, the feeling of being surrounded by (mostly) friendly faces, as strangers within mere hours became more and more like friends, and the bustling sounds of shuffling feet and frantic chatter and the crinkling of wrapping paper made the walk home in the cold not only bearable, but exhilirating.

Tonight was busier than the last three days combined, and I wish every night was like this. It's true that I've never really learned how to fully relax, but I don't think I've ever really wanted to. I think that is why I have trouble with inbetweens, with breaks, and waiting because most of these brief periods are bookended by really wonderful places and people and big plans, like next week when I head to New York where we'll count backwards from ten to one and hug and pop corks. And while these moments of waiting inevitably lead to cleaner closets and (temporarily) more organized sock drawers, they also make me feel overwhelmingly restless.

So, with no work and no school, I've ended up doing the only thing I know how: I snagged several gigs tutoring non-native speakers at a little coffee shop around the corner from me that plays great music and serves a good brew. And so, once again, I've squashed in-between with right now and always, but I guess that's easy for someone who gets excited more easily than most about more things than you'd think possible.