In the beginning, I depended on song lyrics and a peculiar array of pet names, code words, and initials to reference the characters that floated in and out of my not-terribly-angsty life. I cringe to think of what the subjects of my rants would have thought of what I wrote ten-plus years ago. Today, my strategy of choosing subjects to write about boils down to avoiding that cringe factor.
Several years ago, a college friend did the whole white dress/”I do” thing. It was summer and it was hot, and the reception hall had zero air conditioning and one water fountain. He was a groomsman and I was a bridal party groupie.
Apparently, a lot of people do. When I saw this Washington Post article (via Gala Darling) about a psychiatrist working in New York after the worst terrorist attack on American soil, I wanted to smack a liar.
I’m checking in off-schedule because there are some things this week that are driving me batty–OK, one thing in particular–and also something that I just read that you guys need to read, partly because I said so and mostly because it’s excellent and insightful and important.
Three years ago, when I was working 9:30 to late at a stressful job with a difficult boss; three years ago, when I was so sick, I weighed less than 100 pounds and didn’t know what to do about it; three years ago, when the only thing that made me happier was hearing about the drama in everyone else’s lives—three years ago, I was a very judgmental person.
It took me three years and my cousin’s “read this now or else” death stare to get me to pick up Gone Girl and actually read it. It went from slow to awesome in about 120 pages, I think. And for me, the thing that made it awesome was the brilliance of Amy Dunne. When Amy turned up (spoiler alert) alive in that car, being a total badass boss of a bitch, it was about 3 in the morning, my time, and I was fist-pumping and cheering her insane plan on, much to Mr. Ingenue’s dismay.
In the three months since I my last check-in, things have changed. Again. It’s actually been a few weeks since I’ve sewn anything. What happened? I pushed too hard.