<3 <3 <3 !

I really wish this Amy Winehouse sound-alike hadn't stolen my name.

I rode my bicycle to work this morning (safely, if somewhat circuitously). Wow. I feel like I am high on every type of drug at once. sweet!

Congratulations Adele! I'm so proud of you! You are free to have a life now!

Benjamin sent me the rest of the Bamn! photos so you can see the awesomeness that is the automat:

I went out with my professor last night. The one I TA for. Christopher Bollas was doing a lecture on free-association and the unconscious mind, and since Professor H knows psychoanalysis is sort of a hobby of mine, he asked me along.

At the risk of like a complete tool, let me say that you can always tell an Exeter man. All those tony eastern private schools may be neopotistic, but they sure do their job. He opened doors and helped me on and off with my coat and asked me polite questions about school and the job search. The lecture itself was much more interesting than I had expected, as Bollas was a charming speaker. The thing that most interested me about his view of free association is that what makes Freud so particularly important is his emphasis on the seemingly inconsequential, which Bollas compared to the Victorian novel's interest in the mundane, as well as the French Analyst school of historical study (which analyzes horizontal rather than vertical structures as a way of understanding a society). I wanted to stay afterwards and talk some more with Professor H, but Brooke had sent me a text message inviting me to some Yoko Ono party, and I wasn't going to miss that.

And by Yoko Ono I wish I meant a party where everyone had to dress up as their favorite soul-crushing woman; but no, Yoko was throwing some benefit party for artists with HIV (you guessed it: Visual Aids. I kid you not) over at Chelsea Pier's bowling hall. Because it takes at least half an hour to go across town, and since the NYU medical school is over on 2nd avenue, by the time I got over to 11 avenue, it was 10:30pm and I had missed Yoko. I spent the last half an hour having skinny people judge me for eating a plate of fried food Brooke had procured for me, falling down on a slippery lane, and taking bowling instructions from some Sex in the City actress. A whole bunch of terribly famous contemporary artists were there and they were all terribly boring and into themselves. Honestly though, if I weighed 80 pounds and all of my paintings of naked androgynous children sold for $250,000 then I would probably be into myself too.

Ugh. It's raining again and too ugly to run errands. Wet cities are by far the worst

So I guess I graduated from law school or something this weekend. I wish I could report that I'm feeling triumphant, but like Mary, I'm keeping one eye on the road ahead -- and it's looking somewhat curvy.

That said, I had a crazy and fun weekend, entirely thanks to Mark, who went above and beyond every conceivable call of duty to make me feel special. As a result, I am feeling both very special and very spoiled. Thank you, Mark.

On Saturday, he and I woke up early to get ready for a little family get together at our house. While I did some haphazard food shopping and spent approximately 2 hours picking my outfit and putting on too much makeup, Mark went on a cleaning spree that would have made Mrs. Hannigan proud. I returned from the Jewel to find our entire library spread across the living room floor -- Mark had decided to dust every one of our books and reorganize all of our shelving. I've never seen anything quite like it. Miraculously, and with very little help (more like active discouragement) from me, Mark put our apartment back together in time for our guests' arrival. And I can honestly say that for that day, our apartment was the cleanest interior environment in human history.

Mark's dad and stepmom, my parents, Laks and Sriram, and our good friends Cate and Joe were on the super-exclusive guest list. We had tons of good food from the neighborhood -- guacamole from Garcia's, hummus and baba ghanoush from Reza's, finger sandwiches from Costello's, cookies from the Swedish Bakery, wine from In Fine Spirits and an amazing chocolate cake from that Sicilian bakery on Clark St. owned by the gorgeous Italian couple (I can't remember what it's called). I think everyone ate well, and we weren't too overwhelmed with leftovers -- success!

It was really nice to see everyone, drink some beers and socialize with some of my favorite people in the world. I was a bit stressed about making sure everyone got along and preventing my mother from sharing her more controversial theories with the other guests. Aside from a few impolitic remarks about the election, things went off about as well as could be expected. (A good warm-up for next weekend!)

Here's everyone:



As you can see, Mark went crazy decorating our home with shiny foil that proudly proclaimed my membership in the class of 2008. It was too sweet. Here's Mark with some foreign person who kind of resembles me, but not too much.



Anyhow, on Sunday, we sprung out of bed as if we hadn't consumed approximately 700 grams of sodium each the previous day and went for a jog (my route these days is south to Irving Park, West to Western, North to Sunnyside, Back East to Paulina). It was green and sunny outside, if a bit cool. It's been really nice to re-discover my physical self over the past couple of months. I suddenly feel like my body is my own again, whereas before, it was just something that slowed me down or caused me discomfort.

We got back to our place and Mark presented me with a huge package of touching, thoughtful, awesome graduation gifts. I'm can now deck myself, my vehicle, my home, my office and all other personal or real property from head to toe, top to bottom, in items emblazoned with the John Marshall logo. I also am carrying a Zola Jones bag, much like this one. Oh Zola Jones bag, you are unique and gorgeous, you match with my personal aesthetic and most of my clothing, you are slightly outside the realm of economic sanity. Dear Zola Jones bag -- I love you. It's one of those, "you shouldn't have, but I'm really, really glad you did" kind of gifts.

After crying a little and exclaiming over all the awesome stuff, I half-heartedly ironed my crazy graduation gown and agonized over the outfit that no one would ever see. After much debate, I finally decided on a black dress and red shoes. I'm sure I won't be the first to observe that graduation gear is really bizarre looking. So, I leave it at that.



My graduation was short, sweet and unpretentious. Go JMLS. I love you and your comic sans and clip art notices; your rumpled faculty; your nervous valedictorian; your terrible web site. Godspeed, JMLS, and thanks for everything.

Here's me and my parents in the chaos of the reception.



Here's me with one of my favorite friends from law school, Gina. Note our honor tassels (cords? whatever). Night school represent.

.

That evening, Mark, my parents and I ate an amazing dinner at the adorable and lovely Caro Mio on Wilson and drank lots of wine and champagne. (BYO! delightful pastas! cozy, romantic interior!) When did we ever fall asleep? I don't know. It was late, and I felt shredded and happy.

Yesterday, in the elevator up to work (oh how impressed my 17-year-old self is with this 35th floor office) a nice partner who works on my floor asked me whether my bar review class had started yet. "No," I said. "But I did graduate this weekend." "That's nice," he replied. "But law school graduation is kind of a non-event. Nothing is over. You're just starting the next thing."

So, yeah. That kind of sums it up. Onward -- a few more grueling months, and then I'll really be licensed to kill.

Oh, and before I go for the day:
I am going to be in Chicago from May 27-May 31. I have been meaning to call both Adele and Lakshmi but things keep coming up. And by things, I mean people. I have been talking and talking on the phone for hours because bored people keep calling me and I feel I have to entertain them. So by the end of the day I'm like, dude, I need to call Adelshmi, and then I'm all, dude, I so totally will tomorrow. But heads up, guys, because I'll need a place to stay. Thank you!

Catching Up: April

I don't remember much about April. I remember catching up on school work, working as a TA and grading papers, working on my resume, and generally spacing off in a post-exam haze. Leesie had an absinthe party, and Patricia and I went to watch the fire eating and to see Leesie. I will update as memories of what actually happened in April trickle back in.

The last week in April, Benjamin decided to surprise me with a visit to cheer me up and to celebrate his birthday. Usually when we're together, it's only for a week or two after months of seperation. This creates a kind of manic sensory frenzy when we do get together--Benjamin and I spend the week in my apartment, eating pizza and chips, drinking juices and sodas, watching movies and tv, making out and sleeping. In an effort to be more like a normal couple, we decided to force ourselves out of the house and have, you know, real dates, real social interactions.

He arrived late on Tuesday night, after lying and telling me he had to work late. On Wednesday, I had to read some poems I wrote for Earth Day, so I took him to Newark. It was a huge mistake. It was the absolute worst parody of what a poetry reading should be: long, sprawling poems full of Bush-bashing and polar-bear defense ("Swim little polar bear/swim far"). Bald white hippies with glasses and asian robes playing japanese songs on woodwinds. Improvised musical/poetry jamming, some chubby dude with an acoustic guitar singing about trees. And this was the first poetry reading I have ever been to where every single member of the audience (with the exception of poor Benjamin) was performing. It was poorly advertised--the year before had thirty times as many observers. But Benji took it like a champ. He even sat in on my Lifewriting class afterwards and gave some nice insights on Robert Lowell. Afterwards we took the bus back to Newark, picked up a pizza and some fries, then watched Top Chef and South Park. Yeah, pretty much ideal.

Thursday (April 27) we decided to do some shopping. Benjamin is a good looking man, and very slender, so everything looks good on him. As a result, he's a bit of a clothes whore. This season he's going for a New England Prep/ Nautical look (I myself am kind of freaking out over Brooks Brothers Edwardian-Tea-Party-meets-Gossip-Girl look, and I wish so very much that I could afford it). We went to LaCoste where he bought himself some canvas slip ons, then we went to Macy's and go him some Calvin Klien clamdiggers (white, natch). There was a bit of a fight, because Benjamin got all fidgety when it was time for me to shop in the girls section. I don't think I've ever had a boyfriend, actually, who wasn't. They're all awesome about me shopping for them and asking me what i think and what looks good on them, but heaven forbid I should spend half an hour looking through dresses. Still, I was happy enough to skip my Film Class (gosh, I HATE Antonioni) and spend the evening with Benjamin, grading papers while he cooked dinner. It had crumbled sausage, feta, tomatos, and pasta all mixed together with a balsalmic reduction. I really do need to learn how to cook. It's getting to be embarassing.

On Friday, the beautiful Nina comes to Manhattan for lunch. Nina has recently had a nasty break up and needed some moral support. Because she's Greek, she understands my struggle with and love of being Mormon--it's a kind of bond only kids that are part of a closed community (one where all your friends, family, and future spouses are a part of) can understand. The struggle with men, overbearing mothers, irrational fathers (obviously, not always. In fact, my parents are anything but overbearing and irrational) is a bit of a universal. There is always an elderly relative on hand to tell you you're too old or too smart to get a man. This is something I get. We did add insult to injury by dragging Nina to a (mediocre, it turns out) Greek restaurant--as if she doesn't get enough of it. After some bonding, Benjamin and I send her off back to Jersey, get dressed up, then go down to Soho to meet Benjamin's old friends Lydia and Jeb from South Carolina. They were in town for Tribecca, so we took them to a mac n' cheese restaurant (S'mac) over on 11th street (I think). I ran in to Master Exam Study Partner Michael and his friend (and mine) Shana at a Mexican restaurant. I had a major crush on Michael when he entered the program, but Shana snagged him first. I don't begrudge her this. Shana is a smarter woman than I am, having gotten her phD in theology and an undergraduate degree from Harvard. I will never resent an older, smarter woman getting a man i'm interested in. It seems the natural order of things. After we get home, Benjamin and I watch Cowboy Beebop. These outdoor activities are tiring.

Saturday, Benjamin and I get up early to go on a hike in Inwood Park with my friend from church, Patricia. Patricia was training for a charity event where she would walk (the 32 miles) around Manhattan. We were supposed to meet a group of hikers up in Inwood park, then walk across to the Bronx. However, the subways were a complete disaster, and we had to take a bus, and by the time we arrived, the group left without us. Then someone told us the Washington bridge was closed to pedestrians, so we couldn't walk over. Admitting defeat, we went to a diner and had some breakfast, then started hiking around the forest. Inwood forest has Shorakkopoch rock, where the Dutch bought Manhattan from the Indians. Patricia and I decided to renact the history of the Native Americans, she as the Dutch, me as the Indian:

Here is me accepting my wampum.^

"I can't believe she's buying this swamp for $24 dollars! Sucker!" ^

"Wait a minute! These are just beads!"^ The disillusion sets in
Small pox. Death. The end. ^

Inwood park--just barely north of the Cloisters--also has wild onions, several streams, and an awesome glacial pothole. We went to a farmers market and got some cider. We wandered around the forests and hide in lean-tos.

I do love being outdoors. I don't know why it takes so much effort to get me out there. I suspect it's because I have so much trouble with my bladder. Seriously, I'm like a once-an-hour kind of girl. Allie knows what I'm talking about. We share an affliction.

That night we met up with Patricia again for the Found Footage Festival. This sort of thing is so precisely me that I was shocked Patricia had to be the one to introduce me to it. The schtick is that two guys spend their Saturdays trolling through yard sales and salvation armies looking for home movies, how to guides, training videos, and general garbage. Then every year they stitch together 2 hours of the "best" and screen it. Observe, if you can, a the trailer of awesomeness:

My favorite was the "Studs" section, a tribute the manly man. They had Playgirl excercise videos, wrestler wooing, and various mulleted beefy dudes making love to the camera. David Cross came buy to drop off the original copy of a Jewel training video, which those of us from Chicago can really appreciate.

Sunday we went to church, then bowed out a little early to get donuts and arrange everything for Benjamin's cheese-based birthday party. Whereas last year's party was suitably debacherous, this year's turned into a "let's all sleep in a big pile and eat cheese and chocolate." I invited over some girls from church--Sarah, Ellie, Brooke, and Patricia--and my friend Sarah from Northwestern came by to give Benjamin some flowers. It was lazy and sweet, and I was glad everybody showed up.

Monday it was raining and gross, so we decided to do something indoors. Benjamin and I went over to the Moma to see the "Design and the Elastic Mind" exhibit that Mary South had been raving about when she was in town. The basic premise was how art does and might become linked to future design and technology, so there were sculptures based on certain kinds of algorithms or DNA sequences.

One of my favorites was a tree made out of small solar cells, which charged up during the day and would respond to the proximity of heat, so whenever anyone would mill around it, different sections would light up.

There was also a cave made up of tv screens which felt very much like being in a cell. I didn't have as much time to enjoy the exhibit as I had wanted--all of New York decided they were going to escape the rain, too. It was crowded, hot, and Benjamin seemed really anxious to get going. Before leaving, I did make a stop at the Olafur Eliasson exhibit. His work is usually based on light manipulation similar to Dan Flavin, but much more interactive.

Soom rooms would be drenched in one color light fixturs, so that every single thing was in the same color. It is a bizzare experience walking into a room and seeing everyone moving and talking in the same color. It was a suprising equalizer, as the variants of color contribute to the way we see the quality or harmony of outfits and complextions.

I wasn't feeling his mirror-and-spotlight pieces, and though Benjamin loved Eliasson's moss wall (literally, a huge wall of dried moss), the smell made me completely nauseated. I did enjoy these pieces:

This one was a dark room with a sheet of falling water droplets that seperated the two halves of the space. a strobe light was flashing, giving the illusion that the water was suspended in air, sparkling like diamonds.

This was a circular curtain where light projected from the outside. Once inside, there was a wonderful feeling of calm, like how I imagine being in the artic must feel, or more figurativly, being suspended in twilight. The first photo (above ^) shows what the room looked like on the outside. Below shows how it looked on the inside:

Don't let this photo fool you. The colors were actually all pastels, very light and delicate, and they would slowly melt into each other in varying degrees of warm and cool. It was wonderful, like being enveloped in some sort of soothing, maternal, heavenly cloud. I felt alternate degrees of peace and optimism, depending on what color was surrounding me.

On Tuesday, we went to the Strand and I picked up a photography book on Japanese medical oddities. I need to stop buying books until I can clear out the ones I don't like or have no intention of every reading again (such as Spencer. Oh my gosh get it away). We poked around some bookstores near St. Mark's square, hitting up my favorite restaurant in the whole world, Bamn! Bamn! (the exclamation mark is very important) is an automat, billing itself as the perfect restaurant for those of us who love eating but hate people (just like me!) I may have described this before, but I don't care. Everyone needs to go when they are next in New York. They have two little men who cook furiously in the back, setting out trays of food in special little plastic slots every 15 minutes or so. You get your quarters from the change machine, pick out the food you want, slip in your money, open the tray and take out your food. You guys have done this a milion times to get bad egg salad or chocolate milk, especially if (just like me) you grew up around hospitals. BUT BUT BUT. What makes Bamn! so amazing is that the food--most of it fried--is actually fresh and delicious. No, really delicious. Their burgers are the similar to In-n-Out, their corn dogs are ridiculously good, their fries are great, chicken fingers to die for. I'm making my way down their menu slowly but surely, and each thing I try is amazing. It's sort of my dream.

We also went to a comic book store and saw a copy of Laura Terry's (bravesailor--->) Quaternity for sale, which made me happy. I can't wait for our new book to be published, you guys, for serious.

Then, in the evening, it was time for Fuerza Bruta, the theatre/performance art show I've been trying to see since I got to New York. When I was 16, I came to New York for the Columbia University literary magazine conference. The mothers thought we needed to see a show, and it was a toss up between some crazy Brazilian thing called "De La Guarda" or some crazy music thing called "Blue Man Group." We ended up going with De La Guarda, and I fell completely in love. It was more dance party than show, with trapeze artists, neon paint, water raining down, confetti, and dancing. I was completely swept away by it, and was destroyed when I found out (upon moving to New York) that the show had ceased. Then, Fuerza Bruta came to save me. Produced by the same group as De La Guarda, this show was supposed to be less dance party, more ballet.

The show started with a man walking on a 6'X6' treadmill, running as if in a dream, breaking through walls (boxs filled with confetti). The basic journey is that of a man who gives up the business world for the etheral world of his dreams and rekindle the brute force of being alive. There were acrobats running vertically on tin foil curtains, houses being torn down, tag games on giant suspended kites.

Of course, Furza Bruta's ace was their suspended pool. Constructed out of transparent, pliable, but waterproof plastic, a pool with an inch or so of water was suspended above the crowd. Then a variety of women swam, danced, stomped, and slid around, inches from our head. It sounds sleazy but it wasn't--the way their clothes hung the effect was much more nymph than nympho. Still, that didn't stop the creepy guys in front of me from nudging each other and making animal noises when one of the women accidentally showed a nipple. Yet another reason why I don't see movies with nudity. It ruined the remainder of the show for me.

Fuerza Bruta was amazing, make no mistake, but it wasn't the transcendant experience that De La Guarda was. De La Guarda was in a small, cramped, dark club in a questionable part of town. Fuerza Bruta was in a cavernous hall in Union Square. The tickets were more expensive, and the large size of the room disappated the energy, so that at the end, when the music was pumping, water was being sprayed on the crowd, and we were being invited to dance, everyone stood around awkardly. It's a microcosm of my New York experience--I came expecting the dark, energetic, passionate city I remembered at 15. Instead I found a large, corperate, clean, and orderly spectacle. Better, I guess, but it doesn't feel that way.

Catching Up: March
Second week in March: Adele's Moot Court
So after Miriam (my Russian bathhouse partner) flew back to Austin, my parents and Mary South came up in the first weekend in March. Mary South was there with her boyfriend Tom--she was interviewing at NYU, he was interviewing with an architecture firm. My parents wanted to keep me company, and celebrate their anniversary in style, so we went out to some nice restaurants and hit up the Barney's Warehouse Sale. I will say, all the rumors about the Barney's Warehouse Sale are true. It's like the most glorious El Dorado of fashion this side of Candide. Manolo's on sale for $100; Michael Kors and Helmut Lang at 90-95% off.

The second week of March, Adele flew into the city as part of the Moot Court Professional Lawyer Games. I met her on the first floor of what looked like a Financial District turn-of-the-century hotel, but which was in fact a law school of some type. Adele had a bit of an entourage with her--Mark (hers, not mine) flew in from Chicago, her mom drove down from Binghamton, and her brother took the ferry over from Long Island. Here is a picture of 3/5 of the Nicholas family in the green room as we all wait for room assignments:

I got to sit in on one of Adele's trials, where she was arguing on behalf of Initech and Bill Lumburgh (kind of adorable. I don't think the round judges got the reference). She was very poised, elegant, and frankly looked super fine in her business suit. Observe her prepping with her team:

Her scores were high enough to bump her team up to an octofinal round. For serious, she's so in her element, I was impressed to watch her tackle the big boys. Her judges were Obama, Alfred Modine, and Larry David, all big players in the judicial circle:

After the round, we went around the corner to get some Mexican food, where I complained a little bit about my upcoming exams the next week. My stress seemed to disippate while I was hanging around in the green room however. On the wall was the most amazing array of judges, an oil-paint version of our old Wall of Corporate Legal Times All-Stars. In order to more fully show the inspiration shining forth from these portraits, I had all of us pose in front of our favorites:

Despite the fact that Adele was only in town for the weekend, I still managed to go the Morgan Library with her, Mark, and Bobby on Sunday (absolutely gorgeous by the way--a small, pristine gem of a collection). Afterwards we went back to my place for manicotti and Rock of Love.

Finally, the third week of March was the big event: my Master's Exam. The single 2-day test which would determine if I would be receiving a degree or not. The night before the test, however, I didn't study. I think something inside of me snapped. After 6 months of studying, I just decided that I was done. Instead, I spent the day or two before my exam watching Dexter, drinking Pepsi, and curled up in my bed.

The Exam took place in a large computer room. As soon as the exam was passed out, my study group and I burst into a sick, malicious laughter. None of the books we had concentrated on were covered. So I had to bend the questions to include the books I HAD read instead of the most important book for the question. For example, discussing post-traumatic stress disorder in literature, I included "The Vision of Piers Ploughman" and "Paradise Lost" instead of the obvious "Things Fall Apart" or Tim O'Brien.

The second day, the questions were a little more open-ended, so I was better able to focus the questions on my general understanding of literature, bringing in my knowledge of french literature. Afterwards, we all went it the local for drinks (my 18th century professor Jacky Lynch picked up the tab). We weren't as happy as I think we should have been. The previous year caroused and partied like New Year's. We stared off into space and talked about amusement parks and "Sleep Away Camp" (the best trashy 80's movie ever. EVER.)

This is a picture of my study group. From left to right: Liz and Ethan (married), Michael, Jackie, Alex, Diana, Omer, and Nina. They look pretty tired, huh? I'm kind of depressed to be leaving them. They are so normal--they aren't rude, cold, dramatic, mean, or insecure. Why is it finding normal people is so hard anymore? Why is baggage the new black? These kids have kept me sane living up here.

I got my results a few weeks later. I was one of the only (the only, as far as I know) student to receive a high pass, the highest mark you can get. That doesn't mean anything--I don't get a reward or anything--but it feels good to know I did this thing to the best of my ability.

I have spent the weeks after my final exams thinking about jobs. Though I am best qualified for editorial work, I'm beginning to suspect I am too ambitious to squirrel away in a publishing house. That's not to say opportunities can't be found in publishing--butit's becoming increasingly corporate, cutthroat, and obsolete. An entry level position in a New York publishing house is $25-30,000, and it doesn't start getting up into the $50,000 range until you reach upper management position. Meanwhile, if I went into advertising, as a junior copywriter I'd be making between $37-$50,000 depending on the agency. Plus, advertising is a meritocracy (you know, more or less), so I'd be able to ascend faster. The problem is, of course, that I'd be competing for copywriting positions against people with advertising majors who have glossy portfolios (I've seen them) and intern experience. I was really excited about an opportunity to work at Wunderman, where someone recommended me, but the writing positions had already been filled. HR looked over my portfolio and said I should look into content editorial positions, but I couldn't find any such position on their website. I don't know if it's listed under another name, or if they aren't hiring content editors, or if they simply don't want me. She also recommend I build a website for my work. Which I'm reluctant to do, because it's a hassle, and it'll cost me either a lot of time or money (depending on if I try and do it or if I hire a friend) but it's totally time.

I'm still going to look into editorial positions in publishing, because beggars can't be choosers, but I'm spending more time building up a portfolio of copywriting and copyediting so that I can apply for advertising positions. Worried about copyright infringements, I've been using pictures of my friends for most of my ads: thus far, Aaron, Adele, Lakshmi, and Benjamin. It's funny--I think I have 2 real examples of actual real-world copywriting (a Catatonics poster and an Enright House press release), and everything else is speculative ads. I've had to make up my own mock ups and everything, since I don't have time to work with graphic designers (though I'm going to try and get together with Aaron Flynn, so we'll see). Here's an example of my embarrassing spec ad:

The tagline reads: The Syrupy Sweet Taste of Progress.

(I like it because I think I chose the world's cutest robots.)

Oh, and I should probably mention that I have a boyfriend. Benjamin "Mr. A" Shelton, the man I hooked up with 2 years ago in Provo, has become my first Mormon boyfriend. It's been kind of creeping up on us--we started out as strangers who hooked up, then we were roommates who hooked up, then we were convenience hook ups, then we were friends with benefits, then in an open relationship, followed by an "open relationship," and finally, a few weeks ago, an exclusive monogamous relationship. I never expected him to view me as anything more than a friend, so this evolution surprises no one more than myself. I have to say, it's pretty rad.

Here is a picture of my boyfriend:

There's a real comfort and beauty in an intra-religious romance that I've never experienced. I still haven't fallen in love, but I'm very, very happy with him. He's a terribly sweet boyfriend--ideal in many ways. He sends me envelopes full of tiny hearts, he calls me before bed, he arranged an elaborate ruse involving 12 people so he could fly up and surprise me on his birthday. The strain of a long distance relationship is really hurting me. Both my family AND my boyfriend AND my best friends are living in other places. While I've made some new friends up here (Anna O'Brien being the best of the lot), and while Mary South and Lakshmi will be moving up here, it's still very hard for me. I want to see Benji more than once every 2 or 3 months.

This weekend I'm hoping to update you a little bit on my Master's Exam, Benjamin's Visit, Anna O'Brien, and the HTZ.

And if anyone knows of any jobs available, for heaven's sake let me know. I just want a paycheck. Will work for work.

I just turned in my last paper. I'm done with graduate school.

I don't feel awesome. I'm trying to put together a copywriting portfolio, and so I am still panicky and working on projects (the company is called Wunderman and they're so amazing, I would do anything to work for them) due by the end of the week, so it's a hallow victory. So I know I need to keep working, but man. As soon as I clicked that "send" button, as soon as that last paper was emailed, part of me just collapsed and I am suddenly so tired, I can barely type this out. But I had to document it, I had to type this with my carpel-tunnel riddled hands. I had to tell you I had done it.

Mark and I saw Janet Davies while we were out jogging this morning. She was walking a small dog and carrying a coffee mug. I said, "good morning."

For Mary and Lakshmi, a passage from Marg Atwood's The Edible Woman that I thought you might find funny:

(a character is discussing his roommate's graduate thesis)

"'Poor old Fisher is writing his thesis now. He wanted to do it on womb symbols in D.H. Lawrence but they all told him that had been done. So now he's got some impossible theory that gets more and more incoherent as he goes along.'

'Oh, what is it?'

'I don't really know. He won't even talk about it any more except when he's loaded, and then no one can understand him. That's why he keeps tearing it up -- he reads it over and he can't understand any of it himself.'"

---

I bought a bicycle today. It looks like this:



Pretty cool, right?

I also bought a pink helmet.

Also, I'm twelve.