we were built to fall apart, then fall back together

Most of my day was an exercise in misery, but I went out for drinks and had enough fun to salvage the end of it. After staying up late last night to work on my taxes, I only got seven hours of sleep before I had to get up again and deal with my leak situation - Chandlord came over with some people from the building to look at the leaks, and the verdict was as expected (there's nothing to be done right now, but they're going to talk to the people above us). So that only took five minutes, but it meant I had to get up, get dressed, make my bed, etc. Yes, my life is hard.

Then I slogged on taxes straight through from 10am to 5pm, with a v. brief break in there to talk to Katie, and another brief break to eat an omelette. I probably should have had way more food and way more caffeine, but I was trying to stay in the zone, so I just sorted through receipts and typed things into quickbooks and generally monkeyed around until it was all done. I really need to get better about doing this throughout the year....but you've heard that before. But I'm ready for my CPA appointment tomorrow, so at least I got through it all.

But that meant I did no writing, because by 5pm I could no longer bear to look at screens or type anything. So I took a shower, walked to Union Square, and met John at Bartlett Hall, since it was close-ish to where his friend Srini (who we also met) was staying while in the city. We decided we didn't like the vibe, so we had a single drink there, and then I dragged them up a v. steep hill (Nob Hill, as a matter of fact) to Hopwater. I'd been there once before, and it was as delightful as I remembered it - or maybe it wasn't delightful, but the fries and tots and deviled eggs were delish, and I had a couple of good glasses of pinot noir, and we hung out for several hours. Srini, it turns out, is quite good to hang out with, and obviously I always have fun hanging out with John, so the three of us had a v. good time. And I may have said 'cock' more times than I usually do in mixed conversation, but we were talking about my books, so it's required.

But all fun things must end, and I need to get my taxes done tomorrow and then run away to write and finish my book, so I said my goodbyes and walked home earlier than I wanted to. Hopefully Future Sara will reward my forbearance and write an amazing book, but that remains to be seen. Right now I need to sleep, which is what I shall do - goodnight!

a kiss with a fist is better than none

Today was, quite frankly, without exaggeration, one of the worst days I've had in months.

Most of this isn't my own personal tragedy, so I want to preface all of this by saying that.

But first and worst, my best friend lost her father today. He was a wonderful man...one of the best. There are no words to say beyond that.

So I bought a ticket to go back to Iowa, leaving Thursday, coming back Tuesday. This wasn't in my plan for the weekend, but I'm so lucky that I have the flexibility to do this (this would be a perfect place to say #blessed, but I'm a cynical bitch and that's not really my style). So you're all about to get a bonus round of #smalltownlife, but it's going to be a rather somber version (#sorrynotsorry).

The rest of my day pales in comparison to that, but it's easier to be angry about less consequential things, so I'm going to focus my rage on other annoyances and ignore my grief for now. Even if that hadn't happened, today would have been awful enough on its own. I woke up early, but was stressed about what I had to do today, and so I got nothing done this morning despite staring at the screen and pretending to write.

I won't go into detail about what I had to do today, since a lot of it isn't my story to tell, but suffice it to say that it involved supervising movers who were packing up the things of a friend who is in the middle of getting divorced, which also involved dealing with her ex. The tattoo artist from my epic adventure in July was there to provide masculine backup (although he mostly just drank whisky); another acquaintance was there to assist (but we left to grab coffee and then she went home after); and because the movers were way behind schedule and we were way ahead of schedule in arriving, this ended up taking seven fucking hours. Seven...fucking...hours. My own move didn't take that long, and it didn't involve listening to the ex while also texting the friend, while also taking a break to find out that one of the best men from your childhood had just passed away.

Sooooooo. This was all way too dramatic and way too sad and way too annoying and way too awful. When the movers were finally done, I made it all of half a block before stopping in at the first fancy place where I could eat a fancy cheeseburger and drink two glasses of wine - I usually try not to self-medicate, but I gave myself a pass tonight. Then I walked home, and now I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with a cold. So I'm going to take my frustrated, self-pitying, slightly-drunk self to bed and hope that I can sleep for nine hours and stave off this cold before waking up tomorrow and writing/cleaning/packing/not-crying in preparation for my flight.

Tanks for listening, internet friends...you're the best. Goodnight!

love me like you do

Today was a cross between totally productive and completely miserable. I woke up before seven, laid in bed until eight, started unpacking stuff...and pretty much unpacked straight until now. I'm really thoroughly sick of the whole moving process; taking a week off in between starting the move and finishing it pretty much killed my desire to keep going, but I have to if I'm ever to emerge from boxland and be able to eat, sit someplace other than the one corner of my loveseat that I've uncovered, etc.

So I unpacked from 8 to 10:45, dashed downtown to get my bangs trimmed and my brows waxed, came home and unpacked some more, took a break to eat pupusas (my food options here are v. v. v. v. different than what I had in the marina, which I'm kind of excited about), and then slogged all afternoon/evening. At some point I made scrambled eggs and toast, since that was close to my only food option unless I wanted to go out...but I've had worse meals, and the eggs fortified me to do stuff for another hour.

Anyway, things are coming together despite my surliness; I'm just trying to optimize for maximum utility while also maximizing available space, which has meant a lot of rearranging/making decisions. And making decisions, as I've discovered throughout my writing process, is exhausting. So even though it's only ten p.m., I'm going to go to bed; I've got a writing date with Kathia in the morning and I want to do some more stuff before then.

Last but not least, though, happy birthday to Aunt Becky - even though I called late, I managed to beat the other members of my generation, so I think I've bought myself more time on the good list. Goodnight!

don't masquerade with the guy in shades, oh no

The wedding yesterday was fabulous...my hangover today was not so fabulous. Thank goodness for the end of daylight saving time - while I'm sad that I won't see my sun friend as much for the next few months, the extra hour this morning saved my life.

I was actually doing surprisingly well this morning. I woke up around eight and decided to eat something in hopes of settling my stomach, so I had eggs with John and Jess in the game room. The game room was last night's scene of the crime - I had organized an impromptu afterparty for a few people after the reception, with the help of the wedding coordinator, who I had befriended earlier and who was more than happy to help me procure alcohol and cabs for people, etc. But by the time we had breakfast, some magical persons had cleaned everything up as though nothing improper had ever happened there. The scrapes on my arms and legs tell a different story (one in which someone, at some point, tossed me into a bush). Still, the whole wedding day was awesome, and well worth the hangover I had already planned to have today.

However, while I was still feeling quite chipper this morning, my usual hangover trend happened, and by the time I loaded my car and reached town for brunch, I had reached the bitter, regret-filled hatred portion of my hangover. Terry knows this part of my hangover well, since it's when I usually stomp around looking for coffee before muttering something mean-spirited and retreating to my room until I'm more fit to be seen. It hit with a particular vengeance this morning - I'm reminded that I'm becoming more of an introvert as I age, since I really enjoy hanging out and having fun, but it costs me more energy than I get from it, and after 60+ hours of nonstop wedding socializing, by this morning I was all tapped out. And it probably didn't help that when we got to brunch, there were more people there than they anticipated, so we were going to have to wait ages for a table...

...so a few of us (John, Jess, Anthony, Dormain, and two people whose names I never bothered to verify, since I was beyond caring, but the guy had very, very nice teeth) hatched a plan, said goodbye to the appropriate people, and went across the street to a lovely French restaurant, where we had a fantastic lunch on their beautiful patio. I ordered a 14oz ribeye with fries, since I realized I barely ate yesterday and meat tends to cure what ails me better than just about anything else (and it was one of the only things on the menu that was gluten free). John seemed to be in about the same mood as I was, so we sat at one end of the table being surly while the guy with the nice teeth and the girl told their life stories, which I mostly ignored. At some point, Dan (a dude I attempted to befriend at the wedding, although he may have been scared off by discussions of sperm whales) showed up, since he saw us as he was headed back to his car from the official brunch, so he hung out for a bit and I foisted some wine and beer on him from the stash that the wedding coordinator had put in my trunk. And then I bid an insincere goodbye to my friends (nice teeth dude had disappeared at this point, so it was less insincere than it could have been), got in my car, and had three hours of blessed solitude while I drove back to the evil city.

I had to make a stop at Lauren and Nathan's house as soon as I got into town, since the wedding presents, a few decorations, the unopened alcohol, and the cake topper had been foisted upon me. I would have waited until tomorrow, but the cake needed to go in the freezer, so I hauled stuff into their house and then finally made it home around 4pm. Upon arriving here, Terry took one look at my face and knew what stage I had reached in my hangover (still bitter, more regret, less hatred, better able to verbalize but still likely to say mean things) and helped me carry the rest of the stuff up from my car. Then I talked to my parents (who probably think I had an awful time at the wedding - they should have talked to me yesterday, when I was all happy and weepy at the wedding and then excited and eager to have fun at the reception), and then Terry ordered pizza and we debriefed on all the wedding action and watched some tv. And now I really, really, really need to sleep - I'm no longer bitter or particularly regret-filled, but I will be if I don't sleep tonight. Goodnight!

deceitful country

I should be at Adit and Priyanka's housewarming party, and I've no doubt that I will hear incessant complaints about my absence, but I just couldn't rally my cold-struck self for the monumental task of getting there, being friendly, and coming back. Adit called me this morning while I was still in bed to harass me about whether I was coming or not, and I assured him that I would, but as the day progressed, the chances diminished considerably.

Yes, I've reached the extremely whiny phase of my illness. I did make a doctor's appointment, but as it's not until the 9th of August, I have a feeling that we will be discussing my ulcer rather than my cold (unless the cold is still around in a week and a half, in which case it will certainly need to be discussed). I also made some efforts toward finishing the task of unpacking my room; there are still two boxes that I haven't unpacked during the last three moves, so I'm not sure what to do with them, and I need to hang photos, put away the last bits of office supplies, and sort all the mail that's come in over the past month. But, the room is close to livable, which means I should be able to start writing next week (or hopefully this weekend) without feeling like I'm living in a sty.

My efforts exhausted me, though, and I took a nap from 6:30 to 7:30 in an attempt to rally for the party. 7:30 turned to 8:30, and I dragged myself into the shower hacking and coughing -- which Terry apparently heard, since she returned from LA while I was trying to wake up. I'd already decided I couldn't go, but when I stumbled downstairs in search of strong, sweet mint tea, she confirmed it with one horrified look at my ill self. So, I sat on the couch and drank my sweet mint tea while watching last night's premiere of "Project Runway" with her -- not my original plan for the night, but much more suited for my stamina.

And now, I shall go to bed, and hopefully I'll get past the whiny stage tomorrow, even though I'm still deep enough into the illness that it will probably be at least a few more days before I'm feeling better. Sigh. Goodnight!

eye of the tiger

Waking up to the perpetual silence of my phone is rough, but waking up to two rejection emails is worse.

And that pretty much sums up my day. I'm going to try to avoid chronicling the pain here, not because I'm worried about boring you (if you're still here after seven years, you've tacitly accepted my idiosyncrasies), but because it's generally not a good idea to blog publicly about such things. And, I'm not sure that blogging about it would be particularly helpful anyway. So, I'll try to stop complaining about the phone not ringing, and may not share future rejections until we have a definitive answer on whether we've sold or come to the end of the road. Sorry, kids.

After getting the emails from my agent (including her attempt to cheer me up with continued optimism for our prospects), I promptly told Alyssa that I wasn't coming in to the gym, pulled the covers over my head, and went back to bed. It was the only thing I could think to do, but I eventually rallied, got up, and made myself some breakfast. Eating bacon certainly improved my mood, if only briefly, and so I took care of some stuff that I needed to get done. Sometime around two p.m., I ventured into downtown Palo Alto and had a late lunch, then took Alyssa's advice and hiked the Dish. Being outside certainly helped to clear my head a little bit, as did the nap that I took when I got back to my house. Then I showered, made a peanut butter sandwich for dinner, and read half of a book on my kindle. And now, I need to go to bed -- I'm training with Alyssa tomorrow, and I don't intend to skip this one.

The last thing I will say, though, is that the only positive outcome that I felt in the minutes after those rejections was the clarity that I'm willing to sacrifice anything to be a writer. Maybe that's not a positive; some of my lunch friends yesterday already said that the movie "Black Swan" reminded them of me (I haven't seen it, but I'm assuming that's not a compliment). But my first instinct wasn't to stop writing -- it was to identify what I have to change/allow/give up in order to make this dream happen. It's still too early and I'm still too raw to think in terms of battle plans, but that day will come. And that kernel of clarity will have to be the basis of all the tough decisions I have to make down the road.