Yesterday…

Yesterday was not a good day. It started out okay. It didn’t have to be a bad day. I’m not sure why, exactly, it took the drastic turn that it did.

I won’t go into too many details because it concerned some…interpersonal stuff (read: another person was involved, and I’m all about respecting privacy). The fact is, I effed up big time.

How so? Well, you know how sometimes one little thing goes wrong, then something else goes wrong, and all of sudden NOTHING can go right and every damn thing that doesn’t isn’t absolutely perfect just makes it all worse?

Yeah, it was like that. To the point that I was freaking out and throwing grape tomatoes around the kitchen because they dared to roll off the counter. I know. Embarrassing, in retrospect? Oh hell yeah.

The worst part was, throughout it all, I knew I was acting like a selfish, immature little brat. I knew I was overreacting and sweating the small stuff. I’m just lucky I have a boyfriend who’s pretty much the exact opposite, but I even managed to strain his patience.

Today was only slightly better. This morning, I was rushed and late for work, where I’m bored by monotony pretty much 90% of the time. And oh, those stupid drivers were out in force today. But I kept it together, mostly.

I can point to a handful of big issues that are causing near-constant stress right now. But I still know that, at the ripe old age of 23, I really should be able to put on my Big Girl Panties (thanks to the communicatrix for that phrase) and deal with it. I know I should take proactive steps to improve myself and be a happy/productive/effective/authentic/insert-self-improvement-buzzword-here person. But after last night, and going over it again and again in my head (I really don’t have much to do that takes a whole lot of brain power at work), I wondered if it was futile.

What if that’s just intrinsically part of who I am? What if that’s just how I’m wired to handle stress? It’s ugly and immature and unbecoming and embarrassing. But it’s me, it’s honest. And honesty is good, right? (Actually, I’ve had second thoughts about that over the past week or so. But that’s another story.) Is the “better” choice, the decision I “should” make, to change that behavior and attempt to re-wire myself? Or would I be better served if I wholeheartedly accepted it, and only tried to figure out the best way to deal and get over it, or how to minimize the impact on those around me?

Or am I just (still) being immature and lazy?

When I was thinking about this earlier, I remembered a passage from Sloppy Firsts, by Megan McCafferty. (Side note: I absolutely looooove the entire Jessica Darling series and have made special trips to bookstores to buy books 3-5 the day each came out. I almost felt like I grew up with Jessica, as our ages were roughly parallel in each book, give or take a couple years. Anyway.) Deep in the throes of suburban-upper-middle-class-white-adolescent teen angst, I read Sloppy Firsts and was just blown away. There were so many passages I could have written in my own journal, if I had the guts to be honest with myself. Like this one:

What always pissed me off about her whole perspective spiel was that she was writing off my feelings at that moment. If something crappy happens–say, when someone I thought was a friend betrays me for a book deal–my negative emotions are legit, right? It may not be as vivid as the crappiness one feels after contracting the Ebola virus, but it’s just as valid. It’s not my fault that these are the problems I’ve been put on this earth to deal with, right? They’re petty, they piss me off, and they’re all mine. (181)

My problems yesterday were even more petty than hers. And yes, I can totally see how juvenile that view is. But I related to it when I was 15 and (unfortunately?) I relate to it now.

I’m not sure where this all leads me.

Just a Quickie…

I got an email from my dad earlier with a picture of a puppy that some family friends had found under their car this morning. No tags, no collar, just one very frightened and hungry lil’ guy. He looks like he’s got the basic look of a German Shepherd in the face/ears, but the coloring of a yellow lab or golden retriever. Too cute! If I had the means to keep him, I’d be on my way home right now to snatch him up. Of course, they put up flyers and are checking with the vet to see if he has a microchip. Even if they don’t find an owner, they’ll have no problem finding a good home. We’re friends with quite a few dog-lovers, what can I say? He’s a lucky pup to have chosen that particular driveway last night.

What I’m really crossing my fingers about is that my dad convinces my mom to keep him. He’s tempted. I had to laugh, realizing she was teaching all day and has no idea what’s going on…imagining her surprise if two dogs greet her at the door!

We have one dog, a wonderful, amazing Golden Retriever, now. He’s almost 12 and we’ve had him since he was a puppy. My dad is convinced he’s the Greatest Dog Ever (and honestly, he probably thinks my dad is the Greatest Human Ever — but I come in a close second). My parents have repeated that they won’t get any more dogs, to which I say, “yeah right.” I don’t think either of them have gone more than a year or two without a dog — either a family pet or their own — in their entire lives. I’ve said before I’m just waiting until I live in a place that allows dogs and can afford one. I told my dad to convince my mom by promising her “it’ll just be til Allison can take him home…”

I can’t help it, I’m excited about this possibility! And so glad that he’ll get a good home no matter what…

Damn, But He Got it Right

I’m not a Conan fan. I don’t like talk shows in general; I never saw the point of them unless there’s a particular guest (usually someone performing on the show) I want to see. So his last show was what, last Friday? I was dimly aware of the whole Conan — Leno — NBC deal; it was hard to avoid while perusing the Internets. I heard that Conan was classy and awesome. I heard bits about his good-bye speech. But I really could care less about who’s on what channel at 11:35 at night, when I may be doing any number of things, but watching late-night talk shows is definitely not one of them.

So it took me until today to learn about this, thanks to Marta’s post and link here. (Gotta give credit where it’s due around here, ya know.) It’s way too easy to find transcripts and videos of his speech, so I trust you can find it on your own if you’re so inclined.

And all I could think was “Oh my God, YES.” Like, I could say something really titillating here, but I’m no Kelly Diels. So instead, I took about five minutes to come up with this:

Oh, I have so many ideas for this. That’s a not-great picture of Conan I used, unfortunately it doesn’t show too well. But that’s okay; think of it as a first draft. It reminds me of something my dad used to tell me, another reasonably well-known quote (though I’m pretty sure he didn’t pull this one from Chevy Chase or John Belushi or Bill Murray):

They won’t remember what you said. They won’t remember what you did. But they will always remember how you made them feel.

I need to remember this more often.

Goals, Major & Minor

So I still have some thinking and writing to do before this is “official,” but I’ve decided on my two big, major goals for this year.

1) Write and finish a novel. (Not necessarily completely finish, but have *at least* at finished first draft that’s ready for revision, if not a second draft that’s ready for another revision. Because I fully anticipate needing many, many tries at this.)

2) Finish in the top 100 women at this year’s Wharf to Wharf/Break 40:00 in the 10K.

There are lots of smaller ones, among them, run another half and PR, figure out this whole blog thing, take more pictures/finish the 365 Photo Project (that I’ve already failed at. Missed 5 days so far. But! I’ve taken way more than 5 *extra* pictures, so if I were to count those, I’d still be on track. And! I tried this last year and I think lasted less than a week. So I’ll just try to look at it month by month, and each month decrease the number of missed days until I don’t miss any.), read at least 52 books (I’m on track there!), improve my mad Photoshop skillz, oh, and get a real job of some sort so I can actually support myself like a normal, functioning adult…or something.

Anyway. For Goal #1 I need to get over myself and actually start writing. I realized earlier (get ready for some crazy circular phrases) that in the past, I’ve noticed when I get in a groove with writing and journaling, I start to think in a more “writerly” way; I notice things more and differently, I find inspiration more easily, I really look forward to writing each day. Even when I expect dumping all my messes out on paper will only make things worse, I do end up feeling better afterward. Spent, maybe, but better. Good mental/emotional exhaustion, like the good physical exhaustion from a kick-ass workout. And then I fall out of the habit, get less diligent, and quickly stop wanting to write, stop thinking about and noticing things in that way. When I’m in that writing mode, I crave it — the whole thing, the act of writing, my mental states, the accomplishments of productivity (even if it’s just a bunch of scrappy notes and beginnings to shitty first drafts). Once I fall out of it, it’s like I’ve forgotten what it’s like completely — I *need* to be in that state to even acknowledge its existence.

I’m sure I’ve completely confused everyone reading. If you’re not confused, maybe we should be best friends. Maybe we speak the same language. Just sayin’…

The thing is, I’m taking two art courses this semester: Digital Art and Photography. Both classes require a journal/sketchbook of sorts. (My first reaction: Um, I do art on film and computers because I can’t draw, sketch, paint, whatever for shit. I’m so jealous of people — like my boyfriend — who can draw, who can see something, see it in their head, and actually transfer that image to a piece of paper. I don’t get it.) But for Digital Art, it’s a *digital* sketchbook, on PowerPoint, just a giant file where we save everything, photos and images we want to use or draw inspiration from, “drafts” of Photoshop and Illustrator projects, and so on. And in Photography, it’s more a journal to keep class notes, paste in handouts, and save images/photographs we’re inspired by. I’m sure we’re encourage to brainstorm and sketch out ideas for assignments. I’m just grateful I don’t have the teacher who requires his students to turn in drawn story board *before* they can even go out and shoot.

Already I like this concept. I want to get another journal, separate from class stuff, to record my own ideas, thoughts, doodles (the most I can handle with hand-drawn “artwork.” I draw a mean palm tree and margarita glass, as my classroom daydreams tend to veer towards soft, sandy beaches, hammocks, a gentle sea breeze, and copious amounts of quality tequila, limes, and salt. And pirate ships, but I definitely can’t draw those). I know I just need to take a few baby steps and it’ll all come rushing back.

Goal #2. The running thing. Oh man, I am *so* pumped for this! Really. Meghann at The Inner Workings of a College Graduate shared a link here earlier today, and it’s the best little training tool ever. I got ambitious and set it to a 40:00 10K, and it spit out not only mile splits and equivalent times for other distances, BUT spelled out precisely how fast I should be running for each type of workout: long runs, tempo runs, speed work, and so on. I LOVE this because every time I read that “the pace for tempo runs should be 30 seconds per mile slower than your goal 10K pace” or whatever my eyes glaze over after “30 seconds.”

And honestly, because I’ve also got all this strength-training going on, I cannot wait to see how strong and fit I get over the next few months! If I haven’t mentioned yet, I’m going to be a bridesmaid at my aunt’s wedding in July and well…let’s just say I want to make that dress look good.

Also, after looking over that pace chart, I realized just how tough this training will be.

Check it out. My mile splits for the 10K should be 6:26. That works down to an equivalent time of 5:33 in the mile. (Equivalent time means, by training for a 10K at that pace — 6:26/mile — I should be able to run a single mile race at 5:33.) Um, in high school, my mile PR was about 5:40. In other words, I’ll have to train harder and run faster than I ever have in my life. This will be intense. And I say — bring it on!

What I’d also like to do, if I get a chance in the next few weeks, is sit down and look up some nutritional stuff. Not just *what* to eat, but *when.* Like should I have my post-run peanut butter on wheat toast before or after cooling down with yoga? Is it best to have a smoothie less than an hour before working out? Running is only part of the equation. Overall fitness, including core strength, and nutrition will play a huge role in getting me to my optimum performance.

Randomness

I like rain, generally. We don’t get much of it in California (our winter is something like 4-6 weeks long, but not all at once — maybe a week in November, 1-2 weeks in December, a total of 3 weeks in January and February, and another week or two in March. In between we get wonderful, non-stop sunshine and 70 degree days. As I’ve gotten older (read: started voting and occasionally watching stuff like CNN and reading more than the sports pages and comics from the newspapers), I’ve gotten more and more fed up with the utter incompetence of the state as a whole (UC and CSU presidents making high six-figure salaries while raising the cost of tuition AND cutting classes, teachers, and services? Huh-whaaaa? Education cuts to better fund the state prisons? I’ll get better treatment if I rob a few banks or join a gang than suffer through the public school system.), but every time I make up my mind to move, we get a week straight of gorgeous, opportunity-laden weather and I think, “comparatively better government, cheaper cost of living, better education and health care vs. weather of paradise…certain natural disasters like blizzards, hurricanes, and tornadoes vs. the *chance* of devastating earthquakes, fires, and floods…dammit.”), so I can definitely appreciate and be grateful for it. I do love snuggling in cozy clothes like sweats, hoodies, and slippers, sipping tea and hot chocolate with a good book…for two, three days, max. Not a week straight. My boyfriend’s mom asked him yesterday if he’s noticed anyone building an ark and collecting animals, because maybe we should make friends with that yahoo like now.

Right now I’m waiting for it to clear up enough to safely ride my bike to the gym, because I just don’t feel like bundling up and freezing to death to run my 3 miles today (as much as I love my running tights that do a great job of keeping me warm, I’m over it now. I want to watch Friends reruns and wear shorts). Also, I need to shoot a few rolls of film for my photo class, and that definitely requires some dryness so my camera doesn’t get ruined.

Also, I’ve decided that in addition to the solar panels that are soooo chic right now in exterior home decor, we should also start inventing some sort of rain catch to cover every roof. Because even though we get buckets and buckets of rain for A WEEK STRAIGHT, the “experts” still whine that the state’s “water crisis” is still very dire and all that water is just a single drop in a very dry bucket. I’ve always been confused by this, but I’ve recently decided (read: come up with the idea completely on my own, with no outside research or consultation with those more intelligent and informed than myself) that it’s because the majority of those buckets and buckets of rain are more or less useless to the state. It fall on streets and sidewalks and runs through backed-up storm drains. Only the very small percentage that falls in, say, dams and reservoirs actually “counts.” So we need to increased the amount of rain that gets captured and used effectively.

Enter rain catches on rooftops. Doesn’t stop it from falling on grass and plants and stuff, doesn’t obstruct or block anything (unless you have a rooftop terrace or garden, I guess). I haven’t figured out how to actually *transfer* the collected rain to a facility or something for use, or what to do when the catches overflow, which would be a very real possibility right now, but I’m working on it. Don’t you worry. Give it a few years, and you’ll see my face on the cover of TIME and Newsweek with the headline “Water Crisis No More.” A few more years, we’ll have spread this technology around the world *and* figured out how to get that water to the developing countries that really need it. Because hoarding ain’t cool, in this case (unlike in the case of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, where hoarding is very much encouraged).

Back to my rant. While I have no problem wearing the aforementioned cozy clothes, notice I did not include “gloves” in that list. Gloves and mittens, in my opinion, are for OUTSIDE, not INSIDE. You know what else belongs outside? Water on windows. Yes, my bedroom windows are so old and poorly insulated, they are covered with condensation on the INSIDE. COVERED. That’s just not right, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the inside of my walls are covered with mold because of that.

Onto positive things. Yesterday I decided to take up the “52 Books in a Year” challenge, because why not, and because it’ll help me make serious progress on the goal to “Read all the books I own” on my 101 in 1001 list. (I’m concerned with *averaging* a book a week, not taking precisely 7 days to finish each one.) As we’re nearing the end of the 3rd week of 2010, I need to catch up a little. I finished The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin last night, just read The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and sometime later today, plan to read The Moon is Down, because — like Beedle — it’s short. Which means, especially if the weekend continues in the fashion of the week, I can get a head-start on Book #4 before Monday.

Because I Haven’t Addressed This Yet

It’s becoming a white elephant on my blog. To me, at least. Maybe you haven’t noticed it. Maybe you’re actually relieved that I haven’t written about it like so many other bloggers have (in which case, sorry).

Yes, I am fully aware of the devastating earthquake that struck Haiti last week. Yes, I am aware of Kelly Diels’ Help Haiti Challenge. My Google Reader has been filled, last few days, with posts about Haiti and the island’s drastic need. And for the record, yes, I have donated. A little. I wish I could give more, or do something cool and offer some service and raise some serious funds. But…

The thing is, I can’t really wrap my mind around this. And to be completely honest, part of me doesn’t want to. I don’t want to see more than a few glimpses of the destruction on CNN and MSNBC. I don’t want to spend hours reading about looters and doctors and UN relief workers. I don’t want to hear the ever-growing numbers of dead and homeless, sick and injured. I don’t want to know about compound fractures and infections. Because that would paralyze me, sink me into a hopeless funk.

Instead, I will file away the receipt for my little donation, plan to donate more once the immediate crisis is over and the story slips out of the newsrooms. I will give thanks that I am not more personally touched by the earthquake, for everything my life is blessed with, and I will pray for the relief workers, the doctors — for their strength and spirit. I will pray for the politicians and world leaders — that they will act with compassion, not according to political agenda. I will pray for the people of Haiti — that they will not give up hope, that they will feel the love coming to them from all around the world, that they can have this chance to rebuild and start to grow as a nation.

I don’t know what else to do. I’d love to one day, travel to Haiti and places like it and give what I can, building houses, teaching and playing with children, sharing love and support. But right now? I know I’d just be another liability over there. So all I can send are my thoughts and prayers. I don’t need to know every detail of the developing stories to do that.

Instead, I dive into the details of stories I can handle — like Tim Lincecum and the Giants exchanging arbitration numbers today. I’ve spent the last, oh, 45 minutes scouring the Internet for rumors and updates, waiting anxiously for the numbers to be released so I can start my very inexpert judging, analysis, and prediction of the forthcoming negotiations and possible hearing.

(If you’re not into baseball, don’t worry. Arbitration is just another ridiculous aspect of the business — not game — of baseball. Basically, Lincecum made $650,000 for throwing a ball several thousand times last year. He also won the Cy Young, the highest pitching award in baseball, for the second straight year. Oh, BTW, last year was also only his second full year in the majors. So he could, pretty easily, make well over $10 million this year, even upwards of $20 million. Disgusting? Yes. But, unfortunately, this is how the game works. Today, he — or rather, his agent — will submit one salary number. The Giants will submit another. They have roughly a month to work something out, otherwise they go to a hearing, in which an impartial judge decides on either Lincecum’s number or the Giant’s — no in between.) (Yes, I am slightly obsessed with baseball and the Giants in particular. I was brainwashed as in infant. By my dad. This is one of the many ways in which I fail at being a girl.)

Right Now I Love…

I love a hot cup of tea. Any kind, I’m too broke to be picky. I love holding the mug with both hands to warm them, sipping it slowly, letting it roll across my tongue and down my throat. I love how it’s always, always so soothing and comforting.

I love my new plaid shirt. I love that it’s a men’s cut with slightly girly colors. I love how it’s perfectly soft and warm, like it’s already broken in even though I’ve only had it a couple weeks.

I love my running tights. I love that I don’t care one bit that some might say I can’t pull them off. I love that they make me feel faster.

I love my run today. I love that after a morning of torrential rain that made me go back and forth about whether braving the cold and wind would be a good idea, the sun came out, and it didn’t just peek out for a few minutes. I love how it instantly got warm enough to forgo the gloves and beanie. I love how light and relaxed and energetic I felt for almost the entire five miles. I love how the sudden sunlight spread some contagious good cheer around town. I love how many fellow runners and pedestrians smiled or waved at me — a rare occurrence. I love that today reminded me why I run — not just to get faster or fitter, but because every now and then, it all magically comes together and I feel light and free and I can’t help actually grinning while I’m pounding the pavement.

I love my Bath & Body Works “spa” socks — cozy, warm, and pink. I love how they keep my toes warm and (supposedly) my feet nice and soft. I love the little no-slip thingies on the bottom (even though sliding across the kitchen floor can be pretty awesome too).

And I love that even though I have quite a few little things to take care of right now, they can wait until tomorrow and I can curl up in bed and read a little Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin before going to sleep.

What are you loving right now?

What You Learn When You Date An Architect

Have I mentioned that my boyfriend’s an architect? Because he is.

Well, okay, technically, he’s *studying* architecture. And after he graduates in June, he’ll have to go through three years, minimum, of internships and exams and a whole lot of stuff before he’s actually a licensed architect. But still.

We’ve been dating for a little over a year and a half, and I’ve learned quite a few things from him in that time. The difference between hicks and rednecks, for one (he’s from the South). How to appreciate country music and how to two-step. A lot about rock-climbing and motorcycles. And whole hell of a lot about architecture.

(I should mention, my dad is also an architect and when I studied in Denmark, I made friends with several other architects — sorry, architecture students — from Cal Poly, so I technically began this education before meeting my boyfriend.)

First, if you haven’t read Annie Choi’s hilarious open letter to architects, please do so now. And realize that what she describes is pretty much my life. I am the one waving my arms at the bar going “hey guys! NO ARCHITECT TALK!” I also frequently feel a little like I’m in the episode of Friends where no one’s ready, when Rachel comes out and asks Phoebe “Does this look like something the girlfriend of a paleontologist would wear?” And Phoebe answers, “I don’t know, you might be the first one.” (At about 4:00 here.) Only, obviously, substitute “architect” for “paleontologist.” Not to be mean, but the boyfriend’s architecture friends? One — a chick — is engaged. And, um, that’s it, I think.

Anyway. Because I can’t *always* block out all the architect talk or drink enough to forget everything they say, I’ve picked up a few things. And because I feel like sharing the love here, I give you this:

Things You Learn When You Date An Architect (Or Technically, An Architecture Student)

1. The difference between concrete and cement. Turns out cement is an *ingredient* of concrete, and if you mix them up, you will get laughed at. Especially if you are another architecture student giving a presentation about your design and say you want to have a nice “cement facade” on the building.
2. Architecture professors are all a little crazy. Or space cadets. Or have crazy accents and are obsessed with “beautiful trellises.” Or begin EVERY. SINGLE. PHRASE. with “mmm-yeah.”
3. The holding strengths of various types of glue. It was a very sad day when I learned that my beloved krazy glue was, to put it bluntly, shit.
4. It is entirely possible to survive for five days on approximately 12 hours sleep, 12 gallons of coffee, frozen burritos, Wheat-Thins, and stale Chips Ahoy chocolate chip cookies. I wish I was joking.
5. Always, always, always enlist a friend to call you before your final presentation is supposed to start in case you sleep through your alarm. It’s best if that friend is not another architecture student, because in that case, he will either also be sleeping through his alarm or drunk because he’s already given his final presentation. But odds are you don’t have many friends outside of architecture, at least none who understand the VITAL IMPORTANCE of making sure you don’t miss your presentation and can trust with such a task. Seriously, it is an amazingly common occurrence for people to rush into the studio, tucking in their shirt and tying their shoes and praying their teeth aren’t coffee stained and there aren’t any wayward bits of their model in their hair, about 10 minutes *after* their presentation was scheduled to start.
6. Architects don’t operate on regular 24-hour cycles like you and I. They see time more as a countdown, as in “How much time is left before this project is due?” They schedule their sleep on a weekly basis. If it weren’t for 7-11’s and late night or 24-hour fast food joints, many of them wouldn’t eat. If you want to try being friends with one — or if you’re really extreme like me and want to date one — be prepared to shift your schedule accordingly.
7. If you ever need pretty much any kind of software for your computer, they can get a pirated version for you, no problem. Unless you have a Mac, and then you’re screwed and will probably be laughed at (to my laptop: it’s okay, buddy, I still love you). Apparently all the really cool modeling and rendering programs available only run on PCs.
8. Frank Gehry = architectural masturbation. I don’t fully understand this, I’ve just heard it repeated in one form or another too many times to count.
9. Starchitecture = architecture for architecture’s sake. I.e., those buildings that look really cool but don’t serve an actual purpose, or at least not well. See Frank Gehry, above.
10. That random office building/bank/parking structure you pass every day without thinking twice about? That’s probably the lifetime achievement of some really famous architect and represents a major milestone in design, and you’re just not culture or sophisticated enough to know it.
11. Jørn Utzon designed the Sydney Opera House and he is Danish. (Actually, I learned this from the whole studying in Denmark thing.)
12. Thankfully, getting drunk at thesis shows and exhibits is very much encouraged.
13. In general, architects “know a lot about nothing and nothing about a lot. We are smart, but a lot of it is bullshit.” Direct quote from my boyfriend.
14. Architecture incest is bad. This is when an architect hooks up with another architect. It’s especially bad when they’re in the same studio (or firm, I guess, after they graduate).
15. When you cut yourself with an X-acto knife, the NUMBER ONE priority is making sure no blood gets on your model. First aid and finding the missing chunk of your finger comes second.
16. The history of pencils and straight lines is so fascinating it actually warrants an entire college-level course. I never would have known this if my boyfriend had not taken that course last year.
17. Earthquake? No biggie. Fire? Pssh. Tornado, tsunami, alien invasion? Whatevs. The coffee maker in studio’s broken? Oh my God, EMERGENCY, people! Sound the alarms! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!

I think next I’ll write a guide to surviving a night with a group of architects. Or how to navigate a thesis show.

366 Days

One year ago yesterday, my boyfriend quit smoking. I’m not even sure when he started — probably in high school, because everyone did. His mom used to smoke (she quit about a year before he did, I think). He had tried to quit off and on for months, since before I met him.

I have always, always, always hated smoking. I swore I would never date a smoker. The thought of kissing someone with that breath, just being around it all the time — ugh. Yet even after learning about his habit, I kept dating him. To his credit, it usually took him a week, at least, to get through a pack. And he often did go several days, pretty easily, without smoking. But still. I couldn’t understand how someone could do that to themselves, knowing how horrible it is. I thought it just took a strong decision and a good dose of willpower to quit.

My boyfriend kept trying to quit the whole summer. I made him promise never to smoke around me. I told him I would do what I could to help him. He talked to his mom about how she managed to quit. We went over dozens of strategies. I told him he should try calling someone, me, his mom, a friend, to talk him through a craving. I bought him gum and suggested getting one of those little books of crossword puzzles to take his mind off it (that didn’t go over well). He kept trying. And kept not quite making it. I was relieved he was honest about it with me. I told him over and over that I support him, but he absolutely had to do this for himself. Not me or anyone else.

He left in August to study in Washington, D.C. for the year. Still smoking sporadically. At one point that fall, I mentioned to a couple friends how he’d been trying to quit. One friend told me about a book his buddy used to quit smoking — The Easy Way to Stop Smoking, by Allen Carr. I mentioned it to my boyfriend. He bought the book.

It took him a couple months to read through it. Apparently the book encourages you to keep smoking while reading it. It breaks down and explains the mental side of the addiction — according to my boyfriend, the physical addiction isn’t a big deal (for him, at least — remember he was never a really heavy smoker; I’m sure this varies). He told me he’d smoke a few cigarettes, while reading a chapter, feeling more and more disgusted with himself. And that was the point.

Then, last year, on January 12th, he called me and said “I’ve just had my last cigarette.” I told him how proud I was and how I believed he could do it. Every month since, I’ve made a point to congratulate him, maybe do something nice — treat him to a nicer dinner than usual, or at least just talk to him about it, maybe make a toast over our usual meal (I may have missed the exact date once or twice and congratulated him the next day).

Tonight, I’m taking him out for a little surprise. Nothing major, though I’d love to make it a bigger thing and if my bank account allowed it, I would. But I can’t let this milestone go by without doing something to recognize it.

I’m still so proud and happy for him.

New Directions…Maybe

Due to the events of the past weekend, I’ve fallen a little behind in my Google Reader. It’s not terrible, but I haven’t had a chance to really sit for long periods of time to catch up. I’m still working on it, but I realized I want to get this written before my computer battery risks dying tonight.

In catching up today, I’ve found *lots* of great posts. They’re timely. Inspirational. Useful. Striking. All or any combination of the above, and more. In the interest of sharing some blog-love, here’s a few:

Fitzalan shared a fantastic exercise on priorities on Happiness Awaits. Her own list was a great read, and as soon as I have some time alone with my journal, I’m going to try to do it myself.

Marta never fails to amaze me with her beautiful posts about her li’l boy. Sweet but not saccharine, honest, genuine, sincere.

Aidan unveiled her new book cover, and it’s gorgeous, and I can’t wait to read Life After Yes (also, she’s sending me a copy of The Happiness Project, so she gets even more awesome points).

Lauren talked about her theme for the year, which is a word I’ve been using quite a bit myself lately — cultivate. I just love all its implications and possibilities.

On Dumb Little Man, Ali had some tips about reviving a stalled project — and I immediately thought about that novel I’ve been thinking about and brainstorming for but have yet to actually get too many words down on paper.

There’s probably more; I still have almost 30 pieces in my Reader to get through. I love clicking that little “Add Star” button.

I’ve been talking and whining and waffling about my ambivalence towards this blog for awhile. And I think I’m finally approaching and answer, and maybe even a solution.

I thought, back in July (I know, *so* long ago!), that the whole “unqualified for life” bit could be sardonic and funny, and my focus could loosely be on my attempts to, well, qualify myself. But that isn’t working out too well. I’ve felt like, outside of my rambling thoughts about my day-to-day life and occasional stabs at philosophical insights, I don’t have a *whole* lot to offer in a blog-world that screams “offer advice! sell yourself! find a niche!” etc. etc. etc. I’m not an “expert” in any subject; I can’t really tell you anything that you can’t find out yourself through the wonders of Google and Wikipedia. And my words often feel so clumsy and awkward (a lot like me, actually, but that’s not exactly what I’m going for — both in written communication and life in general). So many times I’ve thought about writing a post and simply realized, “I have nothing to say.”

Earlier tonight, I had an idea. A new direction, a new focus. One that’s more positive and fun, and hopefully honest and genuine and something I’ll feel connected to on a deeper level. What I can’t decide right now, is should I start over with a whole new blog, or keep this one and revamp it? (I want to change the name, which pretty much means changing the URL, which is why I’m leaning towards starting fresh.) Any thoughts on that debate?