Foxhole Print Shop

I am one finicky lady, let me tell you. As much as I go on and on about how much I want stability ("give me a full time job! give me a life plan!" - excerpts from all of my previous posts), I have a tendency to move around a lot, from thing to thing to thing. I've always had a little bit (ahem) of trouble finding my focus. A while ago, I got an idea to start making literary brooches, and then I made literary brooches, because I wanted to make literary brooches. And that was fun, and brought some great opportunities to me, but eventually, honestly, I got bored. I wanted something new.

In the interim, I've tried a little bit of sewing, a little bit of clay working, a little bit of pillow making, a little bit of day drinking. Nothing really stuck for more than a little bit, though. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that poetry is essentially the one thing that's stuck for me. However, writing is not always easy, and it is not always fun, and it sometimes makes me want to burrow into a hole under my desk with a tray of brownies because, man, it can really kick your butt.

This is where my new endeavor comes in - Foxhole Print Shop. When I couldn't write, but needed to be creative (because that need is a true, real need) I began to doodle. And then it became that whenever I got frustrated with my writing, I began doodling - so much so that I felt myself develop a little bit of a style. Now, I've decided to turn my doodles into prints and start up a little etsy store called Foxhole Print Shop. I'm very excited about this new endeavor, to see what comes of it and where it takes me (and what new doodles I'll spit out...of my hand...?). I think it will at least help me figure out what trajectory I want this blog to have in the future

As a little thank you for all of your support, I'm offering all of my readers a free shipping discount code - "FREESHIP". So take a look around - I hope you like what you see!

(and one photo of my cheesy gopher face for good measure, am I right)

Movin' Out

On Saturday, I officially moved out of "the big city" into "the much smaller city" (they don't really call Pleasantville "the much smaller city"). I say officially because I have essentially been living with Justin for the past few months, just without paying rent (alas) or contributing to buying toilet paper (alas alas). I'm excited and so happy, and not just because this life change gives me the opportunity to sing a particular Billy Joel song every time someone asks me what's going on in my life (but you all just KNOW I am doing that every chance I get). This is my first experience living on my own. Unless you count the one night I lived in a dorm room before I very literally went crying home to my parents. But, no, we're not counting that.

I'm excited about developing a new lifestyle - learning how to manage my time and creativity in this space, finding favorite places in this small town, meeting new people. I've even already done a bit of the latter two. It's been nice to ease myself into this change because, as we all know, I am a fan of little baby steps. And anything that makes the gigantic Jack-and-the-Beanstalk-giant-sized monster step of moving out of my parents' house (dramatics) is quite welcome.

One of the most exciting parts about the move (aside from not being able to see out of my rearview mirror the whole drive up and my desk LITERALLY falling apart piece by piece as we [my parents] carried it into the house) was the prospect of decorating the place. I have to say I was a little worried, though. Buying an apartment together is one thing, but moving into someone else's is different. I was worried there wouldn't be space for me. That this home, that was for so long only Justin's home, would be difficult to transform into our home. It has been an actual joy, and a very easy one at that, making this place feel like my home, too. It has also been an actual joy rivaling Justin's porny movie posters with hand-drawn motivational Tolkien-inspired doodles, let me tell YOU. I'm planning on doing some other posts featuring particular areas of the apartment that I love the most (like my desk nook and our little library) as the place comes together (and as I try to figure out what this blog even is anymore?), so those should be popping up soon. As soon as we vacuum. And as soon as we buy a vacuum. The photo above is a little slice of our living room - including my beloved desk and less than 1/8th of Justin's beloved movies.

Old Year, New Year

This time last year, I drew up a list of resolutions I hoped to accomplish in 2013. Some of them were vague ("put myself out there!!") and some were specific ("focus on getting my poetry published!"). Like a lot of people, I get caught up in the emotional meaning of the new year, the planning and goal making of it. There are a lot of things on that little marker-written list that I did accomplish in 2013. I learned that to spend time by myself is invaluable, and necessary, but that to talk to people I don't know is also essential. I got my first poem accepted for publication and proved that I can write outside of an educational environment. Not long into the year though, I learned that my lists and plans were, well, sort of irrelevant.

This year was not at all the year I expected it to be, which is sort of how all years go I guess, unless you're a psychic medium/time-traveling magician from space. There were the changes I expected: graduating from college, finding new jobs. And then there were all of the things I could never have seen coming. Change is usually the sort of relative that doesn't text you that it's on its way, or even that it's waiting in the car outside to take you to Smashburger. It just sort of knocks your door down and asks to sleep on your couch for a week or two (or longer), especially on the days when your couch is covered in a bunch of clothes and junk you've been meaning to put away.

At the end of February, I was invited to a concert by my friend, who was really only a friend of a best-friend-from-New-Hampshire. I went, surprisingly enough, ("put yourself out there!!") and met his friend, who tbh I hardly even spoke to. Three days later we were dating. Ten months later we're still dating, I'm moving into his apartment, and we're buying toilet paper and 50% off bags of holiday chocolate together. I know more about film projection, Martin Scorcese ['s eyebrows] and how to love and grow with someone than I ever thought I would. I'm in a relationship where I am encouraged to push myself, but also nurture myself, and where I'm able (for the most part) to reciprocate that encouragement. I'm in a relationship with someone who has faults too, and who can work with me to improve both of our failings. I get to be with someone who makes me happy (except when he is farting on me) and that makes me so, so happy (except for the farts because, come on).

Two weeks later, my sister went for a CATscan. Later that day, we learned something was wrong. Later that month we were in a hospital emergency room waiting for a surgeon to tell us that the surgery was successful, and what the mass on her brain really was. I don't really know how to talk about learning that my sister has cancer. I still have trouble talking about it to anyone who isn't my mom, and sometimes even that doesn't work. What I can talk about is how amazing my sister has been, and how I keep learning to love her more even when I think I've reached the maximum level of love (that sounds like an 80's album title but I'm not even sorry about it). It has been strange and so difficult and in some ways amazing, seeing my family morph and grow, seeing my sister struggle and win. She is doing great, and she is strong, and we are going to run a 5k in the spring together.

In 2013 I broke down. I was strong for other people, and learned to let other people nurture me. I loved more than I ever have before. I was lazy. I worked hard. I hurt other people because I couldn't deal with my own emotions. I soared. I learned. I saw my family change. I became a better, louder, more honest, more passionate person. It was not the year I expected, but is it ever? It was worse than I anticipated, and better than I could have ever dreamed.

I have a lot of creative and personal goals swimming around in my head for 2014. To be honest, most of them mirror my 2013 goals, and I like that. I feel like I have a direction, and a solid grip (I actually keep picturing one of those weird tubes filled with shimmery liquid goop that were really hip in the 90's, which is probably more accurate) on the kind of person I am becoming and want to become. Writing, making, growing, loving - that's what I want in 2014. And pizza, always pizza.

The Bulldog on the Corner

A few weeks ago, (meaning it must have been mid-July) I was hurrying through the 80's to meet someone at the Met. My train had run late, making me run late, and I was very nearly running to the museum. On the corner of 84th and Lexington, though, I had to stop. Plopped down, like a dollop of cream, was a bulldog, tan like milky coffee, belly pressed to the sidewalk. His arms and legs stretched out on either side of him, and his tongue bobbed gently in his mouth. I'd never seen anyone more content than that puppy.

I've noticed about myself, for my whole life, but mostly since I graduated, that I have a very rough time with appreciating where I am right now. If I have a part-time job, I need to be working on getting a full-time job. If I'm home on the weekend and I'm not writing, I'm wasting my time. If I'm spending my time doodling or messing around with watercolors instead of writing, I'm a failure who will never get published. If I'm not at a poetry reading, I'm clearly not committed to my future or meeting people in my field. There are so many things that I think I should be doing, that I almost feel like I shouldn't feel happy when I'm doing anything other than those things. And that makes for a heckofalot of feeling sorry for myself and fretting about where I want to be.

But back to the bulldog. I smiled, and other walkers-by smiled, as his owner tugged and tugged at his leash, sweetly saying, "Come on now, let's go, let's go" but he wouldn't budge. He laid, he looked around a bit, she continued to coax him, or try to. But everyone was smiling, even the bulldog looked as happy as anyone ever could. He was lazy, and he slowed us all down a bit, with the way his belly rested on the pavement.

I have an awful tendency to create metaphors out of everything, or try to. Most of the time, they don't work (think, "I am the last brussel sprout on the plate") but here, I like to think I've gotten at something, or at least the bulldog has. Am I applying to many jobs? Nope. Am I constantly writing and creating? I try to write at least once a week. Am I making any art that is good enough to sell? Probably not. I am very good at focussing on what I don't have, and latching myself to the idea that what I have is not enough to be happy. Right now though, there are so many good things in my life. I do not have a salaried job in my field. I do not know what my "field" is, or why it is even called field, like are we playing soccer or what. I am not published. People are not knocking down my door (e-mail inbox) asking me to write for them or be their own personal poet laureate or whatever. Most of the time, this is all that I see, and I overwhelm myself to the point of saying, "Oh boy, what's even the point of trying ANYTHING?" I have a flair for the dramatics. What I have the hardest time remembering is that I just graduated. That I am only 21. And while I love plans and shit, and while in my head of course I wanted my entire life to come together in a beautiful Disney-movie-esque way right after I got out of college, the idea of having my life absolutely set at the age of 21 is sort of terrifying.

I have a part-time job and get to work with some people I really like, I'm in a poetry workshop and have gotten started on a project, I'm meeting more new people, creative people, that are inspiring and who I want to work with. I have a lot of time to do whatever I want. Some days, it will be lying around in American Apparel hot pants and watching Supernatural from the time I wake up to the time I leave bed to go to the bathroom and the kitchen, and then again until it's time for more sleep, and other days it will be going to a poetry reading in the city, or writing a poem, or submitting my poems for publication, or drawing some really hip spooks. Now is a time where I actually have time, time I will regret wasting with wishing for something to fill it with once I do actually have that full-time salaried job (positivity!).

But back the the bulldog. After dallying a bit on the corner, I left him there to go meet my friend at the Met. I don't know how long he laid there, but I have to imagine it was for as long as he wanted to. I always feel that if I'm not moving, then I'm not doing. If I'm not creating, then I'm wasting. But really - and this is the hard part - If I'm enjoying whatever I am (or am not) doing, then that's all that matters right now, said the bulldog on the corner.

Blouse, skirt, tights: Uniqlo, Jean Jacket: Salvation Army, Shoes: Dolce Vita via Marshalls, Hat: Newbury Comics

Philadelphia

Last week, Justin and I journeyed down to Philadelphia for a much deserved overnight trip. I'd never been to Philadelphia before, but assumed it was a city I'd like well enough. I have a tendency to get excited over historical tourist attractions, so Philadelphia seemed like the right place to head. I didn't realize just how much I'd love the city though. I'm not sure exactly what it was. It probably had a decent amount to do with Reading Terminal Market and it's warm 99 cent blueberry fritters and the fact that Benjamin Franklin's head is mounted all over the place. It might have been the old brightly shingled buildings and the brick sidewalks. Maybe it was the uncrowded streets, and the little restaurants tucked into the corners of every side road we walked down. It could even have been the sidecar a bashfully talented bartender made for me at midnight. This is all just conjecture, of course.

Honestly, most of the time, when I visit a new city (and it's pretty rare that I do), I tend to idealize it. Whenever you're on vacation anywhere, you take a break, you set out to enjoy everything positive a place has to offer. Traveling to a place is just much different than living in a place. And honestly, I think because I don't know where I want to live or be or like, do with my life or whatever, seeing a new place just makes me excited. I know that I don't want to stay in New York, so everywhere I visit just becomes a possible future I guess. Philadelphia just feels like a place I could see myself living, happily (employed-ly?) in the near future, and that makes me happy despite all of the "WOAH WHAT AM I DOING WHAT'S GOING ON" uncertainties I got goin' on right now.

Here are a few of my favorite snapshots from our trip. Spoiler: They are mostly of food.































Photos by me, Justin, and a friendly security guard

New Tricks

I have a lot of problems with the phrase "laid off." Obviously, it's a major bummer, but my main problem is that it sounds like it shouldn't be such a let down of a thing. "Laid off" makes me think of "lay down" which makes me think of reclining on a mega comfy bed while I watch marathons of Breaking Bad and have someone feed me bites of soft pretzels.

On Sunday night, I got unexpectedly laid off from my new internship. They didn't even buy me a soft pretzel or anything. I've mostly gotten through the soul-sucking self-doubt/crying on the floor while listening to Neil Young records/eating gouda while mumbling Gotye lyrics to myself part of this whole thing (mostly), which means beginning the much more difficult task of facing what to do next.

I've heard a lot of really wonderful supportive things, like "It isn't exactly what you wanted anyway," "Now you can take the time to apply for what you really want," "take this time to focus on yourself," and "At least you don't have bills to pay, this is a good time for this to have happened." And these things are all true. But the problem sometimes is that even the advice with the best intentions, said by the people you love the most, doesn't always exactly...help? Oh shoot, did that make me sound like a dick? What I mean is that it helps, it all helps. What the problem really is, is that I want someone to make it clear to me what I should do next and how I should do it, what my dreams are and how I can work towards them. I DON'T ASK FOR MUCH.

Not having an income is scary, and not having a schedule is also scary. But the scariest thing of all, at least for me, is not knowing what I'm doing. Having a part time internship/job that paid me was a good distraction from a lot of grander, more important things. Yes, I was still applying to jobs, but half-heartedly. I jotted a few lines of poetry down here and there, but nothing too substantial. Now, though, I uh, have nothing to distract me from what it is I want to do or even, more importantly, figuring out what it is I want to do.

This is a good thing. Did you believe me when you read that? For real. I'm being serious. Not that I've completely convinced myself. Like, at all. But I'm trying to think small scale here, not like, what do you want to do with THE REST OF YOUR LIFE??? Thinking about that makes me want to dig a hole just big enough to fit me and a bag of marshmallows so I can mourn my lost youth and eat marshmallows.

So, what do I want to do with this (hopefully not gaping, huge, and/or mega-extended) window of time in my life? That's the hundred dollar (zero dollar, tbh) question. The number one thing I don't want to do? Mope over my joblessness when I'm really being presented with an opportunity to grow. I want to write more, and journal more seriously. I want to get back on the ball with my 365 poetry project. I really want to make a zine, possibly about erasure poetry and possibly about what classic works of literature would be like if they were pasta-themed (if you guys are interested in collaborating in some form email me, for real). I want to apply to jobs that I care about until it becomes evident I should settle for something less than what I want, and even then I don't want to settle completely. I want to put together my Hobbit LEGO set. I want to go to the Museum of Natural History enough times to actually learn the layout. I want to make more watercolors, because I needed even more craft hobbies, right. I want to figure out another etsy shop idea that I can get excited about the way I got excited about Faces and Faces. I want to read! What I guess it comes down to is that I don't want this to be a stagnant point in my life. I want to grow and get excited, and make things that make other people excited. So I suppose that's just what I'll do.


These are the first outfit photos I took in a long time, so I like, forgot how to pose. I thought it would be like riding a bicycle, but then again, I'm not very good at riding bicycles.

skirt: vintage, top: H&M, sandals: Madewell

That Never Sleeps

       

Recently , I read this wonderful article my friend Callie posted to Facebook. While it’s not required reading for this post or whatever it is suggested reading for life, btw. In case you’ve decided to forgo my sage, elderly wisdom, the article is essentially about how we, as a people, are using our mobile internet devices to distance ourselves from people, as a means to justify not interacting with people in person. That is a terrible summary. This is why I am not a professional summarizer, though I would one hundred percent be a professional summarizer because for real I need a job if anybody’s, uh, looking for a professional summarizer. But, I digress.

I think part of the reason I was so affected by the article was because it verbalized (textualized? Sexualized? Not sexualized) a lot of the things I had already been mulling over. I’ve been thinking an awful lot lately about the city that I live in – which happens to be New York, concrete jungle where dreams are made of, there’s nothing you can’t do, let’s hear it for New York New York New YORK. Since I started my new internship, I’ve been commuting into Manhattan three days a week, which means I’ve been taking the subway an awful lot more. The 6 train has rapidly grown into my favorite place to observe and think. I generally ride at its most crowded hours, and find that being wedged between a bunch of fascinating, tired people lends itself greatly to looking closely at a bunch of fascinating, tired people.


My feelings for New York are probably the most fluctuating, unsteady feelings I’ve ever felt towards anything, or anyone. This time last year, I would have told you I was eager to pack my bags and get the HECK out of this cruel, urine-scented world in favor of the west coast. But then I started to do more. To explore more. To spend more time by myself. To spend more time with people.  And then I started to warm up to New York. “Maybe I didn’t give you enough of a chance, NEW YORK!” I yelled, to myself, in a crowd of concerned onlookers. It was like that boy that you just don’t give the time of day, not because there’s anything wrong with him, but because you’re just so into yourself right now, and not ready to be with anyone, so you blame your problems on this one guy when REALLY you’ve got to you know work on yourself. It’s, uh, like that, sort of. The thing about New York, though, is that it’s a fickle lover, and sometimes it is, in fact, the problem. There are days when New York has made me feel so lonely and discouraged that I had to sit on a park bench and cry about it. But then, there are days when I walk by a man playing beautiful accordion music in front of a dirty Walgreen’s and everything seems infinite and possible.


But again, I digress. Though, in my defense, this digression is more relevant than the last one. You’ve probably all read that infamous, motivational “Wear Sunscreen” article that’s always floating around on tumblr in bits and pieces. One of the pieces of advice is something like, “live in New York, but leave before it makes you hard.” There are a lot of New York stereotypes – one of the most common being that we are all a bunch of dicks who will kick you when you’re down, after putting you down in the first place.  The article I mentioned at the beginning of this post, coupled with my spending so much more time exploring and working in Manhattan these past few months got me to thinking – what is New York doing to me? What am I doing here? Do I like who I’m growing into in this city notorious for changing people?


In that article about technology, Jonathon Sanfran Foer, talks about how using our phones in a social situation creates this thought gap in us. Our instinct to react instantly to help someone is delayed and kind of muddled by our ability to use our phones or tablets, to distract ourselves from the situation long enough for it to end without our intervention. While my concerns aren’t really technology based (I mean, like, right now, for this blog post. My concerns are uh, pretty generally technology based tbh, but anyway), I have been thinking about how I react to things. Things are always happening around you wherever you are, but on a crowded downtown street, you can find yourself in a new potential situation with every few steps. Over the past few months in particular, I’ve noticed my reaction time quickening its pace, in good and bad situations. A few days ago, a lady was walking past me holding a bag of food, and the bottom gave out, and her napkins and receipts all started flying away, so I leapt – almost literally? – to help her out before she lost all of her paper products to the night wind. Last night, I was in Grand Central,  and this drunk young guy was walking down the up escalator to be obnoxious, and then he started running up it, right as I was reaching the top. I said to him, “Okay, you need to CHILL OUT” to which he responded “Don’t fucking tell me to CHILL OUT” to which I responded “You’re running up a friggin’ ESCALATOR while I’m on it, it’s DANGEROUS” to which he huffed and puffed and moved his arms like a freshly harpooned octopus.

What I’m trying to say is, I’ve noticed this quickening, that I’m reacting when I want to react, instead of considering my options for so long that by the time I make up my mind that I should, in fact, be sassy, the situation, and my opportunity to sass, has passed. I’m not quite sure how to feel about it honestly. Sure, it’s a good thing that I’m my response to help people seems more immediate, but is it a good thing that my fuse can be short enough to get into an altercation with a drunk bro that I really should have just ignored? I’m tired of taking a backseat to things, tired of certain people feeling more obligated than other people to do what they want, but I think there’s a responsibility, a need for check, that comes along with this sort of following of gut feelings. Now, I don’t know how much of this is New York. This city is fast paced. This city has a tendency to be self-involved. I have lived in this city my whole life, but feel like this is the first year I’ve really been living in it, with it. I know that I feel myself changing, as I have every day for the past few years, but now that change feels directly linked to this city, that is, for now, my home.