cliuless

Somehow I became this person that really likes to talk about money. I think the (flimsy and all together useless) rationale behind this is that talking about money will make me an adult. It is my dream to be a functioning adult. I have an arbitrary point system to track how well I’m doing. My dad secretly paid a month of my credit card bill last year and I took away about 10 million adult points from myself.

But! I did open an IRA last week (because my mom told me I should), so I would get a tax refund from the government. And then I opened a new checking account and a new savings account with Ally bank on Friday. I get my ATM fees refunded! I get a 0.84% interest rate on my savings! (That’s like almost a whole percent!) I get a 0.4% interest rate on my checking account! I don’t know how many adult points this merits. (On the whole, though, my system tends towards smaller point rewards for good behavior and larger penalties for being a failure. You can make up a system for yourself that is more forgiving, if you want!)

So start a conversation with me about money. Then I can pretend to know more about money than I actually do, and we can laugh about how little money I actually have. And we both get 10 adult points.

i genuinely don’t know what passes for actual mental illness/imbalance vs. sullen childishness. maybe in other people, it’s immediately identifiable, but i can’t speak for myself. i’m sure i have issues and i’m sure i would benefit from some quality face-time with a therapist, but i can’t tell if i’m legitimately whacked. what’s normal? i don’t know.

sometimes i think it would be a better deal to get into a minor car accident and spend lots of time in the hospital/in rehab than to have to go to school for several weeks. so. is that just lazy selfishness and avoidance of responsibility or is that whacked? what’s the line? if i’m still too reasonable/cowardly to jump in front of a car, does that make it just a selfish thought? is it only whacked if i actually jump in front of a car?

I want to bake cookies and write Christmas cards, not read textbooks and write papers.

This one time I had a dream that I had to take the Q train to Coney Island for some reason (I never have to take the Q train to Coney Island for any reason in real life! Clearly a dream!), but halfway there I realized that, actually, I have to be at work (but it was only 8:30AM when I got off the train, so I was totally okay). And then I was also on the phone with my mom. And then when I got off the train, Coney Island was actually some sort of magical mashup of all the different Chinatowns of New York City, but really the attraction was the local Rite Aid for me. Those awesome tissues that have lotion were on sale if I bought six boxes and a roll of toilet paper. And the tissues came in awesome plastic bins instead of cardboard boxes. And then my brother was there.

And then I woke up and it was 1AM because I had fallen asleep at 7PM. And now it’s 2:20AM and I’m writing this blog post. My life is exciting.

Something I constantly struggle with is where to draw the line. This ranges from small things, to larger character weaknesses. When should I put away the bag of chips? (This is not so much of a struggle: either when I am sick of them or when the bag is empty. Just kidding! Maybe.) When should I be telling this asshole to go screw himself? At what point do I just give up and say this person is never going to like me? What does it take for me to realize that that not all of life! is! funny!, but it’s actually serious a lot of time? How much longer can I go without being a real, responsible adult? When do aspirations to grandeur just become delusions of?

I don’t really have any answers to this. I’m really just a neurotic frumpy mess. (I opened a door into my head today.) I spend more time consuming culture than tackling actual responsibilities. (Today I read: a New York Magazine article, The Hairpin, a New Yorker article, and a gossip blog, but not anything I need to read for school. Today I listened to: two episodes of This American Life, and one episode of the Freakonomics podcast, but I didn’t watch any of the movies I need to review for my film class.)

It’s a really unhealthy way to live my life. I’m of aware of that. And I tell myself every day that it will change, but it doesn’t. I’m much happier reading and listening to these things than I ever am reading and listening to things for school. And where do I draw the line on that one? At what point does culture consuming become harmful instead of beneficial? Is it all in relatives?

Everyone is invoking the ghost of Steve Jobs, so why not me too. In his Stanford commencement speech, he said that you wouldn’t know the value of an experience until you could see the whole picture. He specifically cited the calligraphy class he audited after dropping out of college and how it fit into his plans at Apple.

I don’t live in Steve Jobs land. I’m not a genius and likely will not leave any sort of ding in the universe. But there’s the struggle. I don’t know yet. I genuinely value this self-sought, self-initiated type of education over the kind handed down to me from an institution. But in ten (twenty? thirty? forty?) years from now, will I be looking back at this time at my desk and saying to myself, “Boy, those experiences really shaped me for the better!” or “Boy, did I shit all over my future!”

How are you shaping/shitting yourself today?

I was volunteering at the Housing Works Used Bookstore and Cafe when I was 16. This was back in the days when they still had a bag check, and that was my job for the afternoon. It was kind of a weird job, since it wasn’t such a great or organized system, and sometimes people came in ten at a time and I had to stop them all and make them check their bags.

This particular time, it was a nice summer afternoon. This guy came in with a package. That was cool; he didn’t really have to check that. It was the size of a large brick. Oh, but he wanted to check it. That was okay. I reached for my basket of tags to hand him one as he set his package down on the counter. Then he leaned in a little.

“Oh, it’s actually, um, ashes.”

What.

“I just came from the crematorium since I finally had some free time to pick them up. It’s really well sealed, but if you could just be gentle with them…”

My memory is really awful, so I don’t actually remember whose ashes they were, or if he had told me at all. My impression is that he did tell me. (I also think I want to remember giving my condolences for his loss and him saying that he was fine, it wasn’t a terrible or shocking loss. But I might be making that up.) My impression is also that I was completely unperturbed by this information and in my sunny, customer-service oriented way I told him that I would be sure to take care of them. And then blithely went about my business as bag check girl.

I mean, there’s not really any point to this story except that in hindsight I’m completely baffled by myself.

He ended up buying some books and staying in the store a little while. He was a nice guy. We made some chit chat when he came to pick up his ashes.

And that’s the story of how this one time I handled some cremates.

There’s a hurricane a-coming. I’m treating it like a snow day. A free day where there is nothing you can do except catch up on sleep and reading. In fact, it’s actually better than a snow day for those things. There’s always the looming risk of power-outage during a hurricane which means no light and no computers and no internet. (womp womp)

So, to any New Yorkers reading this in between making bread and water runs and taping their windows… grab a book, a pillow, and a loved one so they don’t float away and settle in. It’s the kind of mushy-gushy-hippy sentiment that I generally hate, but this really is one of those times that you’re gifted with to take a moment and zen out a little. I am grateful for it after a summer of running my tail off and have stocked up on supplies for all the cozy things people do on rainy days.

Attached is an appropriate song.

The Hush Sound – Hurricane

I was listening to the latest “This American Life” and when they went over a few items on the Psychopath Test, I thought to myself “Oh, my God. I’m a potential psychopath.” But here’s the question: if in public you feel like you’re able to come off as 70% socially adjusted and 30%… not, but in your head (and when you’re by yourself) your really just the inverse, which one is the real you?

And if the real you is the awkward, crazy fool does it make you an emotionally disconnected, fraudulent, manipulative psychopath? I have friends and (ostensibly) real human connections. Am I just conning my way into social acceptance by donning the persona of someone who understands human interaction?

And then the psychologist who administered the test to the TAL crew said something wonderful: “You guys are all way too neurotic to be psychopaths.”

My unending neuroses and anxieties keep me from being a criminal on the lam. They’re good for something at least.

and classy broads make rainbow jello.

most days, i look back on what i’ve done with my life and think “oh God, that’s embarrassing.”