"I always feel like a freak, because I’m never able to move on like… this, you know? People just have an affair, or even entire relationships, they break up and they forget. They move on like they would have changed brand of cereals. I feel I was never able to forget anyone I’ve been with. Because each person has their own specific qualities. You can never replace anyone. What is lost is lost. Each relationship, when it ends, really damages me. I never fully recover. That’s why I’m very careful with getting involved, because it hurts too much. Even getting laid! I actually don’t do that… I will miss on the other person the most mundane things. Like I’m obsessed with little things. Maybe I’m crazy, but when I was a little girl, my mom told me that I was always late to school. One day she followed me to see why. I was looking at chestnuts falling from the trees, rolling on the sidewalk, or ants crossing the road, the way a leaf casts a shadow on a tree trunk… Little things. I think it’s the same with people. I see in them little details, so specific to each of them, that move me, and that I miss, and will always miss. You can never replace anyone, because everyone is made of such beautiful specific details. Like I remember the way your beard has a bit of red in it. And how the sun was making it glow, that morning, right before you left. I remember that, and I missed it. I’m really crazy, right?"

–Before Sunset

I have not even seen this movie, but I saw this quote, and no words have ever described me more. This is my entire being in a nutshell.

I could feel the inevitable force of circumstance looming in the distance, positioning itself at the end of the month, waiting to knock me down with a cruel blow to the chest. We both tried to ignore it, but it was always there, like a black lingering cloud.

I tried not to collapse under the pressure that kept building. I tried not to fall into darkness. 

phone

the pain moved from the hollow of my chest to the pit of my stomach. anticipation and anxiety were replaced with a burning sadness of acceptance i could not shake. 
it was okay.
i had the moon and my own reeling mind, and they were all i needed. i was meant to feel forgotten, lost, only a fragment. 
it hurt, but it was meant to. 

yahtzee

Yesterday my parents and I went on an impromptu camping trip to Jamaica State Park, VT, aka the no service capital of the Northeast. Not a single hint of a signal for miles. I'm all about not using my phone–in theory–but when it comes down to it, I go into full panic mode when I can't communicate with Dane for 18 hours. I kept distracted by biking five miles, hiking two miles, experiencing severe dehydration, swimming in the coldest river ever, and eating too many Twizzlers. I also almost ran over a snake with my bike, and on four separate occasions I found a daddy long legs crawling up my sweatshirt. What the fuck is with daddy long legs? They need to not.

The perfect outdoors look: hiking sneakers and a fanny pack.

I so badly wanted to sit in this ridiculously clear water.

On a different note, Dane let me know this afternoon that he got work off for the time I'm in NYC next week. Since things with us have been, uh, iffy, I was so overwhelmed with joy I couldn't really decide how to react. I'd been preparing myself for a very lonely and sad NYC trip without Dane, but I think it will turn out much better than expected. I got his text after I'd been browsing through our shared Photobucket account and (kind of) crying...

scattered

My scattered thoughts atm (at the moment):

1. I can't stop listening to "Black Widow" by Iggy Azalea ft. Rita Ora. I used to strongly dislike Iggy Azalea, probably because she confused me and I just didn't *get* it (this is how I will forever feel about Lana Del Rey), but something recently clicked and now she's rapidly growing on me.

2. I'm kissing my dreams of working at Chelsea Lately goodbye, since the last episode airs next week. My admiration for Chelsea Handler is so strong, and I will never give up thinking we'll be best friends one day. I understand there is a vast age difference between us, but age is irrelevant when surpassing her maturity is not any kind of an issue. She's a strange kind of idol, but an idol of mine she is.

3. Taylor Swift's new song "Shake It Off" is so fun and special. I thrashed too hard around my room earlier today and hit my head. I'm fine on a physical level, but maybe not a mental one? Also, her hair is all the shades of sophistication and polished I'm looking for. I'll be cutting and dying my hair this weekend, and permanently straightening it at a later date. I had all of these ideas before the "Shake It Off" video, I swear (this is only half true).

4. I'm going to Rhode Island next week for a casual interview at the company I've recently been dreaming of working at. Now that I've gotten this far, I'm terrified of actually getting a job. As badly as I want to start this new chapter in my life, it's so intimidating and a part of me is screaming, look for jobs in New York City, because it's comfortable. But like I've successfully done in the past, I have to push myself out of my comfort zone and wait for everything to turn out alright. My intuition has yet to lead me astray KNOCK ON WOOD.

5. After my interview, I'm heading to Brooklyn to house/cat sit for four days, which means I'll be spending my birthday in the city. I'm worried I'll be disappointed by Dane. I'm keeping my expectations low, and I'm reminding myself that we are...whatever we are. I just have to wait and see how things turn out. What a fun time in my life!

6. I did not enjoy the bike ride I went on today. I only liked this stretch of the path:

Thinking about the small bug that flew into my eyeball, and how I would get it out without a mirror.

wine

"You drink a lot of wine, don't you..." said my mother a few nights ago while I sat with a massive wine glass in hand. She thinks I'm on the fast track to becoming a functioning alcoholic, even though it takes me the entire night to finish one glass. Ok, two glasses, but I'm 24 and sad and bored out of my mind living at home in middle-of-nowhere-Vermont.

For young wine lovers on a budget who also give a shit about the environment, try Black Box Wines. The black box packaging is as sophisticated as it gets (read that sentence–and this entire post, and actually every post I ever write–with a bit of a sarcastic tone). I've only had the Cabernet, but I have a Pinot Noir on deck and I trust that any one you go with will be quite nice. You can find one for about $25 ($17 if you're lucky), and it's apparently the equivalent of four bottles of wine. I have yet to do the math on this, I'd rather just believe it to be true. Also, it's fun to use, like casually popping over to a water cooler. So casual.

Please note: I have never in my life had even a sip of Franzia. I don't dip that low unless I'm on the dance floor.

morning

I had the most typical Emily morning.

I drop my mom off at the doctor and drive down to the Co-op (super hippy organic store) to pick up this stuff my best friend Brittany uses in her smoothies every morning. It's a powder that apparently contains nearly your whole daily serving of fruits and vegetables. I don't know what it's called, but I hate most vegetables and think it will be pretty beneficial to my body. I walk around the entire store like a lost dog–after perusing the wine aisle, at 10 am, obviously–and finally find the powder products (I do not know what any of this stuff is officially categorized under). There are like five different brands I can go with, but I do not want to go with the wrong one, so I stand in this aisle for almost fifteen minutes waiting for Brittany to text me back the name of the one she uses. Two separate employees are skeptical of me and ask if I need anything. I swear I spend half my life standing in one particular aisle, weighing pros and cons, texting friends to see what they think (especially when it comes to choosing a hair dye). It's a nightmare. 

Brittany doesn't text back, so I grab a jar of coconut oil for my hair and leave. I head in the direction of the coffee shop, but pop into a closer cafe instead to try it out. Thought process: "Oh look at this really hippy cafe place, it has so many plants and it's adorable, just so great, I'll get an iced coffee here." Such a mistake. The place is empty, five people are working, and it takes probably seven minutes for them to get an iced coffee together. The guy at the register even writes it down on a notepad, because clearly "large iced coffee" is too complex an order to remember. When I get the coffee, which is the size of a small, I turn to the counter for half and half (if you know me, you know I do not put milk in my coffee; cream, or no coffee) and there is only COCONUT MILK. Literally, just that. Not even soy milk, or hemp milk, or regular milk. I am so confused I just walk out and go to my trusted coffee shop to buy another iced coffee so I can use their cream, in both coffees. 

Later, at the Verizon store while discussing phone upgrades, I'm explaining to the sales lady why I think the 5c is a terrible iPhone, very unintelligently. She basically tries to tell me I have no idea what I'm talking about, and that is that. 

Then my mom and I pull up behind my sister's car and we see a massive dent in the back from where someone must have hit it in the parking lot. My mom FREAKS OUT and her unwarranted anxiety soars to new heights. Insurance companies are called, police reports are filed, and tensions are unsuccessfully attempted to be calmed. 

I emailed Dane from the safety of my bed at the end of the day, with WAY too much coconut oil spread through my hair. 

old

Gripping the pen with four fingers like third graders do before learning to correctly hold a pencil, the muscles in his forearm jump with every beat of concentration.
I've never loved someone so much, or if I have I can't remember. Everything with him is different, more intense. When his eyes pierce into mine I think I could die. I'm obsessed, infatuated, so in love I could rip my hair out. Loving someone this much hurts because it can be taken away in an instant, it can be taken away at all. Suddenly this face, these hands, these mannerisms are so apart of my life, mind, my everything, I wonder what it would be like to lose them. It would be like learning to breathe without a lung, to see in black and white. 

fam

This past weekend I partook in my paternal family's annual reunion in Cape Cod, Mass. I try to get out of going any year I can, which is so ridiculous of me. I don't know why I dread a free summer vacation to the ocean, surrounded by family. I love my family, I really do, but I don't enjoy small talk with family members I only see here and there, or being in large groups of people. Family or not, large groups are not my cup of tea; they make me incredibly anxious and closed off. Add in the stress of job hunting and a boyfriend on the verge of possibly not being my boyfriend, and it's a burdensome weekend to say the least. I'm not helpfully distracted by other people–only specific best friends I know can cheer me up–and I would rather just figure my brain out in sorrowful solitude.

Here are some pretty Cape Cod photos from my morning bike rides with my father.

Woods Hole at about 7 am, so quiet and peaceful.

Oh my godddddd I love whales.

Father eating a sandwich.

trying

Dust was rising around us. You murmured to me in foreign tongues and I pretended to know what you were saying.
The time it took for us to understand each other was lost in the debris of question marks and doubts we kept between our chests. 
Rain couldn't wash them away, we were too tangled. Limbs everywhere, minds submerged in sorrow and fantasy. Eyes darting from corner to corner, not quite on each other.
Nothing was beautiful anymore. It was messy, pain. 
We were a hurricane.

not great

It was the most innocent of loves.

But you know what you learn from innocent love? Nothing. It doesn't challenge you in the slightest.

job hunting is fun

Job hunting is basically the worst. You spend hours filling out multiple online job applications at companies you've never heard of, and you're lucky if you even get a response rejecting you, saying you're not going to be continuing on in the hiring process. Think of how many people have access to an online job application, whether or not they're the slightest bit qualified. I can't imagine my resume even gets looked at for most of the jobs I apply to. Knowing someone at a company is so crucial. I did have a connection for a junior editor position at the art website ARTnews, but that connection got fired so I had to say goodbye to that one. Then another connection I had fell through. Then my supervisor at my past internship decided to go MIA, so I couldn't use her as a connection anywhere. Now that I'm on the verge of being 25, have waitressed for a year and a half, and am now living at home–which is boring as all hell–I'm so ready to have a solid job. 

Yesterday, the connection who had previously fallen through, came back through and let me know I should be contacted in the next few weeks about an interview. This is a travel company based in Rhode Island, and I want a job here so f***ing badly. What the heck is in Rhode Island I have no idea, but after asking around I learned that Providence is a real up-and-coming city with a lot of culture to be found. And then there's the ocean. I love the ocean. Even if I've never been to Rhode Island, it sounds pretty promising. Working at a travel company where I'd be required to travel every year would be such a burden, but like, I'll do it.......

With my lack of experience in the professional working world, I'm not confident I'll get a job at all. There's always going to be someone more qualified, which is really intimidating. Despite my stripped confidence, however, I'm setting myself up for disappointment with all the fantasizing I've been doing. I haven't even had an interview and I'm already imagining my life in this new place, with this new job (which would probably be in sales, but I don't even know). I don't know anything, like usual, but in my head I create what my life will be like anyway. I'll find a cheap apartment where I can live alone and decorate how I please, I'll get a dog, I'll start thinking about where I want to travel to, I'll make new friends, I'll discover new favorite coffee shops, I'll become a regular at a cool dive bar. My mind runs away at full speed with any idea or potential opportunity I get, no matter how small it is. 

Maybe it's not realistic, but why can't it be? Why shouldn't I find a job I love and finally live the life I want? It's not like I'm dreaming for the moon here. 

opia

I love words with passionate, tragic definitions. The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows is right up my alley. 

Opia
n. the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable—their pupils glittering, bottomless and opaque—as if you were peering through a hole in the door of a house, able to tell that there’s someone standing there, but unable to tell if you’re looking in or looking out.

I've always been terrified of eye contact, which in a professional situation–like conversing with a teacher or being interviewed or being spoken to by your boss–is incredibly rude. I force myself to make eye contact with people now. Fake it 'til you make it, I guess.

Monachopsis
n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach–lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you'd be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home. 

I felt like this my whole life, until I got to New York City. I never stopped feeling at home in the city, sometimes you just get tired of your home.

Rubatosis
n. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat, whose tenuous muscular throbbing feels less like a metronome than a nervous ditty your heart is tapping to itself, the kind that people compulsively hum or sing while walking in complete darkness, as if to casually remind the outside world, I'm here, I'm here, I'm here.

My heart has been pounding lately, and often when I don't even realize I'm anxious. This also reminds me of a quote from one of my favorite books The Bell Jar, when Esther is listening to her own heartbeat. I am, I am, I am.

Astrophe
n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head–a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback–which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

Ugh, every day of my life. There's never enough time, or even any opportunity, to say the things I really want to say to certain people. 

being single and weird

I think way too much about my past, and about all the really embarrassing things I've done in my life. I usually do this in the shower, and then there's nothing to distract me from my burning memories, and I cringe and scrub my loofah harder and harder against my skin in frustration. I analyze things I've said, not just from two days ago, but from two years ago. Whyyyyyy. I've been keeping a list of some things, and now that I've been in a relationship for over a year, I think it's time to put the list to rest. Not that I'm under a firm assumption I'll never be single again, but if I'm ever single again, I like to think I'll have my ish together (I will never have my ish together).

You're a hot mess if.....

1. You dance in one–or all–of these three ways in public, thinking you look sexy:

• The moonwalk. It isn’t even that great considering you’re drunk, but I mean, you probably wouldn’t be showing this guy your moonwalk if you were sober, right…? Not only do you moonwalk across the open floor for all to see, but you stare at him as you do so, with drunken, seductive eyes. What you’re doing is impressive, yes, under the right circumstances, but is it sexy? Something that will make him think, “this girl is moonwalking right into my heart”? No. He's probably thinking, “just smile and nod, you don’t actually have to call this girl.”
• Salsa dancing. No one really knows how to salsa, so no one will join you. You will be alone, salsa dancing to Rihanna mediocrely and visibly without training, thinking you have some technique because you watch So You Think You Can Dance and own the Zumba workout DVDs. I especially love to migrate around with my salsa dancing, leaving my friends in the dust, eyes glazed over, and probably with a creepy smile on my face. 
• Dance off/krumping. I’ve had one real dance off in my life and it was in an empty bar at 3 am while two men watched and cheered me on as I did, wait for it... the MOONWALK. The bartender I was in love with at the time was working that night and saw the whole thing go down, which is super embarrassing. I did win the battle, but probably because I krumped until my face was blue. Unless you're in an underground hip-hop club or part of a professional dance situation, you should not attempt to krump anywhere other than the privacy of your room.

2. He texts you later that night once you’ve both left the bar and you respond with something along the lines of, “sup homez?” If you need further explanation on why this isn’t okay, then you’re probably beyond help and five steps away from the nearest convent.

3. You compliment his nail beds. Enough said. Side note: if he responds enthusiastically to you praising his nail beds, then it’s time to move on. Or maybe you just deserve each other.*

4. You fall for the bartender at your *favorite* bar. Do not continue down this road; get out while you still can. Meeting people under the wrong circumstances is far too common, and it sucks. The casual, impersonal conversation you have to shout at each other over the noise and three feet of bar space between you usually isn’t legitimate enough to begin a relationship on. You’ll obsess over every word the two of you share and place more meaning upon them than they actually deserve, and he’ll forget within 4 hours. You’ll start frequenting this particular bar, and he will notice. He’ll think, “oh, there she is…again.” If he didn’t ask for your number during one of your first three visits, he’s not going to ask at the fifteenth visit mark.

5. You write your love interest a "like letter." This is like a love letter, but not as intense. It doesn’t matter how many drunken, shouted-over-the-music conversations you’ve had with the hot bartender over the course of the summer, do not under any circumstance write him a lengthy note of any sort. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t even creepy because it’s just filled with ramblings and nonsense, it will seem creepy and you’ll be the laughing stock of the entire staff. I'd like to point out that my best friend didn't tell me this was a terrible idea until after I delivered the note. So really, it's her fault. 

6.  You start reading poetry. If you’ve had a lot to drink and you’re feeling sentimental and sad, you might be tempted to whip out your poetry books and share your favorites. Some guys might actually like this, if they’re *actors* and *philosophical* and *European* but you will only feel like a fool the next morning.

7. You send your crush a :( face via Facebook message at the end of the night, thinking he'll immediately understand that you were very sad to have gone home alone. He won't even respond. Social media in general is very dangerous.

*My friend did this, I just consider it too important to leave out.