I realized recently a very practical reason for waiting until one's marriage to move out of one's childhood home: a wedding is the perfect occasion for friends and family to help you furnish your new place. Moving into a new apartment is a lot of work, and you have to start a whole household from scratch! That is a big financial investment. All of the household items I've been using suddenly seem so much more valuable. That Kitchenaid mixer that blends my cookie ingredients? I don't get to take that. The assortment of spatulas, the cookie sheets, the toaster oven, all will be left because they're not really mine. They belong to my parents.
There are, of course, positives and negatives about this. On the plus side, I get to pick out my own stuff. I have all the decision-making power when choosing my own belongings (well, not 100%, since Toby has a say too). On the other hand, this will cost hundreds of dollars. Having an extreme aversion to debt, I will probably purchase these things one by one over a period of several months. Maybe one small item (like a bread pan) a week and one larger piece of equipment (like a food processor) every one or two months. I think this could make for a fun series of posts.
Also, I've moving in two weeks. Gah! Toby is already in Seattle making living arrangements. He says it's wonderful. Somehow I will make it through this waiting period. Maybe I should finish that book on Cleopatra that's due back at the library soon.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Saturday, February 5, 2011
In the dark of the night...
Today our heroine faces a most gruesome enemy: paranoia. It sprang out at her suddenly, like the homeless man behind the garbage pail in San Francisco. It was not the gradually creeping sort at all. She was startled almost out of her wits! By what, you ask, dear readers? A sound. An irregular tipping, tapping sound right at her window. A sound not commonly heard in wintertime. Snow makes no sound at all, and wind causes a different sound when it sweeps the branches of close trees on the wall by the bed. This is a different sound. A sometimes solitary, sometimes quick succession of taps. Is it creaking? Could the wall be buckling beneath the weight of snow on the roof? The last several storms left 3 feet of snow in the yard, how much has accumulated on the house? Every day there is a story on the news about a building whose roof has collapsed. Airplane hangers, stores, greenhouses, all have crumbled under the pressure. But all of those roofs are flat. How flat is our quivering heroine's? Why has she never cared to look! There are also the trees to consider. Numerous trees have lost branches or completely fallen over. The snow and ice weigh heavily on their branches, forcing them down from their lofty stature. A tree could fall onto the roof, breaking its already faltering will to hold up against terrible stress, causing the whole structure to come down into her supposedly safe and cozy bed! How can the parents sleep through this terror?!
And yet, the possibility exists that these sounds are not in fact harbingers of a horrifying end for our dear girl. There is a fine drizzle tonight, and the temperature is 34 degrees fahrenheit. Just above freezing. It's possible that the light rain and comparatively warm air are melting the snow. The unsettling noises could be the sound of water dripping. Perhaps the icicles are loosening their grips on the gutter and are falling to their well-deserved peril (icicles are nasty characters, as anyone who has examined them would rightly know).
As the girl considers the latter proposition, she remembers the wise words of her highly educated doctor. "Calm down." Yes, yes, we must remember the powerful capability of the mind to create unlikely scenarios. Twice already (a third incident was narrowly avoided) our poor heroine had worked herself into such a terrified frenzy that she fainted. She was examined by professionals with expensive medical equipment, and it was deduced that there are no problems with her heart or brain, so the episodes of syncope must have been caused by mental and/or emotional stress. 'Yes,' she thinks to herself, 'I have been silly. I've been foolish. I must not worry like an old woman.' So she took some deep breaths and with only some hesitation retired to her bed with a book.
And yet, the possibility exists that these sounds are not in fact harbingers of a horrifying end for our dear girl. There is a fine drizzle tonight, and the temperature is 34 degrees fahrenheit. Just above freezing. It's possible that the light rain and comparatively warm air are melting the snow. The unsettling noises could be the sound of water dripping. Perhaps the icicles are loosening their grips on the gutter and are falling to their well-deserved peril (icicles are nasty characters, as anyone who has examined them would rightly know).
As the girl considers the latter proposition, she remembers the wise words of her highly educated doctor. "Calm down." Yes, yes, we must remember the powerful capability of the mind to create unlikely scenarios. Twice already (a third incident was narrowly avoided) our poor heroine had worked herself into such a terrified frenzy that she fainted. She was examined by professionals with expensive medical equipment, and it was deduced that there are no problems with her heart or brain, so the episodes of syncope must have been caused by mental and/or emotional stress. 'Yes,' she thinks to herself, 'I have been silly. I've been foolish. I must not worry like an old woman.' So she took some deep breaths and with only some hesitation retired to her bed with a book.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Leaving On a Jet Plane... Again
Another year, another move.
For my whole life, I have been moving. My first move occurred when I was 3 months old, and it was a cross-country move, like many other moves would be. I have lived in 4 California cities, 1 Massachusetts city, and 2 Brazilian cities. Not, of course, in that order, there was much more bopping around back and forth, but it's easier to write about in that grouping.
So you'd think I would be used to it by now, but in fact moving has become harder and harder as I get older. When I was a kid, I didn't have to pack anything except for my toys. I never had the traumatic experience of losing a friend because I was very social and easily made friends wherever I went, and school always kept me occupied and happy. But now there is an entire household of furniture to think about, and other responsibilities like paying rent, registering a car, finding a job, and making friends requires more effort when there are no built in activities like there were in school.
There is also the accumulation of stuff. Oh, so much STUFF, so many THINGS. I kept most of it because I thought, "This might be useful to have at some later point," or "Oh, this reminds me of [insert special person or place or event]." I'm only 23, yet I feel like I might need to take on the sort of mass purging that many women in their 40s and 50s are doing. I have toys from my childhood that I kept for their sentimental value and because you can't buy them anymore and maybe my future children would like them. But is that rational? Should I spend the money to keep them with me, or burden my parents by taking up a bunch of space for my old toys in the basement? (Note: I thought about this while I was watching Toy Story 3, with tears streaming down my face.) And am I really going to read through the notes I took in my college courses? Will I need the papers I wrote for future reference? Maybe some? Which ones? And the books. Oh, the books. As a reader since the age of 5 and an English major, I must have hundreds of books. It certainly feels that way. I love them, and I know paper is heavy, but I don't know how I could get rid of them.
This next move is particularly big because it's also the first time I'm going to move in with my boyfriend. Me! Living with a man! I'm also moving to a city I've never been to and I don't know where I'll be living because he's going ahead of me and picking the apartment. If that doesn't show trust, I don't know what does.
For my whole life, I have been moving. My first move occurred when I was 3 months old, and it was a cross-country move, like many other moves would be. I have lived in 4 California cities, 1 Massachusetts city, and 2 Brazilian cities. Not, of course, in that order, there was much more bopping around back and forth, but it's easier to write about in that grouping.
So you'd think I would be used to it by now, but in fact moving has become harder and harder as I get older. When I was a kid, I didn't have to pack anything except for my toys. I never had the traumatic experience of losing a friend because I was very social and easily made friends wherever I went, and school always kept me occupied and happy. But now there is an entire household of furniture to think about, and other responsibilities like paying rent, registering a car, finding a job, and making friends requires more effort when there are no built in activities like there were in school.
There is also the accumulation of stuff. Oh, so much STUFF, so many THINGS. I kept most of it because I thought, "This might be useful to have at some later point," or "Oh, this reminds me of [insert special person or place or event]." I'm only 23, yet I feel like I might need to take on the sort of mass purging that many women in their 40s and 50s are doing. I have toys from my childhood that I kept for their sentimental value and because you can't buy them anymore and maybe my future children would like them. But is that rational? Should I spend the money to keep them with me, or burden my parents by taking up a bunch of space for my old toys in the basement? (Note: I thought about this while I was watching Toy Story 3, with tears streaming down my face.) And am I really going to read through the notes I took in my college courses? Will I need the papers I wrote for future reference? Maybe some? Which ones? And the books. Oh, the books. As a reader since the age of 5 and an English major, I must have hundreds of books. It certainly feels that way. I love them, and I know paper is heavy, but I don't know how I could get rid of them.
This next move is particularly big because it's also the first time I'm going to move in with my boyfriend. Me! Living with a man! I'm also moving to a city I've never been to and I don't know where I'll be living because he's going ahead of me and picking the apartment. If that doesn't show trust, I don't know what does.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Routines are important
One of many lessons I must now take to heart.
In the quasi-scientific experiment I have been conducting over the past few weeks, I have found that I almost exclusively get pimples when I don't wash my face before going to bed. After one night of a skipped cleansing, one or two whiteheads will appear. After two nights of "Oh I'm too tired, I don't have to because I didn't put on any makeup" there are 2-3 more pimples. And it's always easier to keep them gone by washing up every night than it is to eliminate all the blemishes and get back to square one: the clear face.
Also, all that flossing I didn't do over the years? Totally biting me in the ass now. According to the rude dentists whose office I will never use again, one of my cavity fillings has broken and the gaping whole in that tooth is exposed, my wisdom teeth are impacted, and one of my molars should be removed because it's rotting beneath the gum line. Wonderful.
So, boys and girls, if you wish not to be ridden with pustules and hope to avoid dentures before becoming a senior citizen, do not carelessly disregard the bedtime routine.
In the quasi-scientific experiment I have been conducting over the past few weeks, I have found that I almost exclusively get pimples when I don't wash my face before going to bed. After one night of a skipped cleansing, one or two whiteheads will appear. After two nights of "Oh I'm too tired, I don't have to because I didn't put on any makeup" there are 2-3 more pimples. And it's always easier to keep them gone by washing up every night than it is to eliminate all the blemishes and get back to square one: the clear face.
Also, all that flossing I didn't do over the years? Totally biting me in the ass now. According to the rude dentists whose office I will never use again, one of my cavity fillings has broken and the gaping whole in that tooth is exposed, my wisdom teeth are impacted, and one of my molars should be removed because it's rotting beneath the gum line. Wonderful.
So, boys and girls, if you wish not to be ridden with pustules and hope to avoid dentures before becoming a senior citizen, do not carelessly disregard the bedtime routine.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Introduction: Marissa
I am sure, dear reader, that you realize adultification is not a word you have ever read before, and your search for the word in dictionary.com yielded no results. This is because I made it up. I dreamed it up some months ago as a possible title for something. In my mind, adultification is a process similar to adulteration, by which something pure is altered by the addition of another substance. A person begins life as an innocent child and becomes adultified by experiences both terrible and joyful, as a simple chicken stock becomes a hearty soup by the addition of other raw but wonderful ingredients.
At this point in my life, things have gotten pretty serious. Mainly, I'm not in school anymore and have to start living the life I only ever read about in books. I won't say this is the "real world" because I've always detested that phrase. The life of the mind is very real. My schooling was real; my dreams were real; everything that has happened to me up to this point is real. The only difference now is that I have more control. It is both intoxicating and overwhelming to have control over my own life. What should I do with myself? Sometimes I am confused by the various viable options and end up choosing nothing. But that's no good. I want to make awesome choices that will lead to an awesome life. So here's to 2011, a new year of potentially wonderful decision-making opportunities.
At this point in my life, things have gotten pretty serious. Mainly, I'm not in school anymore and have to start living the life I only ever read about in books. I won't say this is the "real world" because I've always detested that phrase. The life of the mind is very real. My schooling was real; my dreams were real; everything that has happened to me up to this point is real. The only difference now is that I have more control. It is both intoxicating and overwhelming to have control over my own life. What should I do with myself? Sometimes I am confused by the various viable options and end up choosing nothing. But that's no good. I want to make awesome choices that will lead to an awesome life. So here's to 2011, a new year of potentially wonderful decision-making opportunities.
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