For a few hours now, I’ve been nursing cup after cup of Jamaican coffee. I guess that’s what it’s called — it’s coffee plus brandy plus rum. That’s what The Internet calls it, anyway. I have to add milk and sugar because I don’t want hair on my chest. Well, more hair. It’s a delicious concoction for a chilly autumn night and it makes me want to wear ridiculous multi-colored socks and wear a slanket.
I’ve had so much that I’ve been fighting the jimmy legs and the jitters and that feeling in my brain where I feel like I’m a cat chasing a thought-moth. I’m hoping I break on through to a moment of clarity in which the whole world slows down and I am able to understand it and predict it and divert disaster while everyone around me just sees a blur of energy. Kind of like in this (truncated) episode of Futurama:
via videosift.com
But, well, shit don’t work that way and I know it and you know and we know it so I’ll quit getting hung up on the notion.
Goddamn, there is so much I’d like to write about that I can’t. I have been digitizing my internal monologue for several years now and I tell you what, it has never been harder to say what I want to say than it is these days. There’s too much at stake. I hate that feeling, but it’s probably for the best. I keep reading stories about how blogging is fundamentally different these days, and about how it’s kind of lost its luster in favor of microblogging and things like Facebook and Flickr, and while I get that, I hate it. I hate not being able to sit down and say what I want to say. I hate having to show restraint. I hate growing up and actually giving a shit.
Granted, if I were really smart, I’d probably stop blogging altogether and do what I could to get my name off the interwebs altogether. It is going to be real interesting trying to get future employers to understand why my personality is a feature and not a bug. Blogging: Making people unemployable and unfuckable since 1997.
God, I don’t even know what this post is about. This is a classic braindump post, the kind I might have written back in 2005 when I was even fatter and even more depressed. I need a haircut, my dad blew out his knee tonight, this person is annoying me, this person is a complete coward, this person makes my heart beat fast, this person will never love me, this person needs to be socked in the mouth, my cats are cute, I can’t believe it’s the end of the year already, I am not prepared to buy/make the shit-ton of Christmas presents I am going to need to buy/make this year, I’ve gone up half a pant size and it’s making me grumpy, I wonder what my life would be like now had I moved to Tampa (or even Chicago, even though the Tribune didn’t want me) a year ago, I wonder what I’ll be doing this time next year, should I move to another apartment?, how am I going to get a place to stay for the inauguration?, I wish Felix wasn’t old and sick, I wish my parents were in better health, I wish I could fix things, and if I had the chance to go back and redo everything would I?
It’s the coffee. I’m sure of it.
fuck microblogging!
Dear Lindsey,
I wish that I could have met you when I wasn’t drunk and/or stoned.
I also wish that you could have met my other cat. Her name is Libby. I don’t remember telling you that. She is also a gray tabby.
I was a little freaked by people referring to you as LT on Saturday night because I am LT, too. Actually, I am LAT.
I am proud of myself for not messing up and for not acting like a crazy stranger, asking you over and over again about the photo piece you did on Memphis that I saw on the internets months and months ago, which is what I totally wanted to do, but somehow found the restraint to keep myself from completely nerding-out.
I don’t feel that I give off a good first impression, so I’m just going to assume that you left my house hoping never to see me again, but if that is not the case, I hope to one day meet you again and to learn more about your general badassness.
See. I just ramble on about myself. Really I just want to learn more about you, so I will stop now and read more of your blog and about your pretty life.
Isn’t Toby the greatest?
D, yes!
L, I think you gave off a great first impression! I had no idea you were the Leslie I had been following on Twitter for so long or we could have spent the whole night nerding out and being dorks. Crazy! Thanks for letting me hang out in your gorgeous house. We should totally meet up again. And yeah, Toby is awesome. Now let’s work on getting him unafraid of the intarwebs. LATs unite!
Umm, here here as far as holding back while blogging. It’s a very weird thing, because some days I’m really depressed about something, or really excited, but then I think… hmm… I don’t want to reveal that part of myself for someone else’s judgement. I hate it because it makes me feel as there is an element of neutrality in my blog because of it, and that makes me feel like Cindy McCain. I’ve got this face that can’t crack, is what I’m trying to say.
Guess what? Coffeebrain. Please excuse me. I’ll still leave this paragraph up for hypercaffeine realityness.
Um, you were recruited by the Tribune? When did you interview there? I was there in June. 2007. Had never been there. Was absolutely beautiful.
Um, you were recruited by the Tribune? When did you interview there? I was there in June. 2007. Had never been to Chicago. Was absolutely beautiful.