Vices.

In times of transition, I find I need a lot of crutches to prop myself up. A few of my old standbys have reared their ugly heads in the last week or so. I rely on the sublime and the ridiculous to get through the sheer mayhem of packing, drinking, overthinking, and general solitary contemplation. Hello, old friends. I've missed you.

1. Coffee. Sweet nectar of the gods. I think the thing I'm going to miss most about Kingston (besides all of y'all, of course) is Coffeeco, and their epically amazing cappuccinos.

2. Dolly Parton. I love her. I just. love. her. She makes me feel tender and kickass at the same time.



3. Calvin and Hobbes comics. Nothing beats the sweet pondering and sincere existentialism of the world's most endearing smart aleck six year old. I recommend the Tenth Anniversary Collection for fellow fanboys and girls, but if you love Bill Watterson like I do then you probably already own the first edition.

4. Wallace Stevens. So help me god, I'll be a self-righteous English major till the day I die. The Course of a Particular slays me dead.

5. Cyndi Lauper. Presented without comment.

idiot wind.

The top 5 songs that are distracting me from packing right now, Ray Lamontagne doing covers / Dylan covers / Dylan free association edition:

1. Ray Lamontagne and David Gray--Dig A Pony



2. Ray Lamontagne--The Man In Me



3. Bob Dylan--If you see her, say hello


If you see her say hello Bob Dylan
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4. Ramblin' Jack Elliot--Don't Think Twice, It's Alright



5. Wilco--Company In My Back



...I always need to throw a little Tweedy in there. He's like a fine sorbet, cleansing the palate.

Literary tag sale.

Over the years I have acquired a truly prodigious collection of ragged library discards, and tonight, in anticipation for my latest move, I tried to cull the shelves. THIS IS A HARD TASK. Here's what made the cut, and what didn't, and what I still can't make up my mind about.

Keep:

Flowers in the Attic by VC Andrews. (A classic. And also the first book I can remember borrowing from the library, and then reading surreptitiously, and then thinking to myself, I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY LET ME CHECK THIS BOOK OUT. Come to think of it, this book may be responsible for my library career.)

Baby-Sitters Club Super Special # 6: New York, New York! (I am re-reading this critically acclaimed tome in anticipation of my trip to the Big Apple next week; if I can be even half as sophisticated as Stacey McGill, my life will have been a worthy one.)

The entire Anastasia Krupnik series by Lois Lowry. (I always wanted to be a character from the Baby-Sitters Club, but really, I knew I was a huge nerd like Anastasia. Also, in the first book, when her parents ask her what she might like to name her baby brother, one of her suggestions is "One-Ball Reilly.")

Forever by Judy Blume. (I can't let go of the book that was responsible for my romantic and slightly creepy impression of what sex would be like.)

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald. (Because someday, just maybe, I will actually read it.)

Teen Star Yearbook by Grace Catalano. (How else will I remember that Scott Grimes' favourite food is hamburgers? Or that George Michael's favourite sport is badminton? Or that Ricky Martin, of Menudo, is looking for a girl who is "serious and responsible"?)

Lose:

Deenie by Judy Blume. (Scoliosis is so 1974.)

Bunnicula by James Howe. (Oh I loved this book but it smells like mothballs.)

Undecided:

Sweet Valley High # 66: Who's to Blame? by Francine Pascal. (Elizabeth is running away! I need to know what will happen!)

Liberace: An Autobiography. (I have problems. Serious problems.)

I hate packing.

Start as you mean to continue.

On New Year's Day, my mother called me to read me my horoscope over the phone (this is a fairly regular occurrence, but the January First version was much weightier than usual, on account of it was a horoscope for the WHOLE YEAR). She told me with interest that the astrologer for the bible said that Cancer gals like me should "start as you mean to continue." At the time, I was hung over and doing my best impression of Baby Huey following an epic New Year's Eve dinner here, and my mother's call was interrupting my Veronica Mars marathon (Logan Echolls, I would like to buy you dinner.), so I didn't think much of it.

Three weeks into 2011, though, I can say with certainty that if I have indeed started as I mean to continue, this year's going to be legendary. So far, I have interviewed for and accepted my dream job, decided to move back to my hometown, learned how to teach people to twist their spines like pretzels without fear of injury, lost my credit card, and sat through ninety minutes of gong meditation (a literal gong show, if you will). While I am concerned that if I keep up this frantic pace I may not sleep till 2012, I am also amazed and a little freaked out at the sheer power of the human mind. For the past few months, I'd been willing my life to change, but wasn't really sure how to make it so. And then, suddenly, it all just kind of happened. Thanks, universe!

The best part is that writing that last bit reminded me of the bit in The Big Lebowski where Walter quotes Theodore Herzl: "If you will it, it is no dream."



I think I'll leave it there for now. I promise many more weird, existential updates about packing up my apartmentas my move date gets closer.