Rachel Kramer Bussel's Blog, page 113
October 1, 2012
Buy Cosmo for Latinas, out today!
The new second issue of Cosmo for Latinas goes on sale today, and while I haven't seen the magazine yet, I encourage you to check it out. I wrote about ways to spice up your sex life! See cosmoforlatinas.com for more information.
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September 30, 2012
Ice ice bar, baby
Oops, wrote this the other day and thought it had posted (I can't access this actual blog in Dubai, like many sites, it's blocked, so I just noticed).
Whirlwind day in Dubai, the first day I've gotten up at a relatively normal hour, despite crazy insomnia that had me up finishing Valerie Frankel's hilarious 2004 novel The Not-So-Perfect Man (also hilarious is how dated references can be in just 8 years, which is not a knock on Valerie at all, I highly recommend the novel and it was a perfect, sweet, funny vacation read). Anyway, I did manage to get up and greet the day and visit a beautiful ice bar, Chill Out (my first time at at ice bar but certainly not my last), which I plan to write about, geeked out at a Sanrio store, used my new cell phone to set up some cool appointments and then visited another mall, where I learned that Borders isn't just alive and well, it's touting Fifty Shades of Grey. And I took photos of Ski Dubai, the indoor ski park. And being a good New Yorker, if not a good tourist, I went to Shake Shack. I even wrote some Skype erotica in between my running around. Also, I love the Dubai Metro. It's clean, easy to follow and they announce in text and loudspeaker what the next station is, in Arabic and English. That's all for now.
chilling out at Chill Out[image error]
Whirlwind day in Dubai, the first day I've gotten up at a relatively normal hour, despite crazy insomnia that had me up finishing Valerie Frankel's hilarious 2004 novel The Not-So-Perfect Man (also hilarious is how dated references can be in just 8 years, which is not a knock on Valerie at all, I highly recommend the novel and it was a perfect, sweet, funny vacation read). Anyway, I did manage to get up and greet the day and visit a beautiful ice bar, Chill Out (my first time at at ice bar but certainly not my last), which I plan to write about, geeked out at a Sanrio store, used my new cell phone to set up some cool appointments and then visited another mall, where I learned that Borders isn't just alive and well, it's touting Fifty Shades of Grey. And I took photos of Ski Dubai, the indoor ski park. And being a good New Yorker, if not a good tourist, I went to Shake Shack. I even wrote some Skype erotica in between my running around. Also, I love the Dubai Metro. It's clean, easy to follow and they announce in text and loudspeaker what the next station is, in Arabic and English. That's all for now.
chilling out at Chill Out[image error]
I rode a sand dune buggy and a camel in the desert!
It's my last day in Dubai, so there'll be much more about it this week, and have had a great time and done some scary things, like ride a sand dune buggy. I almost refused because I'm scared of cars but it was exhilarating and fun and a little scary. The second photo I took myself while I paused after a big dune. And I rode a camel too. And got to go on a gorgeous boat cruise that was the best thing I did in Dubai. The water felt amazing, hot and soothing and wonderful. If you are ever in Dubai, check out the boats leaving from the Dubai Marina Yacht Club, and get a group together. The breeze and sun and views were all stunning and perfect. I felt so lucky that someone I met who was celebrating her birthday just invited me within thirty minutes of meeting me. Dubai is like that, in my experience; a few people went out of their way to be nice to me (and others did so in an icky way, which I will be writing about shortly).
September 26, 2012
Hear me read from Fifty Shades of Grey Tuesday, October 2nd in NYC at 50 Shades of Banned
I'll be reading from Fifty Shades of Grey Tuesday night in celebration of banned books. All the details are on Facebook and at Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.
Interestingly, there've been articles saying that while Fifty Shades of Grey was available in the UAE (United Arab Emirates), Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed weren't for sale until recently. I have seen them in multiple stores, including Kinokuniya at Dubai Mall, and Borders and Virgin Megastore (which live on in Dubai).
Fifty Shades of Grey at Borders at Mall of the Emirates
Fifty Shades of Grey at Kinokuniya at The Dubai Mall [image error]
On October 2, celebrate Banned Books Week with an evening of stirring readings from erotic classics at Fifty Shades of Banned: A Celebration of Erotic Literature. The event starts at 8 PM at the Village Pourhouse on 64 3rd Ave (11th Street Entrance, across from Webster Hall) and benefits New York free speech charities National Coalition Against Censorship and Comic Book Legal Defense Fund.If one thing attracts the attention of the would-be censor, it’s sex. Depictions of sexuality in books, comics, art and film have drawn the eager attentions of Vice Squads and Morality Police since long before the days of Anthony Comstock. Those censorship challenges continue to this day, and are fought by the important work of NCAC and CBLDF.
Fifty Shades of Banned will take place at the Village Pourhouse on 3rd Avenue in the East Village on Tuesday, October 2 at 8 p.m. The event will feature dramatic readings from censored lit including The Story of O, Joe Blow, Howl, Lady Chatterley’s Lover, and Fifty Shades of Grey by sexologist and author Dr. Logan Levkoff, erotica author Rachel Kramer Bussel, comedy group MURDERFIST and more.
Come for the classic smut, stay for a chance to win a signed copy of Fifty Shades or other exciting raffle prizes courtesy of Babeland. All door donations and raffle proceeds will go to benefit free speech defenders NCAC and CBLDF and therefore ensure that we all have access to stimulating lit for years to come.
Who: The Comic Book Legal Defense Fund & the National Coalition Against Censorship
Where: The Village Pourhouse, 64 3rd Ave in the East Village
When: Tuesday, Oct. 2, 8 p.m., doors open at 7:30
How Much: $10 suggested door donation, includes raffle ticket
Featuring: Banned Books, 2 for 1 Abita Beers, $5 Fat Tuesday menu of hurricanes, hand grenades, po’ boys and jambalaya.
For more information, visit Blogging Censorship (http://ncacblog.wordpress.com/), www.cbldf.org
Interestingly, there've been articles saying that while Fifty Shades of Grey was available in the UAE (United Arab Emirates), Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed weren't for sale until recently. I have seen them in multiple stores, including Kinokuniya at Dubai Mall, and Borders and Virgin Megastore (which live on in Dubai).
Fifty Shades of Grey at Borders at Mall of the Emirates
Fifty Shades of Grey at Kinokuniya at The Dubai Mall [image error]
Putting the me in atonement
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I barely know what day it is, let alone what date, let alone what holiday, but it didn't escape my notice that I would be in Dubai during Yom Kippur, nor that I spent Rosh Hashanah at a TV show taping. I'm not fasting, and I'm not doing all that much formal atonement, not in the way my religion would have me do it. But as I walked along the sand and let the waves at Ocean Beach wash over my feet, so warm and soothing, while the call to prayer sounded not far from me, I realized how clearly the person I most have to atone to and for is myself. That's not to say there aren't plenty of people I owe apologies to, but part of why I came here was to try to get away from, if not myself, since that's impossible, the impulses inside me that lead me toward behaviors and ways of being that don't serve me.
I already had it in mind to come to Dubai, but a few weeks before I booked my ticket, I realized how much I treasure my ability to go anywhere, anytime. I know it's a privilege, not a right, and I know that in the grander scheme of all sorts of things going on in the world, this was a meaningless incident. I would truly much rather forget it ever happened and yet I can't exactly, because it encapsulated so much about a particular time in my life, about consequences and choices. It's not my place here to get into all the details, but suffice it to say, being asked to change plans I'd made wasn't so much a financial hardship as a mental one. My reaction was immediate, cutting and vicious. I felt pretty devastated, so much so that even later, when I realized it would have been the right decision for the most selfish reasons, I still couldn't quite accept that status quo. I'm getting there, but I think that was part of what propelled me to travel almost 7,000 miles away, to go through with what still seems like a little bit of a crazy idea.
I'm not exactly known for my moderation, so tell me I can't go somewhere, and I want to go everywhere. Childish, perhaps, and as I face what feels like a big birthday and try to think about what it might be like to raise children myself, I am working on being a little bit less childish. I feel like this year rather than having a lot of specific, concrete things to atone for, I'm more about trying to figure out what feels much harder and more daunting, which is the daily act of living in a way that I can, well, live with, in a way that doesn't have me reaching for the nearest panacea, whatever form that might take. I had no intention of starting a relationship this year, and in fact pictured my trip to Hawaii as another escape, a respite from all the noise in my head and seemingly everywhere I went, and I have a feeling if I'd been looking for a relationship maybe I would have found one, but not this one. It sortof found me and the thing I fear the most is mishandling it. We've had probably only one real disagreement, and one other silly one about candy, but in that one, I was upset and I was already planning to go for a walk so I just left. He asked me if I wanted to talk and I really really didn't, that was the last thing I wanted to do because I knew I was about to cry, and so I walked and I cried and I came back and I was less upset. But I know that leaving, whether the room or the house or the country, is not a permanent solution to any problem. Sometimes the distance does help, and that's something I've learned about myself. I like solitude, especially when I'm upset. I like it when I'm not upset too.
Today, the water was so perfect and warm and comforting; it was the first time since I've been here that I'd felt the heat break a bit. There was a breeze and waves and people being happy, as they tend to be at the beach. I wasn't so much happy or sad as peaceful. I was a little bit lost, more so than I'd realized, about to walk a mile in the heat in search of the spa that brought me here in the first place, but not having to be anywhere at any appointed time, not having anyone asking where I am or demanding I be or not be anywhere, being utterly unfettered, to stand as long as I wanted and try not to get the hem of my dress wet, was a gift I gave to myself. It was, in its way, my own little act of atonement and forgiving.
I know that I don't have all the answers, and probably never will. I'm one of those people who gets paralyzed by choices sometimes. I want to do X and Y and Z, not to mention A-W, and when I can only pick one, or even two or three, knowing that by actively choosing those options, I'm leaving behind others, feels like such a colossal burden sometimes I would rather not make any choices at all. At the same time, I've learned over and over again, so many times it should be second nature, but every time it feels like I'm learning it for the first time, that I can't be responsible for anyone else's actions or feelings, only my own. For a ridiculously long time, I think I thought the point of "working on myself" was so that I could sortof show off this new improved me and as a result would get these external kudos. I'm not going to pretend I don't care about external kudos, but there's nothing like being somewhere totally new and doing so on my own to remind me that I can and always have been able to take care of myself and that at the end of the day, I'm the only one I have to answer to, and if I can't, what anyone else thinks is so irrelevant they may as well not exist.
That's one of the first things I tell people about writing erotica; you can't have anyone else's judgment in your head, because that will automatically color your writing. Whatever you plan to do with it, your words are yours to do with as you please and I can say that for me, the times I've felt most okay about myself are the times when I've dared to write things that if I let myself overthink them I know wouldn't meet with person X or Y's approval.
While I was waiting for my plane to board at JFK, I read a Frank O'Hara poem and plane travel, "Sleeping on the Wing," and there's a line in there: "Once you are helpless, you are free, can you believe that?" It stood out to me as this perfect description of the thrill of bondage and submission, plucked apart from the rest of its brethren, and I may still quote it in a story, but it also struck me again as those beautiful waves crashed against my legs. The gift you're given when you crash into an uncomfortable situation, an unpleasant reminder, an unwelcome intrusion, is one that sometimes takes a while to process. For me, it was and is a reminder that life isn't always pleasant and that it's up to me to choose how to react and to learn what works for me and what doesn't.
It's now actually the next day, here; I couldn't think of a proper conclusion, nor could I sleep. I do know that constant, daily berating, obsessing over my flaws and mistakes, is not the same as atonement, and doesn't help me or anyone else. I know that those immediate, cutting and vicious reactions are as human as the sheer bliss I felt in the water. I also know how many pieces I've left to die on my computer because I "couldn't think of a proper conclusion." I know some people might think I'm fearless but I actually think the opposite; I have so many fears, big and small, and I'm not going to atone or apologize for them, or anything else that makes me me. I can learn to manage them, to pause and examine and ponder, to figure out why I have those reactions, be they fear or ecstasy or what have you. And yes, I know this is utterly self-indulgent, and perhaps has nothing to do with Yom Kippur, and I'm okay with that. And even if I'm not, I will be.
[image error][image error]
I barely know what day it is, let alone what date, let alone what holiday, but it didn't escape my notice that I would be in Dubai during Yom Kippur, nor that I spent Rosh Hashanah at a TV show taping. I'm not fasting, and I'm not doing all that much formal atonement, not in the way my religion would have me do it. But as I walked along the sand and let the waves at Ocean Beach wash over my feet, so warm and soothing, while the call to prayer sounded not far from me, I realized how clearly the person I most have to atone to and for is myself. That's not to say there aren't plenty of people I owe apologies to, but part of why I came here was to try to get away from, if not myself, since that's impossible, the impulses inside me that lead me toward behaviors and ways of being that don't serve me.
I already had it in mind to come to Dubai, but a few weeks before I booked my ticket, I realized how much I treasure my ability to go anywhere, anytime. I know it's a privilege, not a right, and I know that in the grander scheme of all sorts of things going on in the world, this was a meaningless incident. I would truly much rather forget it ever happened and yet I can't exactly, because it encapsulated so much about a particular time in my life, about consequences and choices. It's not my place here to get into all the details, but suffice it to say, being asked to change plans I'd made wasn't so much a financial hardship as a mental one. My reaction was immediate, cutting and vicious. I felt pretty devastated, so much so that even later, when I realized it would have been the right decision for the most selfish reasons, I still couldn't quite accept that status quo. I'm getting there, but I think that was part of what propelled me to travel almost 7,000 miles away, to go through with what still seems like a little bit of a crazy idea.
I'm not exactly known for my moderation, so tell me I can't go somewhere, and I want to go everywhere. Childish, perhaps, and as I face what feels like a big birthday and try to think about what it might be like to raise children myself, I am working on being a little bit less childish. I feel like this year rather than having a lot of specific, concrete things to atone for, I'm more about trying to figure out what feels much harder and more daunting, which is the daily act of living in a way that I can, well, live with, in a way that doesn't have me reaching for the nearest panacea, whatever form that might take. I had no intention of starting a relationship this year, and in fact pictured my trip to Hawaii as another escape, a respite from all the noise in my head and seemingly everywhere I went, and I have a feeling if I'd been looking for a relationship maybe I would have found one, but not this one. It sortof found me and the thing I fear the most is mishandling it. We've had probably only one real disagreement, and one other silly one about candy, but in that one, I was upset and I was already planning to go for a walk so I just left. He asked me if I wanted to talk and I really really didn't, that was the last thing I wanted to do because I knew I was about to cry, and so I walked and I cried and I came back and I was less upset. But I know that leaving, whether the room or the house or the country, is not a permanent solution to any problem. Sometimes the distance does help, and that's something I've learned about myself. I like solitude, especially when I'm upset. I like it when I'm not upset too.
Today, the water was so perfect and warm and comforting; it was the first time since I've been here that I'd felt the heat break a bit. There was a breeze and waves and people being happy, as they tend to be at the beach. I wasn't so much happy or sad as peaceful. I was a little bit lost, more so than I'd realized, about to walk a mile in the heat in search of the spa that brought me here in the first place, but not having to be anywhere at any appointed time, not having anyone asking where I am or demanding I be or not be anywhere, being utterly unfettered, to stand as long as I wanted and try not to get the hem of my dress wet, was a gift I gave to myself. It was, in its way, my own little act of atonement and forgiving.
I know that I don't have all the answers, and probably never will. I'm one of those people who gets paralyzed by choices sometimes. I want to do X and Y and Z, not to mention A-W, and when I can only pick one, or even two or three, knowing that by actively choosing those options, I'm leaving behind others, feels like such a colossal burden sometimes I would rather not make any choices at all. At the same time, I've learned over and over again, so many times it should be second nature, but every time it feels like I'm learning it for the first time, that I can't be responsible for anyone else's actions or feelings, only my own. For a ridiculously long time, I think I thought the point of "working on myself" was so that I could sortof show off this new improved me and as a result would get these external kudos. I'm not going to pretend I don't care about external kudos, but there's nothing like being somewhere totally new and doing so on my own to remind me that I can and always have been able to take care of myself and that at the end of the day, I'm the only one I have to answer to, and if I can't, what anyone else thinks is so irrelevant they may as well not exist.
That's one of the first things I tell people about writing erotica; you can't have anyone else's judgment in your head, because that will automatically color your writing. Whatever you plan to do with it, your words are yours to do with as you please and I can say that for me, the times I've felt most okay about myself are the times when I've dared to write things that if I let myself overthink them I know wouldn't meet with person X or Y's approval.
While I was waiting for my plane to board at JFK, I read a Frank O'Hara poem and plane travel, "Sleeping on the Wing," and there's a line in there: "Once you are helpless, you are free, can you believe that?" It stood out to me as this perfect description of the thrill of bondage and submission, plucked apart from the rest of its brethren, and I may still quote it in a story, but it also struck me again as those beautiful waves crashed against my legs. The gift you're given when you crash into an uncomfortable situation, an unpleasant reminder, an unwelcome intrusion, is one that sometimes takes a while to process. For me, it was and is a reminder that life isn't always pleasant and that it's up to me to choose how to react and to learn what works for me and what doesn't.
It's now actually the next day, here; I couldn't think of a proper conclusion, nor could I sleep. I do know that constant, daily berating, obsessing over my flaws and mistakes, is not the same as atonement, and doesn't help me or anyone else. I know that those immediate, cutting and vicious reactions are as human as the sheer bliss I felt in the water. I also know how many pieces I've left to die on my computer because I "couldn't think of a proper conclusion." I know some people might think I'm fearless but I actually think the opposite; I have so many fears, big and small, and I'm not going to atone or apologize for them, or anything else that makes me me. I can learn to manage them, to pause and examine and ponder, to figure out why I have those reactions, be they fear or ecstasy or what have you. And yes, I know this is utterly self-indulgent, and perhaps has nothing to do with Yom Kippur, and I'm okay with that. And even if I'm not, I will be.
[image error][image error]
September 21, 2012
From one oversharer to another
Sometimes, I sit down and actively think about story ideas to pitch, and sometimes they come to me when I am doing something else. I had one recently that's about, well, my sex life with my boyfriend, and I do think it would make an interesting essay, but before I go forward, I basically feel obligated to go to him and ask, "Hey, are you okay with me writing about ___?" In this case, it's not about anything sexually "out there" in any way, but it's still personal. I'm aware of that, and I'm also aware that he's much more private than I am. If he had to pick, I'm sure he would prefer I not write about things that involve him.
Since I wrote this essay for The Frisky, I've been thinking about that ongoing conundrum, and I realized that he's not the target audience for a piece like that. Largely, women are, in my mind. This other idea i have isn't as gender-related, but more about what we prioritize when it comes to sex, what surprises me about how sex plays out in our relationship, and other observations that are indeed personal but that I think say larger things about our culture's take on sex. I always try to give a little more context than just me me me.
On the other hand, part of why I gravitate toward first person writing in my own work and reading material is that I know what happened, for me, because I was there. I'm not saying I have a perfect memory or that what I write on day 1 would be the same as on day 11 or that my take is the only take, but nobody can ever tell me I didn't feel something or that my feelings are "wrong." By definition, they can't be wrong. Of course, we can all be wrong about lots of things, and I learn from writing about some of the most intimate aspects of my life. Sometimes that's actually how I handle interpersonal communication too. It's something I'm working on, the talking thing, but it's not always my first or best way of getting my point across. I get flustered and frustrated and lose track of what I wanted to say. When I'm writing, I have more time and more ways to figure out what I actually think and feel.
It's tricky, though, to write about your own life and maintain personal relationships. Here's what Mandy Stadtmiller has to say about writing about sex and dating over at xoJane:
Since I wrote this essay for The Frisky, I've been thinking about that ongoing conundrum, and I realized that he's not the target audience for a piece like that. Largely, women are, in my mind. This other idea i have isn't as gender-related, but more about what we prioritize when it comes to sex, what surprises me about how sex plays out in our relationship, and other observations that are indeed personal but that I think say larger things about our culture's take on sex. I always try to give a little more context than just me me me.
On the other hand, part of why I gravitate toward first person writing in my own work and reading material is that I know what happened, for me, because I was there. I'm not saying I have a perfect memory or that what I write on day 1 would be the same as on day 11 or that my take is the only take, but nobody can ever tell me I didn't feel something or that my feelings are "wrong." By definition, they can't be wrong. Of course, we can all be wrong about lots of things, and I learn from writing about some of the most intimate aspects of my life. Sometimes that's actually how I handle interpersonal communication too. It's something I'm working on, the talking thing, but it's not always my first or best way of getting my point across. I get flustered and frustrated and lose track of what I wanted to say. When I'm writing, I have more time and more ways to figure out what I actually think and feel.
It's tricky, though, to write about your own life and maintain personal relationships. Here's what Mandy Stadtmiller has to say about writing about sex and dating over at xoJane:
There is a dirty little secret about writing about your dating life. (And I've heard it from several other much more mainstream girl sexytime writers than me, including ones who are currently on Bravo.) What people don't tell you about doing the whole personal memoir thing -- or "oversharing" if you want to be a reductive hipster dick about it -- is that many dudes live in fear of being written about. Like, when I had a dating column at The New York Post, I started showing the boyfriend I had at the time the columns that I would write three months into dating him. He is un-Google-able with me. As is my ex-husband. As are the majority of men I've dated. Aren't I good girl? I keep secrets. Good job, Mandy.It's a puzzle I am constantly trying to find new ways to solve, and it's not one that's going to go away, not because I make my living by writing these days, but because even if I weren't getting paid, I would feel that need to make sense of my life in words, and share those words with other people. It's one of the reasons I loved CatalystCon, because people there get that, inherently, but also that whether you have sex as part of your job or incorporate sex in some other way, you also have a private life, feelings, thoughts, that are separate from what we put out into the world. That goes for us writers too. I'm half joking when I call myself an oversharer, because whose decision is it what's "over" in "overhsare?" For me, most of the time, it's more about survival and self-knowledge.
Dubai bound
I'll be in Dubai on vacation from September 22nd to October 1 so may be slow in answering non-urgent emails. If it's urgent, put "Urgent" in the subject line and I will do my best. Much to do to get ready and I will be working, blogging, reporting and posting photos while I'm there, but a heads up. This is both a chance to explore somewhere I've never been and a chance to have some solitude and stay in one place for longer than I have all year. I'm hoping it will also help me break into some new markets. 
September 20, 2012
I interviewed Girls star Jemima Kirke
I interviewed Jemima Kirke, who plays Jessa on the HBO show Girls, for Flaunt magazine, and they got some gorgeous photos of her to aspire with her artwork. She is a total inspiration, was completely down to earth, and is an artist and a mom, someething I aspire to be (well, writer/mom).
September 18, 2012
My master
It seems like much longer ago than November 1st that I sent an email saying "I want the word 'heart' on my left inner arm, I guess as tall as possible and going maybe from an inch or two in from my elbow toward my wrist but not actually on my wrist." Last November feels like a lifetime ago. As we inch toward November and a birthday that's kindof freaking me out, I know for sure that this is one of the best things I've ever done. When I feel like I'm losing my path, I look down, and remember. Thanks, Sanctuary Tattoo.
Crazytown
The song on the new Aimee Mann album Charmer (which I keep wanting to call Crusher, because I'm reading Niall Leonard's novel with that name) I've listened to the most today is called "Crazytown." It's incredibly catchy and while I think there are way more than fifty shades of crazy, as someone who's tried to manage my various crazy aspects, especially in this last year, even while doing things some people might think are crazy, like traveling alone to Dubai where I don't know anyone and basically kindof winging the whole thing, it seems fitting. Certainly one of the things I'm looking forward to is quiet; I won't be using my phone and while I'm sure I'll meet people, probably mostly I'll be on my own, in my head. Sometimes that's a dangerous place to be, and sometimes it's the only place I want to be.
When I get back, I'm celebrating my cousin's third birthday by buying him a custom made Plex cake (Plex is his favorite Yo Gabba Gabba! character) and then later in October I'm visiting a friend and her two kids in Texas, and I realized that I miss my weekly visits with them a lot in part because letting little kids climb all over me, raid my iPhone and laptop, and be utterly ridiculous makes me just a little less crazy. It reminds me that while kids can be super smart, they don't overthink every detail of their lives. They are utterly in the moment, in part because their sense of time is such that the moment is all there is. That's not something that comes naturally to me. I'm constantly making notes, reminders, to do lists. I have this overlying sense of guilt about the work I haven't yet done that often impedes the work I'm in the middle of doing.
My boyfriend is very good about not being the overthinking kind of crazy. I love that about him. I found out it was National Cheeseburger Day this morning and told him, and the first thing he said was, "I want a cheeseburger for dinner." So we went to Red Robin in the driving rain and ate jalapeño coins and elaborate burgers. He regularly makes me laugh so hard I feel like I have to pee, and usually it's over something totally ridiculous that I couldn't even try to explain it. I still need a lot of time on my own to explore and wander and think and be alone and figure things out. There have been times this year where all the craziness reached such a fever pitch I lost control a little. I wanted so badly to just be out of that headspace that I was willing to do some pretty out of character things. Now I'm trying to work on things like self-care and responsibility and communication and owning up to all my craziness and as it turns out, even the worst things, the rock bottom situations that looked so abysmal I never would've imagined I could dig my way out of them, can change. There are days when things still feel incredibly precarious, when all I want is to escape. And I'd be lying if I said flying 17 hours to a country utterly different than anywhere I've ever been isn't a form of escape; of course it is. But I also know there's a reason beyond Sanrio that I was drawn to going there. That's what I'm going to be exploring, and that's the kind of thing that even ten guidebooks wouldn't be able to tell me how to do. That's all on me.
When I get back, I'm celebrating my cousin's third birthday by buying him a custom made Plex cake (Plex is his favorite Yo Gabba Gabba! character) and then later in October I'm visiting a friend and her two kids in Texas, and I realized that I miss my weekly visits with them a lot in part because letting little kids climb all over me, raid my iPhone and laptop, and be utterly ridiculous makes me just a little less crazy. It reminds me that while kids can be super smart, they don't overthink every detail of their lives. They are utterly in the moment, in part because their sense of time is such that the moment is all there is. That's not something that comes naturally to me. I'm constantly making notes, reminders, to do lists. I have this overlying sense of guilt about the work I haven't yet done that often impedes the work I'm in the middle of doing.
My boyfriend is very good about not being the overthinking kind of crazy. I love that about him. I found out it was National Cheeseburger Day this morning and told him, and the first thing he said was, "I want a cheeseburger for dinner." So we went to Red Robin in the driving rain and ate jalapeño coins and elaborate burgers. He regularly makes me laugh so hard I feel like I have to pee, and usually it's over something totally ridiculous that I couldn't even try to explain it. I still need a lot of time on my own to explore and wander and think and be alone and figure things out. There have been times this year where all the craziness reached such a fever pitch I lost control a little. I wanted so badly to just be out of that headspace that I was willing to do some pretty out of character things. Now I'm trying to work on things like self-care and responsibility and communication and owning up to all my craziness and as it turns out, even the worst things, the rock bottom situations that looked so abysmal I never would've imagined I could dig my way out of them, can change. There are days when things still feel incredibly precarious, when all I want is to escape. And I'd be lying if I said flying 17 hours to a country utterly different than anywhere I've ever been isn't a form of escape; of course it is. But I also know there's a reason beyond Sanrio that I was drawn to going there. That's what I'm going to be exploring, and that's the kind of thing that even ten guidebooks wouldn't be able to tell me how to do. That's all on me.
