Strange Little Collecting Project

Something happened to me a few weeks ago in the library, but I didn’t quite know what to make of it at the time. When it happened, it was one of those experiences that you have that makes you kind of step back and think, “This was something…this really was something. I’m just not sure what yet.” Well, I finally think I figured out what this thing that happened to me in the library was. I had a lot of time to do some thinking because I drove up to Washington, DC for a long weekend and I got stuck in the most infuriating traffic jam I’ve ever been in before. I know this doesn’t mean much coming from a hyperbole addict that chronically exaggerates, but it truly was the worst traffic I’ve ever endured. After an hour in my car, I’d only driven a mile and a half. And to make this traffic jam even more enraging, I was stuck behind a burgundy Crown Victoria that had a pair of fake testicles hanging from the tow-hitch, complete with veins. It was a bad situation and all signs pointed to

Earlier this week, I locked myself inside my house. (Yes, it’s possible). Let me explain. I came home late Friday night, exhausted and having to pee. I almost skipped the deadbolt because I live in a pretty quiet neighborhood, but then I remembered a story that a friend told me recently about an episode of Criminal Minds. (And let me just take a moment to say that Criminal Minds fans are the most rabid fans ever…and most of them don’t live alone. And the only thing that Criminal Minds fans want to do is tell you about an episode of Criminal Minds, but I think they might have ulterior motives. Of course they want to tell you about their “favorite” show; they haven’t had a good night’s sleep since the first time they watched the show and now they spitefully want to ruin your circadian rhythm as well. Misery loves company after all). My friend recently told me about an episode where this cable guy would come to single women’s houses and scope the place out and unlock a window or s

Sometimes when I’m having a conversation with non-teachers about my job, I wonder if they are secretly counting down the seconds before I will mention how much money I don’t make. I know that teachers talk a lot about their pay, or the lack there of, and I understand that must be obnoxious for non-teachers, but I still can’t help it. I went to college so I could be a self-supporting adult. That was it. That was the reason. I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I went to college, but I knew that I wanted to be able to take care of myself, pay my own bills, and go on a vacation or two when I wasn’t working. That was my goal. And now I find myself, almost five years graduated from college making less money that some of my friends who didn’t go to college…and who work less hours than me. And I’m starting to get really pissed off about it. Most days, I can convince myself that it’s not so bad. Fortunately, my students make my job worth it. I know that sounds shocking and one of

I’m not really one for shopping. At least not in the Pretty Woman “Big mistake…Big mistake,” kind of way. I can’t remember the last time I went to a real store and dropped more than 20 dollars on a single item. Even when my friends tell me about their own shopping sprees, I get stressed out for them knowing how I would feel the next day…it would be eerily similar to the feelings I’d have after a night of heavy drinking. And I would look over my online bank statement in the same way that I look through my sent text messages after a long night out, feeling regret and nausea. Because of self-preservation, I’ve learned to avoid shopping (in its most widely accepted form) to prevent myself from having acute buyer’s remorse…and so I can pay for my car insurance. I wasn’t always like this. When I was in high school and college, I truthfully and tragically had more expendable income than I do now, and I went shopping all the time. Really shopping. I never thought twice about spending more tha

Okay. So I have officially and currently discovered the worst part about living alone…ever. Thunderstorms. I may or may not be writing this from inside a sleeping bag on my bathroom floor while shrieking something that sounds kind of like “eeeeek” every time it lightnings (and then therefore thunders simultaneously…which is how I know that this storm means business). When you live alone and the power goes out and it’s storming like crazy, there is absolutely nothing to distract you from the mayhem outside. Plus my windows are versatile enough to allow a wonderful breeze in even while they are closed. So right now, it sounds like the storm is happening inside my apartment. Plus I live a block from the fire station so I hear all of the sirens loud and clear. And instead of comforting me and reminding me that help is just a few seconds down the street, those sirens just provide fuel to my irrational fear fire. In fact, it allows me to rationalize my irrational fear which makes it