Northampton, MA

BAM.
Thai sweet & sticky rice with mango.

I mean really. I made this. And it was faaaantastic. And delicious. And I have leftovers which will eventually add to the winter weight I’ve put on. And then, because today was one of those days, I made this:

A mix of silk tofu, tapioca pearls, and enough sugar to make sure I don’t fall asleep for a week. But it certainly was delicious, and an adequate nightcap for an evening catching up on Tina Fey’s Bossypants.

I love being home. I love it. One – because of all the food. You’ve seen all the pics. I am a heifer. I enjoy good food with good friends and good conversation. It’s a must; a glorious splurge, since there aren’t many varied choices up in Pittsfield. Second – I really do miss everyone. My family, especially. The kids are growing up, and pretty soon, we’re all gonna be adults. I want to cherish the moments we’re all under the same roof, laughing at the same ol’ stupid shit. Same goes for my friends, and all the laugh-out-loud conversations that always give me a headache afterwards. And third, I love being home because it reminds me so much as to why I needed to move away.

Maybe it’s because of what I’m recently going through — but it seems as if every conversation I’ve had with every group of friends includes a mandatory reference to a self-imposed ticking timeline in regards to marriage. I think I’ve heard four different people say, “If I’m not engaged by xx, I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Whoa. I think it’s a topic that pops up more often during the holidays, because it’s engagement central — and Facebook likes to rub it in the noses of us single ladies.

I mean, I know the reason why we feel this way. We’ve got that whole egg cycle to worry about, our education, career, living arrangements, etc. There’s also the nice little culture bow to top it off — get married by a certain time or you’re an old maid. I think I thought this once when I was in my early 20′s. “I want to be married by 25, first kid by 27.” Oops. Shit happens. Life happens. Sometimes, it’s not possible. Sometimes, it’s not practical. I now realize that I really couldn’t care less about marriage at this point in my life. The only thing I’m worrying about is wanting to find the right person I want to spend the rest of my life with. Screw that timeline, I’d rather make sure the person I’m with isn’t someone I’m going to divorce in two years. I’m only getting married once; I’d rather get married for sure at the age of 40, than at 24 thinking I know exactly what I want — only to feel differently two years later (which is, duh, what happened).

I guess it’s to their credit that my friends know exactly what they want, versus me — who has no clue whatsoever about what the next year is going to bring. If that brings me criticism, so be it. You figure out your life, I’ll figure out mine.

I go through spurts of insanity. I have no clue how to say no, which means I’m busy 18/7 (a girl’s gotta sleep). I love everything I do, I just wish there were more hours in the day, or multiple me’s being productive two- or even three- times as fast. But alas, it’s just little ol’ me, trying to live the world, one second at a time.

You’d think with everything I do, I’d keep track of all my little projects — I did this, I volunteered with that, I helped them, I made that.

Nope. I’ve still got the memory of a goldfish. I can say (without any details whatsoever) that I was involved in Storefront’s final (maybe, maybe not) 12×12; I’m helping create a guerilla grassroots arts&culture facilitateen macheen; I’m taping and editing multiple videos for local organizations; I’m still trying to edit those darned We Are Pittsfield oral histories; I’m updating three different websites and finally getting started on building my own; I’m working on a youth-LGBT-oriented documentary (planning stages); I’m brewing up ideas for my submission to BIFF, etc etc etc. Let’s add a job, relationships, and figuring out why the hell I can’t get mail nor health insurance to the pot and that about sums up December so far. I can’t even remember what the hell happened in November except that it was unusually warm. It snowed in October. But before all that, Greylock.

Oh, Jane. How you flutter my heart.

“I have no talent for certainty.”

wonkified on 500px

[Disclaimer: Most of these clips were shot as I was walking, following Mike Tan. It's shaky, it's a little dizzying, but I think that sums up the eight days I spent in Europe. I WILL be back for more.]