A big question

B: What kept you motivated?
K: Motivated to not be with him? Or generally motivated in life?
B: Both
K: Life motivation is hard. And harder with a broken heart. Naps exist for a reason. So do kitties.

Staying Fat for Sarah Byrnes

I just finished this book by Chris Crutcher.

I cried at least twice.
It is definitely an "issues" book, but it is done well enough to only feel slightly manipulated as an informed reader. The book clearly had an agenda.

I still loved it.

Overheard in Kenmore.

I'm walking into my apartment building when a girl passes me on the street in the middle of a VERY intense phone conversation.
"No, no I will not. I will NOT reach for the stars! I'm sick of it. I just won't anymore. I will not reach for the stars."
I have no idea who she was talking to, but man, was she serious.

Safety.

My apartment was broken into a month ago. Until that point, my summer had been very not-fun -- my personal life was in shambles, my cat was sick, and my grandparents were having various health issues.

I was away in Maine visiting my grandparents when the robbery occurred. The thieves came in through my air conditioner--the unit didn't take up the whole window, so I had boarded the rest, figuring I was on the second floor and wasn't a target. They came in there.

And then apparently threw a party!

The first thing I saw upon entering my apartment was a bottle of creme de cocoa that someone had left in my apt years ago. Being allergic to chocolate, I probably should have thrown it out, but I kept it in a bin with other strangely acquired hard alcohol (which I don't drink, so have never used). I couldn't even give the police an assessment of the crate--maybe some tequila? And a bottle of rum-ish substance? I really had no idea. But they did leave a mixer of some sort, THANK GOD.

Back to the robbery: I was slightly confused about the creme de cocoa in the middle of the floor, but I'd just woken up from a car nap and was much more concerned about finding Lin. Who was in the closet, apparently shaken from the random intruders. Once I found her, I finally realized that my apartment had, indeed, been robbed. I ran out to Bea, who, bless her heart, thought that Lin had died and, in that split second, had a eulogy planned. After learning that my apartment had been broken into and my computer stolen, she said, "At least I don't need to drive a dead cat to NH for burial."

I'm lucky to have such a level-minded sister, as she took over and called the police while I changed into restaurant clothes and left (the Yankees were in town--I had no choice, I couldn't leave my best friend alone to waitress).


This is what they took:
8-year-old DVD player
3-year-old laptop
1/2 bottle of wine that had been sitting my fridge for at least a week
random hard alcohol from that untouched bin
the contents of my bowl of change
Jess's bottle of vodka, left after my Marathon Monday party (sorry Jess)

This is what they left:
LIN!
My digital camera
The bottle of creme de cocoa (oh thank god! They only took swigs from it!)
Did I mention MY CAT (thank god she didn't decide to venture on the balcony after they left the window open.)
All of my expensive Coach, Kate Spade, and Prada bags.
My autographed Red Sox stuff.
My TV.
All my DVDs.
All my books (obvi not interesting to thieves, but a lot of them are signed and special)


So basically:
They got a non-working DVD player
and my computer. Which I loved. Which was missing the delete key because Charlie stepped on the keyboard a lot. Which had all my grad school papers and music and pictures (of which I had transferred most to my work computer as a back up).

I didn't lose a lot. But I still feel violated. I don't have an A/C in my bedroom anymore, which, if you know me, makes me crazy. I HATE sleeping warm. I open my window wide in December. I've frozen out more men with my sleeping habits than with my personality, which is saying a lot.

But I'm dealing. I have a fan to shuttle the living room's cooler air to my bedroom. I lock the windows and make sure my curtain is in place. I double-lock my front door. I hate feeling insecure in a place I thought was so safe.

And after my friend was attacked while walking home (about a week after my apartment was broken into), I have become very paranoid.

Where am I safe?

My city has become foreign to me.

Arrest.

An arrest was made.

It's so disturbing that such a violent hate-crime could happen in Boston, in the South End, to someone I dearly love.

Politics.

I hate politics.

Friends.

Tonight one of my friends told me he loved me more times than I can have possibly warrented.

I am so, SO lucky.

Okay, I'm really back.

And so excited that one of my best friends was on Bostonist:

Doesn't she look hot?

Yes, that's my girl.

Lin.

Lin is doing just fine, thanks for the concern. She pees a lot. It's like having a fuzzy baby, but a baby that attempts to clean me, so I guess that's a step up. 

Facebook.

Wouldn't it be great if, when you posted on someone's wall, the picture you had at the time was the picture that forever showed up next to that post? FB is nice enough to change every post's picture to your current picture, but it would be better if each post kept the picture from that time. Anne has a post from me from 2004, and god knows what shit I looked like then.