just a spoon full...

I forgot to mention something really monumental last week. I am going to blame it on the sugar induced coma I have been in for the past few days. Anyway, I attended this:


Think:

It is pretty much a sweets lover's dream come true. Think five football fields full of candy samples. When I walked away at the end of the day, I had a shopping bag full of candy from all over the world. Many of which are new products that have yet to be released. To sum it up, it is pretty much like Trick-or-Treating for adults without the costumes, which equals awesome in my book.

P.S. They even had a tiny bit of booze there too!

lost and found

(via)

when the sky is falling

(via oh brooke)

reading

That's right. I'm currently reading this. Don't judge. I checked it out at the library. And, I'm enjoying it.

P.S. The follow-up book, Sweet Little Lies: An L.A. Candy Novel, might just be in my hold queue at the library. By might, I clearly mean totally is.

Wherein the pigeon gets his 15 minutes...

Hi, my name is Emily and I love pigeons.

I know pigeons are not popular things to like. People like to call them all kinds of nasty names, but I call them beautiful. There is something about them that I am just drawn to. Some of them have the most beautiful coloring with iridescent greens, blues, and purples. And, they just have this "I don't give a shit what you think" kind of attitude. They are weird and awkward and under appreciated. And that kids, that is a recipe for making something I love.

I apparently have a style. Let's just get it out of the way right off the bat that my style isn't "good" or anything. Style doesn't mean you are walking a runway. It just means you have things that inherently make sense for you to wear or surround yourself with. There is some common thread. In my case that thread may be weird and tacky, but I am okay with that.

In actuality, I can't describe my style. I wouldn't know how to tell you what really makes something "me." My friends on the other hand, they have my style down pat. They are always saying, "of course you do" in response to me saying, "I love this!" When I buy something, I often hear, "that is very Emily." I'm not sure what this really means, but I kind of love it. My friend (and sister-in-law) says that she has to make herself stop shopping for me when the holidays roll around because she is most in tune with what would make a good "Emily" present.

Anyway, this was all to say that I love pigeons and it seems to me that I am not alone. Pigeons are taking over the internet recently. Everywhere I look, there they are.

Am I teaching myself how to fold an origami pigeon as we speak? Maybe...just maybe.

Love this! (via Origami Bijou)

Best! Thing! Ever! (via Chinnychinchin) I want it! I want it!

Now, let's be real folks. How can you not love the pigeon when you see how responsibly he rides on public transportation?

there's something about mary...

I can be a total anomaly at times. My room is often very messy and unorganized, but when I am working...my desk is immaculate. I am not a fuss and frills sort of girl, but I'd get a manicure every week if I had the money (and this used to be my habit). I prefer when people follow the rules, but I make few for myself. I don't have a daily routine. Sometimes I wash my hair before soaping up and sometimes it is the last thing I do in the shower. There are a great number of things in my life that are unstructured, but if you followed me around for a full day, upon close examination,you'd find that hidden amongst the chaos I create in my life I'm just like everyone else. I'm a creature of habit. True, my morning is anything but routine. I rarely put things back in the place I found them. And, I don't ever get up at the same time in the morning. However, I always walk on the same side of the sidewalk to the train and cross at the exact same place. My grocery list could practically be carved in stone. I always always take the right contact out before the left. And, when I worked, I always took the same routes when traveling to and from work (one for the morning and another after work). Usually I stood on the same spot on the platform and rode the same car each morning and evening. I'd see the same people everyday during my commute- proof that more people fall into the comfort of a routine than would like to admit. The only thing that would change were our outfits.

These people that I saw became part of my environment...I'd expect to see them. When one of the supporting characters in the commuter show was missing, I'd notice and wonder where they went and if they were okay. I would want to know their stories. And sometimes I'd make their stories up in my head. I never knew them though. None of us broke that unspoken code of silence you take when we stepped onto the train. We saw each other every day, but never talked.

It was weird, when I first stopped working, I felt like I had been watching a good television show only to find out that it had been cancelled mid season. Just like that. The world stopped and I would never know what happened to my fellow commuters. Luckily for me, they weren't the only people that were part of my environment. In reality, the cast of the commuter show paled in comparison to Mary.

(actual picture of "Mary")

Mary may not be her real name, but to me it very much is. I don't know where Mary lives. For months it seemed as though she lived on the side walk outside of Walgreens. It was her habit and she wasn't quitting Walgreens any time soon. She would stand there morning and night having deep conversations...with herself. She'd make a good point and she would nod her head in agreement. She would get carried away and she would talk with her hands. Sometimes she took walks. Once, while sitting at the tables outside of Argo tea she spoke to me and my friend. She ran her hands across the smooth metal table next to us and them abruptly looked up and said, "I'm just looking." That was the day she became Mary. We needed a name for her. From that day forward she took on a whole new life in my eyes. I was acutely aware of her and her comings and goings from the Walgreens. Yes, I am aware that she is most likely a very ill woman. That is perhaps what drew me to her even more. I am a social worker at heart and I feel connected to others very easily. I even defended her when a server at a restaurant in the neighborhood said that she was "fake" and that it was "all an act." She apparently frequented the restaurant often and would have others buy her food. (If you are wondering how I got to talking to a server about Mary, it is the same way that I usually step out of a cab knowing the drivers life story...how long he has been married, how many children he has, what he did as a career before driving a cab, etc.)

Mary was no fake. Mary may not be her real name, but everything was totally genuine. From her two toned hair right down to her paint splattered sneakers. No one talks to themselves in public for shits and giggles. No one stands outside day and night for the fun of it. Plus, she never asked me for money. Not once. She was sick. It was obvious. And, I wanted to know all about her.

I feel drawn to people some times. Just like Mary, there was a man who stood in the underground walkway between the blue and the red lines at the Jackson station. I passed him almost every day on my way home from work. He held a cup, a cane, and mumbled to himself. Some days he looked very bad. Others, he looked nicer with his hair freshly braided. Some days he was gone and I worried. Some days I gave him money. Some days I didn't. Every day I wanted to say hello and ask his name. Never did this happen.

Early on in the fall Mary just wasn't there any more at her usual post outside of the Walgreens. I thought perhaps she went for a walk and was hanging out somewhere else for a day or two. Days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. It's true, my friends and I joked that she went to stay in her lush house in the north suburbs for the winter and would return when the weather grew nicer. Yet, beneath the joking, I was actually worried. I was sad that I allowed someone to be so present in my life, in terms of sharing physical space, yet never took the opportunity to move into a place of familiarity. Why had I never said hello? Why was I so set in the routine of seeing her, yet so comfortable with not really acknowledging her? I was disappointed in myself.

I was sitting in my apartment this evening and had a strange sudden craving for a cookie. Without really even thinking I sat up, put on shoes, and walked to Walgreens. I didn't even have to cross the street before I noticed her. She was back. Beneath a HUGE over coat, a hood, and sunglasses (despite the fact that it wasn't even a little light outside) I knew it was her. She was in the same spot she always was before. It was as if she had never left. It really made my day.

The Mary Show was apparently signed on for another season. And, I couldn't be happier.

I am left with a few thoughts though: How do I step outside of my routine and habits? How do I say hello first? And, how many other people do I miss by allowing them to blend into the background of my life?

What are your thoughts? Do you have a Mary?

it's not you. it's me.

Dear New York,

I don't even know where to begin. I first want to start by asking you to please understand and not to hate me. It's me. It's not you. You did nothing wrong. We apparently were not meant for one another. What with your high rent, boroughs, hot dog street vendors, frequently used water taxis, and residents such as this guy....I say no thank you. Chicago just swept me off my feet. It came out of nowhere. I didn't plan for this to happen. And again, you did nothing wrong. I think have been moving in different directions for quiet some time now. I don't know what the future holds for us and I am definitely not ruling out the possibility of us being together at some point. But, for now. Right now. Chicago is who I have to be with. Chicago has my heart. I hope you understand. I want the best for you New York.

Much love,
emily

(via StevenBrisson)

It's funny. I spent the majority of my life being completely obsessed with New York City. I wanted nothing more than to live there. I always said, "I won't be happy if I don't live in New York City for at least some part of my life." I just felt this amazing connection with the city. It was a relationship. New York was my first love. But, like most love, you go through transition. About two and a half years ago I moved to Chicago and slowly the city began to take over the real estate that New York used to claim in my heart. I moved here sort of on a whim. I had never been here when I decided to move. I did come for a weekend to see that I really liked it. And, I did. So, here I am. About two years into this adventure and I couldn't be happier. I will always love New York City. It has something magical about it that can not be replicated; however, what I began to realize once I moved here is that perhaps some of my love was just about as city...not necessary The City. That's right New York...you get a capital T and a capital C. You're that important. Anyway, I think it was just that I belonged in a city and that is why New York appealed to me so much. Chicago isn't New York, but it is pretty amazing in and of itself. And when I got here, I learned that it was something much greater than New York...it was my home.

So, today I celebrate what it is that I love about Chicago and that I am one of the millions in this big city:

• Starbucks, Caribou Coffee, Argo Tea, and a plethora of other cafes within walking distance
• BYOB restaurants
• Diversity
• Unlimited selection of take out places
• Public transportation
• Cabs at my doorstep
• Street festivals all summer long
• Never being woken up by a lawn mover, weed wacker, chirping birds, etc.
• Two airports to choose from
• Two baseball teams
• More bars within walking distance than I can count
• Doormen
• Peapod
• Dog walkers
• The Redeye
• Never calling it Willis Tower
• Always giving cardinal directions
• The CTA Christmas Train
  
• Walking
• $12 manicures (and 5 places to get them within a 1/2 block radius)
  
• Hating the suburbs
• Never having to shop at a mall
• $1 burger nights
• Alcohol delivery
• Beer gardens
• The Lake
• Swimming with the skyline in the background
• The winter (for real)
• Hot Dogs
• City themed bars
• Penny rides on New Year's Eve
• Zipcar
• The green river on St. Patrick's Day
• Comedy
• My Chicago friends that have become family
• and much, much more...

in love...

...with my new boots.

coco...not chanel

I just watched the final episode on Hulu.com and almost cried. I have been a Conan fan forever, but what got me about this episode was his humility and his expression of gratitude to those who have supported him. Yes, he has made jokes at NBC's expense these past couple of weeks. However, in the final hour, Conan humbly spoke of his time with the network and the joy it has brought to his life. He spoke about how things don't always go as you plan or how you are told they will...and basically, said that it is alright. He then asked his fans, especially young adults, to reject the urge to be cynical. He said, "if you work really hard and you are kind, amazing things will happen. I'm telling you. Amazing things will happen." And it really was perfect.

rehab

Okay, so I totally watched the entire season of Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew online yesterday and cried my eyes out like a baby.


I have come to the conclusion that Dr. Drew is one of my favorite people on the planet. Seriously, I want to go to rehab just so I can interact with him. Please tell me I am not alone.

for rent

I got some rockin' news slipped under my door the other day. Yeah, they came to my house to deliver it! If you are thinking that I got a big check with my name on it and cameras and balloons, you may want to stop reading. You will be terribly disappointed.


Anyway, I got my lease renewal. I know what you are thinking, "It's January. Your lease doesn't end until May. Why so early?" I don't have an answer for that. I thought it was weird too. But, when I opened the package they slid under the door I was hit in the face with some awesome news. First, if I return the lease renewal by February 1st, I will get half off May's rent. And, here comes the best news of all. Sit down. My rent is GOING DOWN! Yeah! When does that ever happen? I know, like, never!

I am taking this as a sign that good things are coming down the pike and not just in the form of $2o extra a month. (This does mean that I will have to potentially endure another year of the vomiter, but I think I am okay with that.)

I'm Michelle

I feel like that last post was heavy, so I feel the need to lighten things up with a confession. I was about to type embarrassing, but I then realized that I am not embarrassed about it at all. Come on, I am sharing it with the entire internet. That's right kids, the ENTIRE internet will read this. Jealous?

Okay...here it goes.

I love the Olsen twins. And I may or may not have seen like every movie they were ever in. More like may...okay, totally have.


I think it started when I was little and would watch TGIF with my step sisters. When shows would come on we would quickly say who we were going to "be" while the show was on. Think credits rolling...my oldest step sister would loudly announce, "I'm DJ," when Candace Cameron appeared on the screen. My other step sister would always F'in jump in and claim Jodie Sweeten before I got a chance to. (But really, who's laughin' now...she turned out to be a meth addict...Jodie Sweeten. Not my step sister. Although, I haven't talked to her in a few years so don't take me at my word on that one.) Anyway, I was always stuck being Michelle, which meant I was Mary-Kate and Ashley...or both. I'm not sure how the rules worked. I hated it. I wasn't an effing baby, but at some point things turned around. It may have been To Grandmother's House We Go or Double, Double, Toil and Trouble. I can't quite be sure. All I know is they hooked me. I can't get enough. And if we ever watch Full House together, don't even try "be" Michelle. I'm her. You can be Aunt Becky or something.

more leftovers

Okay, so to pick up where we left off....

Cuddle Gate 2009. Yeah, we had a layover in Pittsburgh for about two hours and the second the train stopped I was out of there. Not that I was in a race to do nothing at the train station...I was just in a race to do nothing at the train station away from my train buddy. Sad thing is that the Pittsburgh train station is about the size of my studio apartment. Well, this is what I had to say about the experience:

The upside is that I believe that passing out on my bosom and remaining alcohol free for a few hours sobered my friend up a little bit. Hopefully he was embarrassed when he woke up in my chest and decided to avoid me as much as I avoided him in the closet they call a train station in Pittsburgh.

The rest of the train trip was uneventful. Long and uneventful. Just like I wanted. I will leave you with the highlights of my trip home because you don't want to read all the details and I don't want to type them:

• I lounged around at my dad's house...a lot, which was basically awesome.
• My dad plays an embarrassing amount of Spider Solitaire on his computer. After a few days I found myself rushing to the computer to play it.
  
• I had a sleep over with my grandparents.
• I went with my grandparents to get them hearing aids.
• My grandmother scolded the hearing aid lady and said, "You really don't need to scream at us." This was once she got the hearing aid in and on. Awesome thing was that the woman was actually talking quietly.
  
• Learned that my grandfather LOVES flipping through the channels on the television NON STOP! This is a little lie because he did stop a few times and once was after about 100 channels. He stopped...on the Terminator...in Spanish. My grandfather doesn't speak a lick of Spanish. He may be thinking of learning though. Watching Spanish television may be his way of immersing himself in the language.
  
• My brother and sister-in-law came the day before Thanksgiving.
• Baked a kick ass pumpkin cheesecake
  
• Ate and drank too much on Thanksgiving
  
• May have gotten slightly drunk, but was overshadowed by my uncle who definitely got drunk.
  
• Played LCR and now I want a set of LCR dice so bad
  
• Got no pity during LCR when I proclaimed, "Remember, I have no job. I need money."
• Went to the beach. Yes, the Jersey Shore, but without the spiked hair and spray tans.
  
• Had some great talks with my dad.
• Played about ten rounds of Catch Phrase with my family. Young People vs. Old People.
  
• Young People kicked ass.
• Laughed my ass off when my cousin Keirsten was trying to get us to guess "Detroit Tigers," and gave the clue, "capitol of Michigan." (She is a high school teacher.)
• Oh, and when she was trying to get us to guess tiger she yelled, "God dammit another cat name!" after we guess, "Lion, jaguar, panther..."
• Threw up in my mouth watching zit porn. (Be. Warned.)
  
• Enjoyed a relatively boring train trip home and no one tried to molest me.
  
• I did have to listen to a crazy man who didn't pick up on social queues of when to stop talking to strangers. He went as far as to tell this 80 year old woman that he loved her and was so happy they met. He gave her a hug and over his shoulders she rolled her eyes at me.
  
• She became my hero.
• Developed a disdain for Pittsburgh after my four hour lay over there.
  
• Found out that the entire "city" of Pittsburgh shuts down at 9pm.
• Took a cab home and was reminded why I love Chicago as we drove down Lake Shore Drive during the sunrise.
  
• Realized that New Jersey will forever hold a special place in my heart and I will always love it, but Chicago is my soul mate.

my to do list...

For those of you wondering, I only did half of everything on my to do list before I left for New Jersey. Half. Of. Everything. That was like the biggest fail ever. I didn't do one thing completely at all...well, besides pack.

I did all of my laundry, but I didn't put it all away. I cleaned my room, but not completely. I washed my sheets but never remade the bed. And my favorite...I washed half the dishes and put the rest in the oven. Yep. I store dirty dishes in the oven. You should think about doing it too.

to see my dad...

I don't think I ever shared that I am, in fact, going to see my dad for Thanksgiving. I am leaving Thursday evening. And, yes, I am taking the train. It will take me about 23 hours, but I am looking forward to every minute of it. Honestly, I am. Even more exciting is that my brother and sister-in-law decided to come to New Jersey as well for the holiday. While they will not be there nearly as long as me (I'm going to be there for over a week), I am super pumped to see them and get to spend time with them as well.

I won't lie that going to see my family causes me some anxiety. I have all these irrational thoughts and fears about them thinking I am too fat, that I will want to come home as soon as I get there, that for some reason my clothes are going to look really out of place, blah blah blah. Like I said, these fears are all irrational. No, I don't look like a model. I won't blow my family away with how I look, but I bet that the first thing they think when they see me is, "Wow, Emily sure hasn't lost any weight."

But, aside from my slight anxiety, I am really excited. I haven't seen my dad in over a year. I will be honest and say that I have learned how to miss my dad. I mean, it is not in the cold hearted way that it may sound. It is just that we moved away from my dad when I was nine years old. I have lived in different states than him for pretty much two thirds of my life. You learn how not to constantly miss someone. One main reason is that it is hard to miss thing about people that you don't know. You don't miss the little things about them because you never got to learn them.

I love my dad a lot though. And, I have not doubt that he loves me. I won't say our relationship is without complication. Clearly there will be some complication when you grow up removed from a parent. But, I don't think I have some weird daddy issues. I've had therapists who have tried to get me to admit I have daddy issues...that I have some great hurt over my relationship or at times lack of relationship with my father. I don't. But, protesting and saying how much I really don't have any issues with my dad only makes them think that I must have some underlying problem. I get it. I use to make that same mistake with clients before. You ask them something and they adamantly protest...it's like the old "thoust dost protest too much" argument. Problem with that is that sometimes it is honest. Sometimes things are as people say. But anyway, now that I have gone on for a while about how I don't have some pent up daddy issue and probably thoroughly convinced you that I do...I will say a few things. While my relationship with my dad is at times complicated, its complications pale in comparison to those I have with my mother. My dad has been nothing but supportive of me in my life and makes a point to tell me that he supports whatever it is that I want or need to do. Whenever I think of taking a leap of faith, he is always the first person to tell me he believes in me. He may not always say he will pick me up if I fall, but I have no doubt that he would. He says he will and does put my brother and I before anyone else in his life. He tells me how it broke his heart when we moved away. He always says I love you. And, I always believe him.

The last one...is hard for me. To be loved and truly believe it...for me is rare. There are few people in this world who I can say that I don't question. It's a flaw. It is something I hope to overcome, but in the mean time I am glad my dad sits in the small camp of people I can trust when they say those three words. So, I guess it doesn't matter that he doesn't know the names of all my friends. That he probably couldn't tell you my favorite TV show. That he doesn't know what I eat for breakfast (or that I really only eat it after 10am). That he doesn't know my bad habits. That he rarely ever saw a report card. That he doesn't know my favorite restaurant or what kind of wine I would order. He can't tell my mood just from a hello on the phone. But, he loves me, which is bigger than any of the small details.

And, I'm excited to see him.

pulling up the rug

I've struggled with writing this post because the magnitude of this topic is so far reaching for me. As many of you are aware, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. A handful of you probably know that it is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, as well. I would say that it surprises me how few people actually know about Domestic Violence Awareness Month, but that would not be true. Domestic violence, at its core, is something we shy away from. So, it makes sense that the month dedicated to raising awareness is not always highlighted as it should be.

It's something people don't like to talk about. Don't like to acknowledge. It is something that many people would be happy just sweeping under the rug. The one flaw with this mentality is that there is not a rug big enough to hide the realities of domestic violence. One in every four women will experience domestic violence in her lifetime. And while it's not something that is exclusive to the female experience, 85% of all domestic violence survivors are women.
I spent years working in the field of domestic violence. It is an issue very close to my heart and perhaps the topic I can discuss with more passion than anything else. I used to say that I would never do anything else professionally. I saw myself working in the field until retirement. Something changed along the way. It wasn't that it was too depressing. In fact, when I told people what I did for a living the first reaction of a great majority of people was, "that's so sad." Others changed the subject as quickly as possible. I always explained that it wasn't a sad career. My time working in shelters was quite often happy. Yes, there were very sad stories. Heartbreaking stories. Yes, I closed my office door on more then one occasion and cried. However, the shelter was a place of hope. The shelter represented change, whether for a lifetime or a day, in the lives of the women and children who walked through the doors. It was a choice I made, but I chose to see it as a very positive place.

So, it wasn't "sad." And, I didn't leave because it became too depressing. But, it became heavy. I have an insane memory. I can recall a name or a face of someone I met once, years ago, almost instantly. This skill was often called upon at the shelter. I would be asked to join a meeting and would be given a few facts about a woman and her children- I could usually recall her first and last name and the details of previous shelter stays. It came in handy. I knew the details of the stories of almost every woman staying in the shelter. I took notes, but rarely needed them. I just absorbed it all. I could see their faces and their stories in my head. I still can. As I type I remember their names. I moved away and was offered a job outside of the domestic violence field. The break allowed me to reflect and what I realized was that the work became so heavy on my heart. I still see their faces. I still remember their stories. What became harder was that I saw and still see the faces and story of my own family.

You see, we have our own rug we do some sweeping under. We rarely ever talk about it. Once when I was practicing in front of my brother for a public appearance I was going to be making, he questioned the 1 in every 4 statistic. He said, "that's really high, isn't it?" So, I get why someone who hasn't experienced it first hand has trouble grasping the sheer gravity of how widespread the problem is. I get that people can't put a face to it. My brother, who had my face, who had my mom's face...who had his own face...couldn't.

I know the story of a woman who said she didn't deserve better. I know the story of a girl who feared going to school because there was a chance her mother would not live to see her make it home. I know the story of a woman who said she didn't feel loved by a man who didn't beat her. I know the story of a boy who knew his mother only by the name "Bitch," it was all he ever heard her called. I know the story of a woman who said, "he only choked me a little." I know the story of a child who called the four walls of a shelter the only home she ever knew. I know the story of a woman who died at the hands of the one she loved the most.

I know their stories. One of them is mine.

Please, know how real it is. Talk about it. It is the only way to shine light under the rug.

This made my day.

This little nugget...

...was awarded to me by one of my favorites, Amanda at A Silvertongued Serenade.

When I started my blog I wasn't sure if anyone would read it or if I even wanted anyone to read it. It took about a month before I even told most of my friends I had a blog. And, if you know me personally, you know I keep very little private. But, as I gained readership and began receiving comments I can't tell you how special it has made me feel. To know that other people appreciate what I write is beyond what I can express in words.

Thanks!

woot woot

One hour and 15 minutes until the partying begins...

I heart my birthday!

Again with F*cking Disney stuff...

I just got off of the phone with my little brother. He called because I emailed him this video. You see, after I wrote my last post with this video linked I became nostalgic and started watching other videos. Twenty minutes later after singing along I had this out of body experience where I saw myself watching effing Disney videos on youtube at about 1AM...I wanted to hide from myself because it was that embarrassing.

Anyway, I sent my brother the video (linked above) because he was this huge Lion King fan when he was little. He would bring all of his stuffed animals into the living room and blast the soundtrack. It always ended up with him hobbling around and triumphantly holding his Winnie the Poo stuffed animal up in the air (a la Rafiki and Simba).


Oh, he would also sit at his little plastic piano and pretend to be Elton John as he would sign along to Can You Feel the Love Tonight.

As a twelve year old, I didn't find this cute. As an almost twenty-eight year old (yes, my birthday is one week from today even though I am sure you already know that because it is on your calendar and you have a countdown just like I do), I think it is adorable and it makes me miss my brother.

This brings us to today. He called to say he got my email and it made him laugh. He asked what I was doing and why this even crossed my mind. I explained the whole Little Mermaid link from my last post and he started laughing. He then busted out, "Look at this stuff. Isn't it neat? Wouldn't ya think my collections complete?" He laughed. I laughed. And then I said, "Wouldn't ya think I'm a girl, a girl who has everything." He again laughed, as did I. Then he says, "I've got gadgets and gizmos aplenty." To which I joined in, "I've got whozits and whatzits galore. You want thingamabobs, I've got twenty." Five minutes later finishing the song off...we officially became losers.

This, right here, is why I need a job.

Collections

I was recently at a friend's house and he went into the other room, leaving me alone for a second to look around. Everything was neatly in its place. Everything was practical. His place is not empty by any means, it is comfortable and warm and very nicely styled. There are awesome little works of art on his walls. A sentimental photo or two. But, it was all very minimal. Clean.

I look around my room as I type this and am almost embarrassed to list out some of the things in my direct line of sight (a stuffed gall bladder, a wooden letter E, a Zack Morris phone, a snow globe of NYC, an Eiffel Tower, a Chilean three legged good luck pig). My room is by no means minimal. I have weird gadgets and whatnot. I'm like the Ariel (The Little Mermaid) of the studio apartment world. I have "treasures" all over my place. I am a collector. A collector of all things.

I know that the timing of this post doesn't hep the whole "I am not a hoarder" argument, as it comes dangerously on the heels of the In My Bed post. But really, I am not a hoarder. I just collect things, which I get is probably the same argument they use. But really, I'm not. Hoarder I am not. Collector I am.

This practice I have of collecting is not discriminatory. No, no, my friend. I don't just collect items in my apartment. I also collect friends and exes and a whole host of other things as well.

I guess this whole topic also comes up because I was having dinner with a friend tonight and we were discussing how to end relationships that are toxic. It's hard. I think I have shared quite a bit about my view on friendships, dating relationships, etc. I know you may have gotten a skewed version of me if you simply read about my bad dating experiences and how I walked away from those so easily. Don't be fooled though. I put my heart into stuff. I will give all of my soul to fix and mend things...even when it isn't mine to mend...meaning that I have many times in the past taken on fixing the wrong doings of others and have taken on some of the responsibility and burden that comes with "breaking" things. I collect the relationship in my heart. The person. I don't know how to let it go sometimes.

I'm doing much better at purging the bad stuff in my life than I used to. I guess you could say that I am becoming more selective on what it is that I collect and place sentimental value on. When something becomes toxic in your life, it is okay to walk away from it. This is a lesson I've learned with time. With lots of time. Walking away doesn't mean that the thing or the relationship or the person didn't have value at one time. That it wasn't the best thing for you...at one time. But, time moves on and things change. Things evolve. Short of Alzheimer's or serious head trauma, memory of relationships or treasured possessions can't be taken away. I've had relationships that meant so much to me, but what I've learned or had to learn was that ending them is sometimes the best and healthiest thing. Cutting ties doesn't mean that at one point in time they weren't important. They just can't live on and hold the same value for all time. Things change. Not having them in my life anymore doesn't cheapen the past. It doesn't make it disappear. It will hold a special place forever in my history, but it needs to live there...in my past.

I know this is a little all over the place, but I guess the point is to say that as I've come to realize with relationships the same can hold true for personal possessions as well. I can purge belongings from my life and not strip them of their one time importance.

So, I'm not suddenly going to become completely minimalistic. I'm not going to have a closet that will ever just have clothes, shoes, and maybe a box or two. I will always have stuff under my bed and knick knacky stuff on my shelves, but perhaps I will move forward with caution about what I choose to keep. Perhaps I will purge a little. Perhaps I will realize I don't need to hang on to that t-shirt from the company softball team from a company I don't even work for anymore. Perhaps I will realize that while I loved trolls as a kid, I don't need my entire collection as an adult. (don't tell my mom that though because it lives at her house and I am not quite there yet....this is all hypothetical)

I guess I just got to thinking after looking at my friends apartment and talking over dinner tonight:

If I make room by getting rid of some of the collections I don't really need to hold on to except in memory, what good things will I be making room for in my life?


And, just because I know you are wondering...below is a picture of my amazing stuffed gall bladder. It was a gift from a dear friend who knows that I needed one given that my original gall bladder was surgically removed.