Bucket List Again

31. Have a library a la Beauty and the Beast.
32. Learn French.
33. Learn how to salsa and swing dance.
34. Learn how to make at least 5 cocktails expertly.
35. Own and refurbish the Island.
36. Have dogs.
37. Cook expertly.
38. Climb Mount Washington.
39. Return to playing the piano.

Bucket List Part 3

27. Have children.
28. Learn how to repair my own car.
29. Stay up all night and go to brunch the next day still in my outfit from the night before.
30. Learn the "Thriller" dance.

Bucket List Two

14. Publish a bestseller.
15. Live in the Cotswalds in England.
16. Own season tickets to... something.
17. Ride on a Vespa in Rome.
18. Hike parts of, or all of, the Appalachian trail.
19. Parasail.
20. Learn Italian.
21. Go on a cross-country road trip.
22. Buy an Airstream trailer.
23. Learn the bagpipes.
24. Visit wine country.
25. Read all of Anna Karenina.
26. Get a Ph.D.

Grey Day

So I guess this is how it starts.
And maybe this will go somewhere, and maybe it won't. But I'm not going to say most likely, it won't. Because then I just feel as if I'm setting myself up for something no good.

I wish I could put it better than no good. Because it's days like today, when the cold and the chill seeps into my skin, when my hair frizzes in the moisture and I feel as if I'll never be warm or cheerful again, when no good just... isn't good enough. It's days like today when I fear that if something doesn't change, I'll creep inside myself and just become a [hatch] shell of what I used to be.

I'm a do-er. By nature. It's one of my best attributes, and unlike white teeth or cheerfulness, you can't fake being a do-er. You either are or you aren't, and we belong to the elite club of those who make things happen. Those wildly successful start-up companies? The chick who didn't just want to lose weight, but eventually ran marathons? They're do-ers. They're not just content to let things take their natural course. They try to build the levys.

Which is why, when my dad almost kicked the bucket and that whole strange computer thing happened, and then mom started taking antidepressants and then Meg shrunk down to half her weight, I was in a tailspin.

What do I do now? I would think wildly, careening between manic booze-fueled outings and holing up in my bed for days.

And then I moved to Beantown and I really fell apart. For three weeks, I did not leave my room at night except to shower. I ate Special K in my bed, reading books and crying on the phone to my mother while my soul-sucking, money-hording, thieving new roommates skulked around downstairs, dreaming up more ways to sucker half the rent out of me.

After three weeks, I found new roommates and told my old ones that they could fuck off and I was keeping their antique cherrywood table that they left behind. I dumped my boyfriend. I took charge at my job, moved into my new office with authority. I put up a personals ad. I had no friends, but so what? I started a book club and made new ones. In a month, I had dates, friends, and a booked social calendar.

That's a do-er.


But now, here I am six months later, and I feel like crying again.
I have a boyfriend, and I'm fucking great at my job, and I have good friends and a beautiful apartment.



But I still feel stuck.


This is where it starts, the discontent. On a rainy day, with not a lot going on. When all I want to do is leave.


I was lying in bed this morning thinking about how much my boss scares me and thinking about the movie THE BUCKET LIST. And all I could think was, why wait? Why wouldn't I make a bucket list now? Why wouldn't I do all these things now, when I'm young and full of energy and opportunity?




I'm starting one. And I'll keep on going:





THE BUCKET LIST:

1. Live on a sailboat for a period of time, whether it be a week or a month or a year.
2. Open an antiques shop.
3. Own my own house, and make it beautiful.
4. Learn how to do construction. Build something big, a shed or a whole addition.
5. Knit mittens.
6. Make beautiful jewelry.
7. Live in Kauai in a house by the beach.
8. Run a half marathon.
9. Learn to accept my body.
10. Ride in a limo.
11. Get married.
12. Make a quilt.
13. Go completely green. Have a garden and grow lots of vegetables. Learn how to compost. Build solar panels. Recycle crazily. Ride my bike a lot. Become self-sufficient.




I think that's a good start.

The Love Letter: Part III

This is the end of the second love letter I've ever written to you.

The first one was saying goodbye.

This one is saying hello to the rest of my life with you.






I want to grow old with you.

I want years and years by your side.

I want to love you as best I can, as strongly as I can, until we don't even have to say the jokes because we already know what they're going to be.






Happy Valentine's Day.



I love you. Always.

Conversations At Night; Part III

Tell me how lucky I am.



I'm the lucky one.

Conversations At Night: Part II

Read to me?

Are you sure?


I could listen to you read for hours.


I could read to you for hours.