Haymarket stressings.

I'm trying to pound out a personal essay at the Haymartket in Northampton. It's a lovely place with antique everything and old wood. Also they have Virgil's soda and really good coffee. I figured it would be helpful to be in a ridiculously pleasant environment while I write this essay that might be the definition of triggering.

It's for my Therapeutic Writing class. I have to write my Writing Autobiography. I tried to write it the other night for the class workshop but I ended up in tears at 2am in my living room. So I went to class without an essay, and realized that one of the most wonderful things about Hampshire is that there's not only always someone weirder than you, but there's also always someone less prepared for class than you. So while everyone else was workshopping their pieces, I met with three other ladies who didn't have essays to workshop. We had a really nice talk about writing and why we do it and why it's so hard to write about why we do it.

I've been writing for my whole life, because it's basically the only thing I feel I both love and am good at. So why wouldn't I write? It's my refuge at this point. I'm really at my happiest when I'm writing something I love. It's also tied up in pretty much every painful experience of my life, so it's really, really hard to write about my history with writing without remembering those experiences. It's also really stressful when, in order to hand this essay in on time, I have to write it regardless of what it triggers.

But I'll do it. As hard as it is, I think it's important to know where you've come from and what tough stuff has made you who you are. If my life were all roses, I'd be the worst, most unrelatable writer in the world.

Living the life of a more fortunate me.

I'm not really that used to getting what I want, so when I woke up this morning to an email from my advisor telling me I had been granted admission into her creative writing workshop that made my head hurt from wanting it so badly, I was hardly able to keep my excitement to a dull roar.

I don't want to jinx things by calling this "my year," but it's hard not to when things are just falling into place all around me. I'm seeing people I like everywhere who listen to me vent about people I don't like. In my classes, I find myself writing things down just because they fascinate me. The other day, I actually went to the gym. I felt like passing out afterwards, but I put in 35 minutes on an elliptical and didn't even feel the need to cancel out all that calorie burning by eating Nutella with a spoon.

Of course, being the neurotic pessimist I usually am, I'm worried that my streak of good fortune will soon be ended with me being hit by a bus somewhere. But I've always been taught to look both ways before crossing a street, so maybe this is for real.

Makeshift incense holders and squash seeds: I think I'm home.

I just made an incense holder. My roommate and I are heavily into making our room smell like a yoga studio, and I decided to give her incense a break and use mine.

I moved in yesterday, and after all the yucky things going on at home it's been one big, long breath of fresh air. Saying hi to people I thought I had forgotten, catching up with lovely old friends, and just living here again. I should say though, that it's not quite the same as last year. So far it's been better. I'm in an on-campus apartment with six others and even though we came together when I answered a roommate ad they put up online, it's worked out great so far. Last year, I missed out on the low-key socializing that happens when you've got a kitchen and living room. We've been sitting in the mismatched chairs a lot, just having real talk. I cooked myself lunch today. I love doing home-y things here. We're going to have a chore wheel soon, and I've already washed a sinkful of dishes and loved it. There's something about cleaning a house you love that just feels fulfilling. As I scrubbed olive oil and squash seeds off an iron skillet, I thought of how good this place already has been to me, and vowed to be just as good in return.

And just like that, she was gone.

This was taken three months ago. Just three months. I pulled her into my lap and she loved the camera and it loved her back (Even though it made me look like I hadn't washed my hair in months.)

We decided to put her to sleep today. If you've been reading past entries you know that she's been sick for a while and was just diagnosed with a tumor in her brain stem. The drugs that were supposed to make the swelling go down didn't work, so radiation wouldn't be possible. Also, the anesthesia would put additional stress on her brain. She's had over three seizures in the past fifteen hours or so, more stress is not okay.

She just doesn't deserve to live like this. She can't even walk on her own. The dog we remember has already died. It just sucks that mean dogs get to live and snarl at people, and Penny who only wanted to share your bed has to get a huge brain tumor and die. She only lived seven years. She had given a lot of joy to a lot of people, but she was only getting started.

Going back to school, I think, will be good. It'll remind me that there is life beyond this, and I'll be surrounded by fall air and foliage and friends. Maybe someday I'll accept that this doesn't just happen in movies and memoirs. It happens to real people too.

In which Lisa gets her hipster war face on.

Well my portfolio is just a paragraph and a half on my computer, and a stack of papers on my nightstand, and I haven't even begun to pack anything I need for the year (or at least until Thanksgiving break) but I know that no matter what, I'm ready for my second year at Hampshire College. I've got my war face on, and I'm equipped to blend right in with all the hipsters who skulk around campus on the regular.

First, I've got a pair of sunglasses with the lenses punched out. My vision is the tops, I don't even wear contacts, but everyone knows that glasses make people look smarter. I'll have much more credibility if I decide to get some fresh air at a party and there's a whole bunch of people debating existential socialism in Palestine or something like that.

Next, I've got my Moleskine. I use it to write down my thought on existential socialism in Palestine.

Finally, a Mason jar. It's so much cooler than a thermos, and holds more coffee. I need my coffee to wax poetic on readings I didn't do. Anyway, this jar is legit because I found it laying around my house, and didn't buy it at Urban Outfitters. When I'm not busy reading Czech philosophy, I'll crochet a cozy for it. When Easter rolls around, I'll rinse out the coffee residue and take it into the woods at 7am to fill it with PBR during Easter Keg Hunt. Later I'll fill it with more coffee to sip while I lay in the sun apathetically hungover.

I love my school to death and if its crippling debt ever forces it to fold I don't know where I'll go, but some of the folks there are serious pieces of work. That being said, I'm so psyched to bring my Mason jar to Keg Hunt. I may even wear the glasses to make my morning drinking seem highbrow and somehow literary.

School-sickness with a side of writers' block

I WANT TO GO BACK TO HAMPSHIRE.

I want foliage and cider donuts, creative minds and packed dance parties in the mods. I want to sit down with my wonderfully kooky advisor and plan my future because it's something worth planning. Being home is not working out right now. I have a constant tension headache and I'm tired all the time. I know I only have five days left here, but it feels like forever. I think I can describe all this as school-sickness, which would be a cousin to the homesickness I felt as summer camp when I was thirteen, but this is kind of a different animal. School-sickness is agitating. The stomach pains of homesickness are all up in my head now.

I'm trying to write my Div 1 essay for my portfolio, so I can move on to Div 2 once school starts. But alas I've come down with writers' block as well. Every time I sit down to write, I either end up writing something that makes me sound like a total spaz, or I can't write anything at all. I have, however, begun to compile some work samples from last year to put into my portfolio. A lot of it is damn good. Weird to think I was productive not so long ago. Hopefully the Pioneer Valley air will still be as motivating as I remember.

Oh and before I go to either take a catnap or get work done, I wanted to say thanks for all the support I've gotten these past few weeks with my dog getting sick. Said support, while somewhat solicited on my part, is much appreciated. A lot is up in the air with her health now, and she still can't walk or stand on her own (sometimes not even with help) but if it is her time to go (which it shouldn't be) she'll at least go at home.