Dear Gossip Girl Finale,

Deus ex machina.


love,
hannah

Dear six months after graduation,

I began this post a while ago with the intention of posting it on the date exactly six months after graduation, but as the day drew closer I felt pretty and didn't feel like it was worth reflecting on the last six months. But, I'm feeling a little better now and I am determined to find the things that have developed in the last six months, good an bad, to tak stock of what has felt like much of the same that I didn't know before. Does that make sense? Nothing is really all tr surprising, or necessarily stands out, but that doesn't mean that there's not things to mark.

It has been six months since graduation. What have I done with those six months of being a "real adult"? Let's see

I listened to a lot of The Head and the Heart. Mostly "Rivers and Roads. Sometimes accompanied by tears.

I have moved twice.

I significantly improved my dental hygiene. I am now a regular flosser.

I found a way to arrange all the same artwork (read: magazine cut outs and postcards) that has decorated my walls for the last few years that feels a little more mature.

I have memorized hundreds of students' names.

I've gotten more comfortable speaking on the phone with people I don't know.

I've had a couple Oscar worthy crying moments.

I have kept in touch with friends.

I have not kept in touch with friends.

I've had a couple of surprising bills.

I have not spent enough time outside.

I have read a ton.

I've lost some of my collegiate vocabulary. My sentences aren't constructed quite as well as they used to be.

I discovered I don't like meetings.

I like dressing up for work.

I've developed the necessary "bitch face" for riding the bus.

I've had some unhealthy eating habits.

I've celebrated the full moon.

I've set more goals that I probably have, ever.

I speak in a probably annoying manner to college seniors to the inevitable mess they will soon become.

I've thought a lot about the place of place in my life.

I was offered a legit kitten.

I turned down the kitten.

I've learned to maintain a fairly regular sleep cycle.

I've journaled, both purposely and half-heartedly.

I've not really considered online dating.

I hope to transition away from bed centered lounging, reminiscent of dorm life, and into couch centered lounging.

I haven't seen a lot of movies.

I believe that the decisions I made have been the right decisions for me.

I don't like short stories. They are an excuse to pack as much melancholy into as little pages as possible. And no, some English major at work is not going to convince me otherwise.

I watched Girls. That was a confusing experience.

I've begun to see people around me get engaged.

I've introduced Gossip Girl into the lives of several room mates.

I've felt really lucky.

I've felt really lonely.

I biked, but I don't really feel like a biker.

I've broken or lost some of my favorite pieces of jewelry.

I used some excellent pens and was gifted a Wishbone pencil.

I looked good.

I talked shit about people.

I saw some great theatre for very little money.

I haven't missed being a part of theatre as much as I thought I would.

I've found myself as the only Jew in more and more situations.

I've heard the echoes of my mother's voice in my own.

I had contemplated the value and meaning and complications of service.

I've been awkward.

I've brought people together.

I went out for beer.

I went inside a Summit avenue house.

I've wondered about how you make friends outside of the context of school.

I've gone back and forth about the value of cars many many times.

I've made people laugh.

I am now a reference for people.

I've delved into more and more Jane Austen.

I'm doing alright.

I've, unsurprisingly, watched a lot of tv.

I'm trying to not use the fact that I know this year will probably suck as an excuse to let it suck. But I know that things are going to get better, that some of these things are just a matter of time. Things will settle and sort themselves out and we must ride out the transitional time. I know this year is hard. So, here's hoping the next six months lead you in that direction.

love,
hannah

Dear four years,

Last election day, I didn't vote.  I voted early in Illinois and my father basically handed me a list and said, "Here's who I think you should vote for."  I didn't know then that election means more than the president.

Last election day I was rewarded for voting with a bouncy castle.

Last election day I had to run from watching results to a tech rehearsal.  Our rehearsal was delayed by almost an hour while we celebrated on the lawn.  (It was much warmer than it is today.)  During this whole event, I was dressed as a golfer.

Last election day, I had just begun college.  I was falling asleep in class at least once a week.  I was starting to really feel comfortable with the people who were becoming my friends.  A big four years for me.  I took my first Black Studies class during Obama's first 100 days in office.  I learned to stay awake in class.  I, like so many of the other 18-26 that got President Obama elected the first time, there was a time in those four years when I wasn't so impressed.  I felt like there wasn't the change I had been promised.  I was going to write in February about how I was simply not invested in this election, and then, like so many women, the insane conversations in the beginning of 2012 pulled me back in.  I am now a college graduate with a degree in something generally regarded as an unwise choice.  I am AmeriCorps member, which thankfully means that I'm not unemployed.  I have almost nothing figured out, but things are going pretty well. 

Last election day, I watched the results with a great sense of celebration.

Last election day, I thought it would be the most exciting and engaging election of my lifetime.

This election day, I think that that is not true.  

This election day, I watched the results with a tense feeling in my stomach.  In the end I felt relieved, did a little dance and tried to convince myself to go to sleep so that I can stay awake tomorrow.

This election day, I walked to the polls with my roommates after two days of anxiety dreams where I wasn't allowed to vote.  (Being split between two different states is a real challenge sometimes.)  I brought my own list of candidates to vote for since there were lots of things on the ballot.

This election day, I voted on matters that aren't a complete given; the two Constitutional amendments in Minnesota have been a huge topic of conversation for the last six months and I was glad to vote against them after months and months of "VOTE NO" stickers.

This election day, I left the polls, made myself a real breakfast, took three buses to work and then couldn't tell any of my students who I voted for. 

This election day, I had Gossip Girl (Season One) on one TV and election coverage on mute on a laptop.  There was too much drama in that room.

This election day, I'm reconsidering four years.  At graduation I thought, "Great! This is the last time I will measure my life in four year chunks.  I finished high school and college on time, but now there's nothing left to finish on time!"

I may no longer have things to finish on time, but there are still ways to measure life in four year periods. So, here's to four more years of YouTube with fewer political ads.

Next election day, I don't know what will happen.  Though, I will probably be voting in Illinois!


love,
hannah

Dear albino squirrel,

On my college campus there lived an albino squirrel. It was kind of famous, the kind of thing you would announce once you arrived in class. I never once saw it. I felt a little left out, or like I was always looking in the opposite direction of the squirrel.

Well, I will have you know that in the last week alone I have had three albino squirrel sightings. None of them have been on my college campus and I have no way of knowing whether or not it is the same squirrel, but I have now seen it.

I don't know, it's nice to know that it's real and not some shares elaborate lie to trick people into endlessly looking through the tree branches.


love,
hannah

Dear living young,

This is gonna be scattered, but go with me.  This is what it feels like.

Can I request a mash-up? Because One Direction's "Live While We're Young" and Ke$ha's "Die Young" are just calling for a mash-up.  NOTE: I should search before I say these things, these mash-ups already exist. They're both just so catchy.  I'm doomed to listen to them on repeat tomorrow on the bus.

Today, I think I met my personal best for Facebook action.  I believe that in the span of 24 hours I accrued over 60 likes on just four different posts.  That's what we call building my internet presence.  And knowing my audience. 

I received pity cookies from a student.  At least, I think that's what we can call them.  Yesterday I said that if I got $10,000 I would spend some of it on furniture my house is seriously lacking.  We don't even have a couch to lie down on, so it's been on my mind.  Today I got cookies with a post it note, "Cause you're poor and need furniture.  Here's some cookies."  Earlier today I Skyped with a friend while making cookies for my students tomorrow.  It's all going to work out, I've just got to keep multitasking.

And, finally, a few weeks ago I ran into a professor of mine unexpectedly.  She's one of my most important teachers and I'm only just now realizing that I hadn't seen her since before graduation.  I wrote her an email later, and in her response: "wonderful to see you, too, you look so well and even, dare I say, *happy* -- ?!  Hooray!"  And I've got to say, that's exactly what it feels like.  Dare I say that I feel this happy? After all of the concern and anxiety and plans, I feel this happy? I'm not going to say it's unfair, but it's more than I expected for October.  It has been rough, and there have been tears, meals that went straight to the trash can, and more than a few surprising bills, but I finally feel happy and settled in a way that I didn't anticipate.  I do attribute some of this feeling to the structure that working in a school imposes; that and designated reading time on the bus.  I suppose I thought that this sense of calm couldn't come for a good year or so, but I'm glad to say that it's here now. 

There's just not enough time in the day to everything I want to do.  But, as I'm reading Age of Miracles, the idea of a day is much more confusing and potentially terrifying.

I'll stick with the days that I have and try to get to bed before midnight.  Living young isn't what I expected and for right now, dare I say, I am content to roll with it.


love,
hannah

Dear proctoring the ACT,

Excuse me this comparison, but proctoring the ACT is like being the Doctor and being forced to experience time in a linear fashion. When you're taking the ACT of course it is long, but that time is filled. When all you can do is sit and watch people take the test it becomes dead boring and the time just drags on and on. And I'm even allowed reading material! (Which traditional proctors are not allowed.) We are exactly ten minutes into the math section, and there is no end in sight. I will get to do this once a month for the rest of the year.


love,
hannah

Dear 22 books,

As you may or may not know, I am a huge Goodreads fan.  When I explain the site to people I sometimes get the response "Why in the world would you want to do that online?" I don't know! But it makes me so happy.  I can maintain a list of all the books I want to read and keep track of what I've already read.  Last night I introduced two of my new roommates to the site and they are already hooked.  I am very pleased. 

One of the functions of the site was to create a goal for reading in 2012.  How many books did I want to read? I said 22, then balked and went down to 20, then when I got on a reading roll I moved it back up to 22.  Well, today, I finished book 22! (Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen)

On to book 23! (White Teeth by Zadie Smith.  I think.  I haven't started yet.)


love,
hannah

Dear lazy Sunday,

For years Lazy Sunday felt like a tease.  Lazy? No.  Sundays are stressful.  Sundays are waking up after the most amazing dream only to find out that it wasn't real.  Sundays are for homework and remembering everything that you have yet to do.  Sundays are procrastination and a cry for productivity. 

But, honest to God, I have lazy Sundays now.  I know that Monday is coming and I must return to work and lists of students and bell schedules, but Sunday suddenly has no pressure.  (That's not totally true since I end up typing up lesson plans on Sunday afternoons, but since I've stewed about them for an entire week that has more to do with putting pen to paper.)  I sleep in late, which is now a lazy 9:30, and wander upstairs for a decadent breakfast not eaten in ten minutes.  Sunday isn't so dreadful when you're not a student. 


love,
hannah

Dear river,

My check in question for my students the last two days has been "what is your favorite thing about fall?" Fall is, without a doubt, my favorite season so the question really just allowed me to get excited about everything they said. There were the usual answers, the colors, Halloween, wearing scarves... And then one student said "I like the Mississippi, when you cross it an you can see colors on all sides" and though I had agreed with every answer before that, that answer was my favorite. I have an hour commute to work and one of the ways that I make it bearable for myself is the moment I take everyday when the bus crosses the river. I pause whatever I'm doing and I take a look over both sides of the bridge. The Twin Cities aren't as beautiful as Chicago is to me, but that moment makes it a real competition. There's something amazing about crossing such an important body of water twice a day.

My mother suspects that I might be a river person, that I'm drawn to water. Approaching graduation a friend said that we were drawn to rivers at this time because they just continue to travel, as they have forever, without putting too much effort into thinking of where they are going. We aspired to be rivers.


love,
hannah

Dear Mean Girls,

You have taken over.  It is a blessing and a curse.  I want to apologize/congratulate everyone who dealt/celebrated with me as I wrote that stupid paper last fall.  I leave you with this thought:

Happy Mean Girls Day.  Or, everyday last fall.


love,
hannah

Dear cat bus,

One of my most recent bus drivers must be insane.  He guns the bus down the street the second you've stepped on and so you stumble down the aisle of the bus tumbling into a seat.  I stood up before he got to my stop the other day and I almost flew into the front window.  Dude is insane.  I was forcefully pushed into my seat today as he left the bus stop.  I think I was actually experiencing the cat bus from My Neighbor Totoro.  However, I think I might like my commute more if it looked like this:











Imagine this going across the Mississippi.


love,
hannah

Dear Hot.Cool.Yours.,

This is the slogan for the 2014 Olympic games in Sochi.  Seriously? Apparently Derek Zoolander is lighting the torch in Russia right now.  What is this slogan? Why must Olympic marketing be so weird!


love,
hannah

Dear good hair days,

Sometimes you are just blessed.  And that's lucky.  Sometimes those are also the days when you read over a hundred pages.  Sometimes you clean all the things you've been meaning to clean.  Sometimes you can give wise counsel to friends far and near.  Sometimes you can do all those things and still forget to make the chicken. 


love,
hannah

Dear Oswin,

You are awesome.  Excellent debut.  You might be my Halloween costume.  After one episode. 


love,
hannah

Dear bag pipes,

Though I moved earlier in the summer, I really only went three or four blocks from my old place; still well within the grip of my college.  All my friends were still connected to there and I was still familiar with my surroundings.  On Saturday, I will move again.  This time I know little about the neighborhood, the people I'm living with or what to expect when I get there.  In the last couple of weeks I've gone out of my way to walk through campus when I can.  (Sad for Minnesota, campus looks most beautiful just before the students return.)  There's been the compulsion to pass through while I still can and I think I've been looking for some sort of reaction in myself.  My college's Scottish heritage and my abundant tears surrounding graduation have been well documented here, and I think I was anticipating a similar reaction to this move.  Or, at least one slow beautiful tear. 

As I took what will probably be my last walk through campus, the bag pipers were practicing.  I thought, "this is it! This will bring on the tears!" But no, just as I came across the group they ceased their practice for the night (it was almost nine o'clock) and I passed them, more appreciative of the powerfully bright blue moon than the bag pipes. 

I thought, "maybe this is the day I outlined exactly four months ago today when I'm really lost and emotionally stable enough to listen to my recording of Loch Lommond!" So, I gave it a try.  Mostly I felt a little embarrassed at the poor quality of the recording and the moments when you can hear my friend drop her program as we clasp each others' hands.  I don't think you can hear me sniffling.  (I can't be totally sure, the quality is pretty bad.) 

What I'm left with, I'm not entirely sure.  I feel more emotionally stable than I did four months ago.  (It might be equally as hard to actually identify what I'm feeling, however.)  Unlike in that post four months ago, I have plans! I have big plans.  I'm moving.  I'm teaching.  I'm intentionally moving to somewhere I don't know.  I'm discovering what kinds of beer I like.  I'm keeping up with friends.  I'm not fully packed to move.  I'm frustrated that the sink in the place where I live for only three more days is causing so much trouble. 


love,
hannah

Dear living alone,

I'm so over you.  It was a little interesting at first, but now I'm just bored and lonely.  I think that if I wasn't house sitting for a cat I would have gone crazy with loneliness.  I can imagine that eventually people age out of living with room mates, but right now it just feels necessary.  I bang around the house doing nothing and it's horrible.  I'm not living alone again for a long time.


love,
hannah

Dear Don Pettit,

You are my favorite astronaut. 

Hands down.


love,
hannah

Dear young man who sat to my right this morning,

As per usual, we were sharing our standard seven pieces of personal information. You went to a school nearby, you were an English major, we looked for common acquaintances.  You inquired after my major, which means I had to explain my major, race, ethnicity, but I threw some theater in, cause I'm really interested in theater for education and community building.  You thought that was cool.  (POints!) You shared that your senior thesis dealt with theater.  Oh? Your thesis looks at plays that riff and reference A Raisin in the Sun using Clybourne Park and The Colored Museum.  You must know that there's a very small population for whom that's a very hot opening line. 

Here's all I have to say: it is really too bad that you're going to work in another city. 


love,
hannah

Dear introductions,

It's been a while.  I've been busy, and thus, confused.  (Don't worry, it's okay.  I think that's how it's supposed to be right now.  I got an email today from someone I went to college with that said something to the effect of "hope your transition out of college has been okay, mine has been weird."  Amen sistah.  I think that's how it's supposed to be.  Okay and weird.)

Meeting so many new people means introductions all the time.  "Hi, here are the seven most relevant facts for you to know about me at this time." 

The problem is that those facts don't change.  They don't make for the most interesting conversation.  Although, we're playing a lot of "Do you know this person at that private liberal arts college in Minnesota?" (Something I've learned during my time in Minnesota: here, the endings of last names like Anderson and Jacobsen matter, and they matter in a way that matters less other places.)  So at night I see people who shared my college experience and I don't have to share those facts because they already know them. 

I hope this doesn't sound that gloomy.  Things aren't that gloomy.  I think that's just how things are supposed to feel right now.  Okay but weird.


love,
hannah

Dear flats,

I hate you.  Why would I ever choose to wear shoes that require so much pain to break in?  I have so many blisters.  I haven't had this many blisters since in a fateful night in a club in Mexico.  I give up.  Once I have broken these in I am never bothering with flats ever again. 


love,
hannah

Dear Suarez family,

Ya'll are the best.  Seriously.  I've spent the last four weeks re-watching Ugly Betty which is a fantastic series.  (Surprisingly, it was a pretty good match for my search for post-graduation media about young women.)  It's so colorful, funny and approaches topics of identity more than other network TV shows. 

But most of all, at the center, there's the Suarez family.  So much like our own families and friends, they support, tease, and love each other in an incredibly real way.  And I love them for that.  Cause Mode magazine is crazy, but the family drama is so beautiful. 

I have a major crush on Tony Plana.  Major.

I adore Hilda.  And in this month of watching, I spoke to myself a little bit in a Hilda voice.  There were lots of flailing arms and gestures that highlighted my nails.

Justin's coming out episode/dance is so beautiful.  I teared up.  The best part may be watching everyone who loves him react to his dance with Austin.  So much love!

And Betty.  There are ways that we all wanna be like Betty.  And as hokey as it is, her charge to follow her dreams is damn inspiring.  Betty Suarez gets what she wants and challenges with balancing work, family and a social life. 

Interestingly, this time around I was way more invested in the Betty/Daniel relationship.  I didn't hate the possibility of their romance this time, like I did previously.  

Any case, I needed to share my love for that family.  Also, they are fictional. 


love,
hannah

Dear Aaron Sorkin,

You are among my heroes.  (A huge hero.)  I used to write letters to a friend which detailed how much I wanted to write like you.  You were a huge part of my growing up and an enormous part of my personal television obsession.  

Here's what's up: apparently right now you hate the internet, gossip and women.  And, apparently they all go together.  One of the things that I have always loved about your television work is that you show the families that we make for ourselves, particularly those that come from high pressure professional environments.  Your TV shows demonstrated the ways that we make powerful relationships that we simultaneously choose and fall into; groups of people that spend endless hours together and share some interests, values, but hopefully still argue about interesting things.  That was something that always appealed to me, maybe because I had little experience in the work environment.  In theses families everyone made mistakes, had their moment in the sun and supported each other the whole way through. 

However, The Newsroom is about a patriarchal family where the women screw up a lot, and Daddy swoops in to make everything better.  Or, on the off chance that Daddy makes a error, the women step up and make sacrifices because of their deep (either dying or denied) love for Daddy.  (There are several Daddies in this situation.)  Mr. Sorkin, what's going on with the women in your life? Cause clearly something's going on and it's all coming out in your writing.  (What's with that one character who so far has only clarified that you can in fact have sex in a bathtub?) There's write what you know, but you're still writing to entertain your audience.  But right now, that's all you want to talk about.  Except that it's not even now, you're obsessed with the now of eighteen months ago.  (It should be noted that I thought that would be really cool, but it's turned into lazy writing and spitting on the work of real journalists.) 

Dear sir, you are still one of my favorites, but I just watch old episodes of Sports Night after each episode of The Newsroom to make myself feel better.  Start writing The Newsroom in a way that entertains and respects me or I will mistakenly send this blog post in an email to everyone you work with. 

...because I'm a woman, and I don't understand the modern world or how to operate in it.  

Also, don't ever use the word "bitch" that flippantly ever again. 


love,
hannah

or, "Internet girl" if you please

Dear Tuesdays in July,

Apparently you make me have ice cream for dinner. 

That's a bad habit I could get used to.


love,
hannah

Dear acting,

So I had an interesting moment today.  After seemingly scheduling a teacher for the teen class at the camp where I work, we discovered mid-day today that there was some sort of confusion and she would not be able to teach the class.  This happens to be our busiest two weeks and we are more short-staffed than usual, so this discovery was about to throw our very delicate machine completely off.  The class happened to be sketch comedy and improv, which is one of the few things in the world that I know anything about, so I offered my ability to step in should the class need that, which turned into me skipping most of my normal duties, skipping my break, running down an alley and plopping myself down as leader of this improv class. (It should also be known that there are only four kids in this class.)  After about an hour or more of games, we took a break for snack and so I could gather my thoughts.  But, since there are only four students, break turns into me talking to them.  One student asks, "Did you always know you wanted to be an actor?" and in my mind I froze.  How in the world do I answer this question?

Well kid, I did not always want to be an actor, although there was a five year period where it was my greatest wish and it consumed my daydreams, but that's over now.  But you should be an actor! It's just not for me; I learned early on that the irregular schedule and rejection and process of auditioning was not for me.  But it is a noble profession! I'm not that excited by it now, which is really okay with me.  But it is such fulfilling work, you should be an actor!

That answer would not do.  Instead, I gave her an answer that was perhaps more honest.

I never told anyone what I wanted to be when I was younger for fear that they would remember and then when I did not achieve the incredible ranks of astronauts and ballerinas they would recall my dreams and I would be a failure.  If I never told anyone they could never see me fail/succeed in becoming that lauded profession.  And that's been true of a lot of things, I did the same thing when choosing a college and a major.  

Again, this answer was insufficient, but it was what I offered this thirteen year old.  She laughed and we agreed generally that this was a weird habit and way of looking at the world and we moved on.  But I should have said something like this:

Well kid, acting is incredible work and I am inspired and captivated by it, and should the chance ever come along for me to do it again, I probably would; but it's not my work and I don't want to be an actor.  For once in my life I've finally started telling people who I want to be and what I want to do with my life.  I'm talking with teachers and mentors and parents and writing papers that share what I want to be and why it's important to me.  And that's really new.  About the time when I started wanting to be an actor I learned from those that served as my teachers that you also have to teach to supplement the money you're not making from acting.  And about the time I realized that I didn't want to be an actor, I realized that I still loved theater and the process of creating new work with words and bodies and that I wanted to teach theater more than anything.  Because I think the changes and confidences that come from working with theater and creating your own plays, particularly when you're a teenager, are some of the most valuable and incredible experiences I had, and I want to give other folks younger than me that chance.  I don't want to be an actor, I want to be a teaching artist.  It means more to me to teach than to go through that incredible high of performing for a live audience onstage.  No one wants to be a teaching artist when they're young, but now I'm young-but-not-as-young-as-before and I want to be a teaching artist.  So why am I not working as a teaching artist next year? Because I finally told people.  And kid, this is where my argument wears thin a bit, I'm not doing what I'm telling people I want to do because when I do become a teaching artist that's for real and that's forever and that's a lot of big decisions that I'm not ready to make right now.  I'm not an actor.  I'm really honored that you think I'm an actor.  But you should be an actor.  I will never tell you not to be an actor.  

That answer might also be insufficient, but that's the one that closest to the truth.  I had a blast teaching your class today with no plans prepared, and that's pretty close to what I would like to do for the rest of my life.  

I would also have liked to have been an astronaut, but that concentric circle, zero G, vomit-inducing looking thing at space camp was enough to turn me off. 


love,
hannah

Dear midnight,

We have not met in a long time. Rather, we used to be best friends, inseparable, I didn't know how to function without you; but now we are acquaintances, friends, but a far cry from what we once were. Being a working woman, commuter cyclist and camp song apprentice means that midnight doesn't make as much sense as it used to. It may never have made sense, but the schedule of college students has very little to do with sense.

When the Fourth of July falls on a Wednesday, it makes it basically impossible to schedule any kind of programming for youth because all of their parents take them off to a cabin or a lake to celebrate. And I shall do the same! That means that I have a whole week free of walkie talkies, repeat after me songs and endless photocopying. This may make it sound like my current work is painful, but I think it's close to what I needed; it's a long, full day, connected to the worlds of theater and young people and I'm learning the rhythms and etiquettes of office life. So I'm on a midnight bus headed home to do the Fourth with my family. (I didn't want to waste any of my vacation time so the overnight bus was the only option, plus I've maybe grown to like it. Except for the inevitable old man loudly talking in a foreign language to someone who doesn't know where this guy is headed. "Chicago…Chicago.).

Since the last time I was on the bus I have said goodbye to my dearest roommate family, moved out of our dear house and into a duplex with a student who is just what I was looking for after leaving that home. Last time I was on the bus, I spent a decent amount of the ride gritting my teeth and trying not to cry. That was no small part of the last six weeks, but I'm beginning to think I'm leaving that phase of post-grad life. I can tell stories without fear of tears and talk to people without feeling like I might need to excuse myself and take some deep breaths in the bathroom. When I got on the bus last time my parents made me agree to speak with them everyday because most of the last six weeks I've been living alone. (I get the appeal, but that is so not what I need right now.). We talked everyday for several weeks and now we talk almost everyday. It might be a bit overkill, but it's been working for me.

Things feel different, if only slightly, always with the understanding that things will change for real in September. Right now it definitely feels like I am going back to class in the fall. There might be another weepy phase when I get to September. In the mean time, I am grateful to be busy, to be less sad and to be connected in so many ways. I wish I would write more, cook more and adventure more, but there's time for that. Until September I just want to enjoy midnight when I can and try not to get a serious farmer's tan

Midnight, I miss you. Stay in touch.


love,
hannah

Dear Songs about Jane,

File Under Things That Make Me Feel Old:

Maroon 5's first big album, Songs About Jane, is about to be re-released in a special tenth anniversary package. 

When that album first came out, I was finishing seventh grade.  I really remember the album because one of my counselors during my only summer at sleep-away camp said they were her favorite band.  Other memorable moments from my one summer away: I borke my glasses in a pillow fight, pretty sure I only showered twice, wrote home once much to my parents' distress, and had my first kiss.  Ten years later and now I'm running a summer camp. 

But what will the album be this summer?


love,
hannah

Dear giant TARDIS,

In January, one of my roommates and I used the supplies provided by the school to student organizations to create a giant TARDIS.  Using the giant rolls of blue paper we crafted a six-foot tall TARDIS.  It was made for a party that was wild animal/Doctor Who themed, and served as a backdrop for photos, but then it hung in our dining room for the rest of our tenure in that house.  Every event involved some photos in front of the TARDIS.  Since I'm the only roommate staying in the area I inherited the TARDIS (for which I am incredibly grateful) and I have hung it in my room in my new place.  The TARDIS came to be more than Doctor Who dress up and it began to be our house, so it makes me happy to move it. 

Tonight, the TARDIS has served me well again.  I met my newest roommates and neighbors.  They knocked on my bedroom door and I finally got a chance to meet them.  We were making friendly chatter until they saw my TARDIS.  "You have a TARDIS on your wall.  She has a TARDIS on her wall! We're going to be friends.  Can we move the TARDIS to the main room?" I have made (great) friends before through connections through TV, and I'm excited for it to happen again. 


love,
hannah

Dear senior walkout,

On Friday I witnessed a fantastic ritual.  I've been volunteering in a local high school for the last year (and will be working there next year!) and Friday was the last day of class for the seniors.  I've been an intern in an incredible theater class and the last day for seniors is, by tradition, a potluck and a chance for everyone to share their thoughts and reflections about the seniors.  It was great because I think it was maybe the only chance, outside of yearbooks, for high school seniors to be acknowledged individually for how they have made their mark or grown during their four years.  (When it comes to college, I think there was actually a lot of time for that which has everything to do with size and majors and departments and everything.)  Jan, the teacher, says, "Remember this space, you won't ever be in a space like this ever again... Hug everyone on the way out."  Some students had shed some tears during the reflections, but once the students were actually upon the moment of saying goodbye, many of them turned to tears.  That classroom was an incredible place, unlike anything else they experience in the rest of the school. 

And then quarter to two, Jan is making her final remarks and we start to hear rumbling above us (the classroom is in the basement).  In the weeks leading up to this day, I heard vague mentions of this tradition called the walkout.  Finally I asked, what is this walkout thing? Jan explained, the walkout takes place when the last bell rings on the last day of classes for the seniors; they all pour out of the building and parents and friends are waiting for them at the bottom.  It's urban America, it is a great achievement to graduate high school and there are many of them for whom this will be the last graduation and indeed their last day of school.  The aforementioned rumbling was seniors preparing to bust out the doors for the last time.

I hurried outside with a few other interns to get ready for the seniors' arrival.  The front of the school has a huge staircase, probably thirty feet tall.  There is a DJ at the bottom, some parents have balloons and everyone has a camera.  Soon we can hear chanting from the doors above, "One two, one two!" The anticipation was so exciting and I had no idea what to expect when the clock hit two.  The bell rings, the music starts, and the first dozen students burst out of the building, throwing a pile of papers up into the air so it's raining someone's trigonometry notes.  It felt like a scene from a high school movie.  So I just stand there as the entire senior class parades out of the building and when they reach the bottom there are hugs and handshakes and lots of squealing.  It was a beautiful thing to see.  Everyone left the building together and with some semblance of dignity.  Most of all Not at all like my last day of high school because I don't think I can remember much about that day.  And not at all like my goodbyes in college.  They're ready, and it's not that all of them know what comes next, but there's a hope that comes with this graduation and a rooting in home that doesn't exist in the same way with college.  Particularly because I went out of state for school.  I graduated three weeks ago and I feel uprooted in almost every way. 

It was just a beautiful tradition and great to see kids be proud of their last moments in high school rather than resentful or disappointed.  (I think that's a lot of what I remember about my last days of high school.  A lot of "thank god we don't have to do this anymore" from the people around me.)

In my own life I've taken a pretty direct turn from ritual, which was definitely a huge part of the previous month or so, and I'm headed into routine.  I must simultaneously break old routines and establish new ones.  I haven't established my new routine yet, but I'm learning new places and times and how they fit into the space I already know.  (For instance, I've been unpacking and organizing my new apartment, but I've had Sports Night on in the background.  Sports Night is the perfect background packing entertainment for me because I've seen it enough that I don't really have to pay attention, but when we get to a part I really enjoy it's satisfying.  It is also the packing background I used when unpacking at the last place.)  Working a full day is hard.  And so different from the student schedule I've maintained for the last four years.   My bike path is only partially altered.  I am continually reminded about how little I know about the cities I frequent.  I try and push my radius and familiarity with the area a little bit every day.

I don't know how it's going.  I (like to) think that the weepy phase of post-graduation has passed.  If I ever need to get back into that mindset, all I need to do is listen to the Head and the Heart's "Rivers and Roads," it hits the right spot every time.  I (maybe) have entered into the disappointment phase where I try and balance how much things have changed with how much they haven't.  I got all geared up for this? But this isn't really all that different... What do I want to be the same? What do I want to be different?


love,
hannah

Dear Memorial Day,

My cousin became a bat mitzvah today.  I wasn't there, she's in Chicago and I'm in Minnesota.  It's not an event that I feel terribly sad about missing, but it is another reminder of what living far away from my family means.  It felt different when I was bound by my schedule as a student, but different now that I've made the choice to be elsewhere.  I know why I made this decision, but it doesn't feel different enough yet.  I've moved into a camp job which is very similar to the other summer camp jobs I've worked every summer ever.  I need it to be September because in September I won't return to school as a student and I won't have homework.  I also haven't yet moved into a new place so there's the strange feeling of being at home knowing it is no longer your home.  That was a big scary feeling.  And I really wasn't sure that I could handle three days of this feeling and being mostly alone in the house.  Instead I have escaped to a friend's home nearby where I spend the weekend with her family thinking about the various reasons we move around, or away. 

I keep trying to write.  Or at least, I feel an urge to document the feelings of this time two weeks post-graduation.  There are a lot of feelings.  Some days are very weepy, thankfully I think that phase has mostly passed.  Instead there are a lot of empty days waiting for summer to really begin and then waiting for summer to be over so the rest of my life can begin.  Summer is summer until we don't go back to school.  This is a strange time and I'm basically incapable of describing the feelings.  There are a lot of them.


love,
hannah

Dear Beaver,

You might be my favorite character on Greek.  The episode following a day in your life, "All About Beav" is probably my favorite of all time.  "But what about the children?" I've been watching buttloads of Greek.  I watched a ton tonight and I got into a packing and cleaning groove.  It's awesome, and now I have to go to bed. Because I have to get up and go to work tomorrow. 

I have tons more to say about packing and leaving and yesterday it was going to be really depressing but today I'm on a packing high excited about where all my stuff is headed.  


love,
hannah

Dear early early morning,

You and I have gotten to know each other even better in the recent days.  For both work and play.  It's been alright.  I still feel like I have to go to school tomorrow.  I don't; I'm going to the high school tomorrow, but not any classes where I am the student.  It doesn't feel weird yet. maybe, but it will soon. 

These are strange days, and I don't quite know how to fill them.  I slept for most of today, woke up, ate someone else's pancakes and then spent most of the day watching Greek.  At some point I realized I was hungry, but I don't have that much food.  I had some really flaky granola and wanted to eat it but I wasn't sure, so I ate it out of a shot glass.  It was strange but it worked.  My roommate walked into my room, made a little bit of a face, so I had to explain that I was, in fact, eating granola out of a shot glass.  Her response: I just ate two marshmallows. 

These are strange days. 


love,
hannah

Dear Loch Lommond,

One of my best friends from high school graduated from college this weekend.  She goes (went? That's a scary switch) to a school that ends really early, so I'm just beginning my exam period while she's already moved.  I've watched her parting and goodbyes and graduation as the evidence collects on Facebook.  I sent just one message knowing that at this point in time you just need to experience leaving, not really talk with people who did not share that experience with you.  But I will just say that photos of her roommates and friends (many of whom I have met) and their attempts to say goodbye to a place that has been their home have almost brought me to tears.  Their photos mark a march across a campus much larger than mine and an attempt to recall everything that the space has been for them.  Just watching them do this, even virtually, has been a lot for me. 

The other day as I was laying down to go to bed, I laid there and let myself breathe.  I let myself feel everything that I had been holding back or not ready to feel or the emotions that don't fit into the space of a given day at school.  And I teared up.  I laid in bed and I cried.  I had the sad little moment of realization later that I was holding that back every second of the day.  All the time I spent walking  and working and talking I was always holding back a wall of tears.  Since I still have to go to class and direct a play and do all the other things that come before graduation, the tears are only allowed to be released at very specific instances.  (Mostly at home.  And around other fellow seniors.  Although, to be fair, it did happen the other day at the end of class in front of a professor.) 

Today was another rare instance where the tears could not be held back in public.  Again, to be fair, I knew this was coming.  My roommate of many years had her last choir concert today and I have been to just about every choir concert since we were paired together as roommates four years ago.  I could have cared less about choral music four years ago, but since every semester has ended with a choir concert and a running hug, choir concerts have become very important.  When we were first years (long long ago) the choir sang "Loch Lommond."  It is beautiful and Scottish (our school has a Scottish heritage which reveals itself in strange ways).  There was a recording of that concert, and so I have listened to them singing "Loch Lommond" on iTunes tons of times.  It's just a pretty song, but they sang it many times and became intertwined with my understanding of college. 

This may be a little much, but the song became connected with a sense of belonging at college.  "Loch Lommond" belonged to me, it belonged to my friends, it belonged to the choir, and it belonged to the whole school whether they heard it or not.  There was a belonging in the song that sometimes just doesn't exist during college.  "Loch Lommond" was the best parts of college.  Then the choir didn't sing it for two years and I discovered new ways of belonging in college.  But I would still listen to my recording of the choir singing "Loch Lommond" and remember the best parts of the confusion of freshman year. 

A senior in choir asked that they sing "Loch Lommond again before he graduated.  My roommate shared with us, and I knew, weeks in advance that I was going to cry.  I teared up a whole song ahead of time, just anticipating "Loch Lommond." The friend to my left and I held hands and covertly tried to wipe the tears off our faces.  When the concert was over I was still wiping my eyes.  We did our traditional running hug to trample my roommate, and stood around figuring out what to do next and I kept crying.  Or rather, awkwardly doing that thing where you're trying not to cry, but you can't really talk.  All I could say to describe my reaction was "this is a last that matters."  There are lots of lasts coming up, and some have already happened, but this is the first one that I have really felt.  (There are still two weeks to go.  I'm going to be exhausted at the end of this.) 

I made a crappy recording of the song on my phone so that I could save it for later.  On the recording you can hear me squirm, and my friend drops her program, but you can't hear me crying.  Sitting in the front row I was honestly holding back sobs.  I just listened to the recording and it's not the same.  I don't cry listening to this recording, though I might in a few weeks.  (One day when I'm feeling really lost I will listen to the first recording of "Loch Lommond" and then the last.  It will be a day when I am feeling particularly sad for myself.) 

I've thought about writing a lot in the last few weeks, but I just can't.  All of my entries would be something like "look how much I don't care about my schoolwork," "look how scared I am," or, my favorite, "look how much I don't understand my emotions right now."  In some piece of theory I don't really remember (transnational American studies to be sure) the author detailed belonging as the combination of "being" and "longing."  They might have been speaking about citizenship, but the idea still fits.  I think I've spent so much time recently longing for an experience that's gone, or almost over, or improperly recorded that I haven't given myself a chance to be.  Regardless of the fact that being might be crying, I'm so wrapped up in longing for the nostalgic past or a more discernible future.  I don't belong here anymore, but I am nowhere near ready to leave.

Sometimes I feel stupid, I knew this change was coming.  If I spent more than four years at college I'm breaking the rules in a way.  But this change isn't because I want a change of scenery, or because of a tragedy or a move to be nearer someone I love; this transition is simply a change of function.  Four years and you're done.  I have no idea how to live my life outside of the context of school.  But why didn't I think about how hard leaving would be? Sometimes I have silly moments where I wish I hadn't gotten so invested in people and programs and places here so that it would be easier to leave.  But that's not true, because I am so often satisfied with how I immersed myself in this school and this place and these people. 

There is a quote, found by the friend who held my hand today, that has helped us to understand our wild emotions of the last several months.  It came from her reading on some social structures in the Himalayas (anthropology of course), but clearly the author intended it for graduating college seniors.  Ernestine McHugh writes, "My time there did not make me more whole. It made me more complex and perhaps more fragmented. I am not the same as I would have been had I not gone. It is not the same as it was when I was there." 

I do not belong to this school anymore, but this school will always belong to me.  And, I will have "Loch Lommond." But for now I have to live in this strange limbo between being and longing with no solid plans for the future.  (Don't ask me what I'm doing after graduation.  Probably crying.) 


love,
hannah

Dear Anna Sun,

If it makes any sense, I want the next three weeks to feel like this song.  It probably won't turn out that way, but that's what I'm hoping for. 


love,
hannah

Dear locked knees,

Several years ago, I had the honor of holding the Torah during some portion of High Holiday services.  My parents were pleased that I had been chosen for this honor.  Different members of my family gave me various tips about what to do, since I would have to hold the Torah for a while (a while here being something like six minutes).  I think mostly their advice was to not lock my knees.  Cause it does something to your blood or something.  But, once I got up on to the bimah I wanted to be strong and to not waver while holding the Torah.  I'm pretty sure I must have locked my knees at some point, cause we get about halfway through the prayer and I start to feel funny.  I can't focus my vision and I feel very warm.  I believe this is called "woozy."  I don't remember the details of how it happened, due to the wooziness, but I handed off the Torah to the rabbi and held the prayer book so that he could read from it.  It was a little embarrassing since this was supposed to be "such an honor" but it faded fast.  I am not haunted by the experience of passing off the Torah. 

Today, I was at a rehearsal for What a Stranger May Know, which is an enormous play that commemorates the fifth anniversary of the Virigina Tech shooting.  I'm participating in the reading nearest me tomorrow morning.  And in rehearsal where we stood and read the piece for an hour, I probably locked my knees because somewhere around page ten I started to feel funny.  I couldn't focus on the words as much because I was trying to figure out if I could quickly reverse the effects of my knee stupidity.  (At least, I think that's what it was.)  I made it another ten pages before I really couldn't focus, and couldn't stand up anymore.  I excused myself from the reading to sit and breathe, and cool off.  This, like the Torah experience, was a little embarrassing because then the whole group took a break (partially so they could see if anyone was reacting like me, but I don't think there was anyone else).  When we returned to reading, I fidgeted often and paused more often to take deep breaths and make sure that my knees were bent. 

I am excited to be a part of this project tomorrow morning, but I need to give some thought to how I am going to maintain my body through this whole thing.  For one, I'm going to eat a better breakfast because I think my lack of food today definitely contributed to today's feelings of faintness. 

In other news, I'm obsessed with new albums by artists whose names begin with A.  Seriously, check out Andrew Bird's Break It Yourself and the Alabama Shakes Boys & Girls.  They are keeping a live on repeat. 


love,
hannah

Dear windows,

Recently, I shared my influence book.  One of my favorite pages is this first one. 
I liked that you could see my face, and through my eyes the water.  It felt like it captured my fascination with water and held a certain fixation on water.  Though that may not reflect me all the time, it does feel accurate sometimes. 

Though the image was brand new it felt like something I had seen before.  It felt very familiar but I couldn't tell you why. 

I've spent the last two nights at my grandparent's apartment in Hyde Park for our family's seder.  Many of the windows of their apartment look out on to Lake Michigan, and I remember staring out them as a kid.  (The strangest thing was that you could never hear the water.  You could only see it, so sometimes it felt like someone had turned off the sound on a movie.)  As I was sitting at the table for the seder I looked up and saw where the image from my influence book had come from! There are three sets of two windows in the apartment that look out over Lake Michigan; when seen from the right angle Chicago disappears and you are left alone with the horizon.  There it was! That was the image from my influence book! I had not dreamt it, the image  was real! It was beautiful to see my influence book laid out before me. I tried to take a picture to accompany this post, but the room was too dark and the water was too bright.  Maybe I'll try another day. 

In other news, job searching late at night is confusing, but can be quite fruitful. But also, it is stressful because you send out emails at two in the morning on Sunday knowing that there is no way to get a response any time soon.  You must sit and wait. 

But, that's everything right now.  Sitting and waiting.  Or, as I shared with a friend today, what would Jewish holidays be without repetition and wine? Not much, that's everything.  "Let's do it again, now let's have some wine.  (We survived!)"


love,
hannah

Dear Maria Irene Fornes,

I am Facebook stalking you? How cool is that? Why have I never done this before? Look where Facebook stalking my professors leads me... right into stalking playwrights and feminist theorists that I love. 

Wait, and now a Boal?

I am a theater nerd, but a completely different theater nerd than I was four years ago.

I have work to do.  And I have to pack.  And I must give a tour tomorrow.  And I can't stop listening to Andrew Bird's newest album.


love,
hannah

Dear influences,

I made this book during spring break retreat a few weeks ago, and I'm particularly fond of it.  By no means do I think it encompasses all of my influences, but they were what came to me in the moment, and I'm curious about what made it into the book.  And, I think it's really beautiful and I want to share it, because I don't know how to easily bring into conversation so that I could show it to someone.  So instead, I'm showing it to the blog. 

The cover.  See? Sea and space.  And my heart, somewhere in the middle.

This is a doodle I came up with, at camp, to represent my face with as little detail as possible.  Somewhere I have a mask of this.

Water. (You can see the horizon through my eyes on the page before) I love water

To the Tree!

I've been a part of the Young Artist Program for four years as a student and then two as a mentor.  YAP lead me to some very important friends and teachers, and shaped how I make art and friends.

Sweet home

Chicago (in color!)

A doodle developed in high school that I draw all the time.  All representative of lots of different directions and confusion. 

I loved fairies as a kid.  Loved em.  So while they mean less to me now, they found their way into the book.

Another fairy page.  This time with the phrase "First we form the world around us, and then it forms us." For we have powerful imaginations, but we can forget that.

As a classic Libra I struggle to find balance and make decisions. 

Jellyfish freak me out.  Big time.  But they are also some of the most beautiful creatures.  I just don't want to get too close. 

Jellyfish as a skirt.  I only wore skirts until third grade.  In fact, it was so intense that I wore a tutu over my pajamas every night so that I was always wearing a skirt.

From my mother I've inherited a love of cowboy boots, even if we aren't in the right region. 

The stage!

How I see the stage: less formal.  Lots of yes and. 

The blue doors of important places I've lived.

The Doctor, the flies and Berk Berk; a brief homage to the last four years.

My camel obsession.  Recent but important.

My heart broke open...

and history fell in.  This line is from my favorite book, The Ground Beneath Her Feet by Salman Rushdie.  The personal history: I save all of my fortune cookie fortunes, hoping that one day I will look back at them and they will all make sense. 

love,
hannah

Dear problems,

A dude I don't have that much respect for brought everything into perspective yesterday.  He was oversharing, and in justifying his overshare he said this: We've all got problems.  To me: You've got to figure out your life.  To my friend Salima: Your dad is mad cause you don't wear a headscarf anymore.  To himself: And my balls itch.  We've all got problems. 

We do sir, but I don't think your balls are on par with her hijab or my career.  Just sayin.


love,
hannah

Dear Amy Pond,

I didn't know how attached to you I was until they announced the new companion.  I knew that you were leaving and I didn't have much of a reaction then, but now... You better be good lady Jenna-Louise Coleman.

And I was just saying the other day that I now follow tv less obsessively than before...


love,
hannah

Dear kid who gave me a sugar covered strawberry at lunch,

You are my new favorite lunch buddy.  We would get along so well.

As a side note, I love the days when my parents call me separately within an hour of each other.  Often to say the same thing.  They're so in sync.  I love you guys.


love,
hannah

Dear popcorn,

You are tasty.  (I haven't eaten you today.  That's okay.  There's always more time for that.) 

You are also a useful way to describe things.  A new friend said this the other day, "I like big birds.  I like lots of them.  If it doesn't look like popcorn, I'm not interested."  I had never thought about birds and popcorn, though the comparison feels appropriate. 

Tonight I walked home in the pouring rain, giggling at the sheer power of the water as it hit the ground.  I had a rain coat, but my pants and shoes were instantly soaked.  As the rain hit my coat it sounded just like popcorn, and with my eyes on the ground I thought that it might look like popcorn as well. 

Popcorn might be my new favorite descriptor. 


love,
hannah

Dear Lake Superior,

You are beautiful.  As many have said in the last week, you are the lake that looks like ocean.  What a discovery! And, in so many ways you are unlike any ocean I have ever experienced. 

Don't get me wrong, Lake Michigan will always be my favorite Great Lake, but you are something else entirely.  To stand so far above the water and stare out across your surface... it was magical.  I've never lived anywhere with any kind of height or hill to it, so when I come across land - and water - that doesn't just disappear into the horizon I am bewitched.  What is this land that curves and climbs?


love,
hannah

Dear International Women's Day,

You have gotten more attention this year than ever before.  I don't know what's up, but I like it!  Through both blogs and Facebook I was overwhelmed by well wishes for a happy International Women's Day.  In the past I remember missing the day and realizing that it had passed a week later.  Hopefully, this isn't a fluke and will continue next year!

I have so much to say, and to process, but I will leave you with Ruby instead.  Check out more of Smart Girls at the Party, cause I like them. 

love,
hannah

Dear Filliam H. Muffman,

You are my favorite celebrity couple.  That would be William H Macy and Felicity Huffman for those that don't know.  But, since ya'll are pretty normal there's not much to stalk.  Not that I would, but I just think you're great.  Today you were awarded a rare double star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.  (Aaron Sorkin and David Mamet spoke at the dedication, which is also pretty fantastic.) 

I adore Sports Night.  Tonight, while procrastinating on other work I will watch clips from season two of Sports Night in your honor. 

Congrats, like I said, I think ya'll are super cool.


love,
hannah

Dear Moulin Rouge,

You are a wack ass movie. And, mildly seizure-inducing. Also, my critical deconstruction and introductory feminist film analysis make you a troublesome piece of cinema. (Really, you are troublesome regardless of that. The jump cuts make me a little dizzy.).

That said: EWAN MCGREGOR.


love,
hannah

Dear heels,

We have had quite a day together. I've been awake for approximately seventeen hours and worn two different pairs of heels. I wish I could say that it makes me feel like a real woman, but really I just feel pain in my feet.

The floor of my room was entirely covered when I returned today, so cleaning everything was therapeutic and necessary. What a week I have ahead of me, and then, spring break! Until then The Purse is returned to its rightful place in my closet where I don't touch it.

I got to have a drink with one of my professors tonight! It was exciting and bizarre. Time for bed.


love,
hannah

Dear Sally Hemmings jokes,

It must be a really boring night at the airport when the folks running security are at the point of Sally Hemmings jokes. They even got to the point of assigning who would work in the field and who would work in the house. (There was a conclusion that it didn't matter, it would all be bad.). It was simultaneously hilarious and tragic.

Also, The Purse is approaching outing number three after being taken out for tour number two on Wednesday. Wish me luck.


love,
hannah

Dear spectrum,

Here's how it is: Things are volatile, not always in a scary way, but in the sense that the world can shift beneath you at any second.  What was once solid ground can quickly become uneasy.  And you never know.  It is always a surprise, and I think that's the part that is most uncomfortable.  I cannot anticipate or prepare from moment to moment.

And today, this is the song that's getting me through it.

Tonight we did a spectrum exercise, where you move your body to the place on the spectrum that, for tonight, how you feel about the transition out of college.  And just like that the whole world shook and I wasn't sure of anything.  This is not to sound defeatist, because it is thrilling.  But more than that it can be exhausting.  So I listen to the same song over and over, as I did four years ago with this song and finals.  (I'm sure my mother can remember.) 

So then I come across articles like this and I just burst into tears.  But I have an incredible community of friends, family and teachers to support me, and that's more than I can ask for.  Instead of dwelling on the ever-changing spectrum beneath my feet, I'm going to watch Gossip Girl, and that is going to be okay.  Okay?


love,
hannah

Dear Heers,

This is the song that started my day:

I don't know what it means and that doesn't really matter.  Although, upon a seventh listen maybe there's this: And he asks me what I want to be / I got nothin to say / He says that's okay he says.

It's workin' for me either way.  I have three job interviews ahead of me, and three behind me.  And other school related things to do.  How can spring break be two weeks away? How can I be feeling this good? I'm so confused. 

This morning I was developing a rant for Billy Crystal and the blackface that made an appearance in last night's Oscars.  In the end, everything I have to say has been said a hundred times before.  It shouldn't have appeared in last night's show, and I'm surprised and appalled.  FIX IT. 

love,
hannah

Dear Dame Judi Dench,

You're going blind! Tragic. Eight minutes until class is over.

I need a haircut.


love,
hannah

Dear nucleosynthesis.

Can you tell I'm not paying attention?

You just said, "we'll get back to the good news in a minute." Oy. Bring in the quasars! That better captures my interest.


































love,
hannah

Dear the former and the latter,

I used to be able to tell the difference between the two of you really easily, but now I actually have to think about it.  Is this what being older is? Why is this such a challenge for me?

As in, I genuinely must pause before using those words, or worse, understanding them together.  


love,
hannah

Dear Valentine's Day,

I genuinely like you.  A lot.  This is entirely thanks to my grandma, who has sent me a box of valentine supplies every year of my life.  In return for the supplies I made valentines for every relative.  (Some were great like the year we spelled out "I love you" with our bodies, some not so great, my teenage years?) 

Once, a couple years ago I was actually with someone for Valentine's Day and there was stuff in my locker and everything, except that I didn't know what to do with a stuffed animal puppy and candy.  (It was sweet! But I didn't realize that it was for me.  That's how out of touch I am.  In return I made him a valentine that read "Boo-ski" which apparently received a funny look from his mother.)  And so I totally get that feeling of "sad single shame" day, since that has been most of my Valentine's Days.  And I'm down with Occupy V-Day, if only because the phrase "couple-talism" cracks me up.  I also get that liberal arts colleges are a hotbed of cynicism and criticism, but I really like Valentine's Day.

It probably is a corporate creation, and minorly evil and environmentally stupid, but I do it.  I like to take a moment in the year to remind all the people in my life how much they mean to me and how much I love them.  (My house held a Galentine's Day celebration yesterday that was fantastic.)  There are so many different kinds of love in my life, and each of them needs to be recognized.  That's my Valentine's Day.  (I really wanted to make valentines for my professors/academic departments, but job searching got in the way of that.)  I haven't had time to make paper valentines for everyone who deserves one.  That's a post-grad aspiration. 

This morning I woke up to some crazy dreams that are directly connected to my job search and asking people to be references.  (No worries, everything is okay.)  So in order to make everything better I started a butt-shaking mix.  It really isn't the Valentine's Day mix I was hoping it would be, so I'm not going to advertise it as such.  Instead, I'll give you the highlights, and just have you know that I listened to them non-stop today.  (Sam Cooke makes snow magical.)

Accentuate the Positive: Sam Cooke
Gone in the Morning: Newton Faulkner
I'll Be Satisfied: Ryan Shaw
Without You: David Guetta and Usher

Shake your butt, share the love and enjoy this Valentine's Day!


love,
hannah

Dear book deal,

We are making plans.  I've got a title (which I'm not sharing yet) for my memoir.  It's gonna take some work over the next few years but the book is gonna be awesome.  Get ready, for real.  Publishers? Prepare for my proposal.


love,
hannah

Dear Eames Era,

You happen to be the one band that I have never been able to get anyone else interested in.  The only one! I can be decently influential when it comes to spreading music, but no one else seems to appreciate you the way that I do.  I once joined a Facebook group to acknowledge your awesomeness, and there were only 11 members.  One of them was in Peru.  (At least you've got some global fans.)

Regardless of the fact that no one else likes you, you're all I listened to you.  The Eames Era all day long.  Every walk, every study break was accompanied by your two excellent albums: Double Dutch and Heroes and Sheroes.  You maintained by vague sense of panic, but also made me feel peppy and light.  Well done. 

I'm passing you on. 

Oh, and now YouTube comments tell me that you're not even together anymore.  What kind of day has it been


love,
hannah