Chrissy's Blog

Okay. I’m doing it. I’m applying to MFA programs. I’m not 100% sure that this is the best thing for me, but the percentage is pretty high up there. I have been so unwilling to commit to anything, because I want it to be a sure thing. But nothing ever really can be. The truth is once I graduated from college, I took a year off to live life outside of school since that had been my whole life. I ended up broke, exhausted, and moving back to Nevada to live with my parents.

My plan was always to go back to school, most likely for an MFA, but I got so sidetracked, so swept up in worry and logic. So I put it off, ignored it, looked into teaching programs, studied for the LSAT, tried to get into publishing, office management, and it never made me happy.

The last couple of months it still haunted me, maybe it is the best thing for me. Finally, about a week ago, I put my resolve to the test and decided that I just have to do it. Now I have two months. Two months to take the GRE. Two months to write personal statements, letters of intent, fiction writing samples. Honestly, I don’t know how it is all going to get done.

What I do know is that on Tuesday, I left work early, I cancelled my plans to go out, I took out my contacts, curled up with my laptop and set to work. It felt amazing. I felt energized, excited, ready. Worst case scenario. I don’t get in anywhere, and I go from there. Best case scenario. I get into a great school that pays me to write and explore a literary life for a couple of years in a new place.

What am I even doing writing on here right now? I have so much to do!!

P.S. Anyone that wants to read drafts of my writing samples and be a harsh critic, feel free to let me know! I’d looove the feedback.

Something has slowly crept over me the last couple of weeks. I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was, but I knew it was unpleasant and was standing very clearly between myself and happiness. Was I sad? No. I’ve felt sad before, and I knew that honestly there is nothing to be sad about right now. Was I angry? A little, but not enough to be controlling my life or enveloping me in this fog. I tried so hard to put words to it. Lost? Unfulfilled? Bored? Eventually the word “scared” came to the surface, and I realized that is exactly what I am. Scared, terrified, shaking in my trusty cowgirl boots. I feel like the miniature poodles that come into our office and just shake. We offer them treats, coo at them, pet them, but their big glossy eyes look back at us, and they can’t stop shaking.

The obvious follow-up question to this realization is what am I afraid of. Everything! To be completely honest, EVERYTHING! From getting sick off of food that’s been in my fridge too long to never being more than a receptionist to dying alone to being kidnapped, raped, and killed. I’m afraid of it all. It brings me some relief to have a name and an understanding of what has been bothering me, but it doesn’t bring much.

What exactly do you do when everything in your life feels overwhelming and insurmountable? I’m terrified that I’ll never be a real writer, that I’ll never write a quality novel, that I’ll succumb to a job that’s nothing more than a paycheck. On the other hand, I’m terrified I’ll be poor my whole life, that I’ll never have health insurance, that I’ll be 40, broke, and still making ends meet. I’m afraid that I’ll never find a place that feels like home, that I’ll never feel settled. I’m afraid if I take the leap of faith and go back to Seattle, it won’t make me feel better. I’m afraid I’ll get trapped into a life/career/relationship in New York, and I’ll become one of these jaded, stuffy people that don’t relate to a world outside the boroughs.

I’m confused as to how this happened to me. Two years ago I was a happy, confident, ambitious, excited 23-year-old. Was it the place? Was it the relationship? Was it the rough cross-country move? Was it taking on the first soul-sucking jobs of my life and realizing that some people do that their entire lives?

I want peace of mind, and I want to have some light shed on the path ahead of me. I want to just be one of those people who feel contented at the end of their day, who can relax and watch a movie without the worry and the fear sitting on their shoulders, whispering terrifying scenarios of what might happen tomorrow, in a week, in a month, in 40 years. I want to breathe easily and fall asleep quickly at night.

Source: Here.

July was a really rough month at the Veterinary Office. Everyone who works there becomes really familiar and in a way, really close to a number of clients. Most clients come in about twice a year for vaccine updates and general check-ups. This is great! It means that their dogs are happy and healthy. The clients that we become close to are the ones whose dogs have something horribly wrong with them. These dogs have to frequently come in for blood tests, check-ups, emergency care, surgeries, and overnight observation stays.

Some of these clients…we hate. They are demanding, bitter, and a lot of them are actually the ones killing their dogs by overfeeding them or by not following the veterinarian’s recommendations. But there are a good number who we love, who we comfort in the waiting room, and they in turn bring us cookies at their next appointment. We become attached to their dogs as we get to know their personalities and begin to closely associate said personalities with the often lovely personalities of their owner’s.

Like I said, July was a rough month. A number of our favorite pets were put down. Cicero, Tiger, Jack, and Ben Ben to name a few. The most difficult loss of the summer has easily been Weston, a lovely Jack Russel Terrier who succumbed to renal disease. His owner’s are this feisty Iranian/Brazilian lesbian couple who have charming accents and finish one anothers’ sentences.  They would come in a couple of times a week, and the entire staff would bend over backwards to accommodate them. When they would call, we recognized their voices and when they had appointments they would bring us all Brazilian chocolates. While Weston was getting special injections in the back, the front desk staff would chat with them, and they became like family.

Their dog was like a child to them, and it was devastating to hear that he had been put to sleep. The main vet actually went to their apartment to put the dog down at home. This doctor NEVER does house-calls but for them it was a give in. After this, like so many things in life, the Iranian/Brazilian couple disappeared from our lives, finding it too painful to be in a vet office.

Yesterday, they popped by on a whim. Still in grief, they wanted to take whoever was available out for drinks at the Irish pub around the corner. Another receptionist, a tech, and I accompanied them for beers while we talked about Weston. They told us hilarious stories of him being studded out in Brazil, and we told them stories of the horrible clients we deal with and how much we really do miss them. It was an awesome night of remembering Weston and enjoying the company of clients who somehow have become friends.

A lot of days I find myself sitting at my desk wishing that I didn’t work in customer service, that I was doing something more with my life, that my degree wasn’t some useless piece of paper gathering dust in my parent’s house. But some days I love my job and feel genuinely happy with the work that me and the practice do. I could not be more grateful for that.

Life post the photography project has been pretty great. It was nice to not have to take pictures and to not stress about what I was doing each day and having to write about it. A pleasant vacation if you will. But I still miss blogging and using this as an outlet to keep in touch with people. So let me tell you all about my lovely trip to Seattle!

When I decided to stay in New York, it wasn’t because I wanted to live here forever or that I was planning on making my home here. I always have intended to leave. But at that point in April, I was generally unwell. Physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, every “-ally” was off kilter. I didn’t want to add the additional stress of a move on top of that. Plus I felt like I was running away from my problems. I wanted to stay here, get well, and turn the story around. I wasn’t going to let New York be a stained memory of a failed relationship. BUT, I miss my Seattle, and it was like a song stuck in my head. Almost every day, I would have a pang of longing to be back in her rainy glory.

So despite being dead-broke, I delved into my savings and bought the tickets for a 10-day stay. I NEEDED a vacation in the worst way possible. I hadn’t had a break in working in months, and I had been through a lot since moving here. I also wanted to secretly test the waters to see if I could really possibly enjoy life in Seattle again, if it was really the city for me.

My trip was perfect. I was beaming from beginning to end, and I had forgotten just how many things I missed. After I dropped my stuff off at my friend Zach’s house, Zach, Liv, and I headed to Lighthouse Coffee in Frelard (Is that the correct term? I’m so out of the loop.) We sat outside in the 60-degree breeze on a bench that looked out over the rolling hills that spill down to Lake Union. I took a sip of my black coffee and pretty much shivered from the experience. “Oh yeah,” I thought to myself. “This is what coffee really tastes like, pure heaven.” None of this $1 deli bullshit, but real full flavored brew. I almost had my mind made up then and there. Yup, I’ve gotta have this in my life every morning.

I went to two Mariner’s games while I was home. Before the first one, as we walked that long stretch of alley road up to the stadium, as soon as we saw my SafeCo, Brett said, “There’s your home.” He was right. I was like a little kid getting ready to go to the zoo. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and saying, “I’m so excited. I’m so excited!” I love that team in a way I’ve never loved anything else. I’m there with them through and through, and all they have to do is keep playing games, and you know what, I’ll just keep on loving them. It’s comforting to have that.

My old friends in Seattle can’t be beat. My friend Stu always takes me on a fancy “date” every time I visit. This time was no exception. I was stuffed from the meal, but he asked for the dessert menu anyways. Without consulting me, he ordered three. Whatta guy!

The night before a group of us were hanging out at a local bar. For my friend Kendra’s birthday, she had bought a bunch of Ring Pops. It was one in the morning, and we were all slightly drunk, just having fun, when Kendra said, “They should make Toe Ring Pops….for sluts.” Was it the timing? Was it the alcohol? Was it just being jovial with friends? I laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe.

After a particularly lovely day of breakfast with an old friend, walking around Greenlake, eating Lavendar Honey ice cream from Molly Moon’s, playing catch with my potential-roommates Zach and Travis (not that one), playing croquet, watching an M’s game at my favorite bar and getting free drinks from my favorite bartender, my other potential roommate, Rory, gave me a ride home on the back of his scooter. I had to wear his bulky helmet, and the scooter only goes about 20 miles an hour. But halfway home, he turned around and told me to hold on tighter, to not be “shy about safety.” I giggled as I tightened my grip and watched the green streets of Seattle pass me by. “This was the best day ever,” I thought to myself.

My last day in Seattle, we ate at Ivar’s in Northlake. That’s okay if you don’t know where that is. I’ll show you!

This was our view as we dined. Weather-wise: perfect. So afterward we went to Gasworks park to play catch, fly kites,and lay in the sun. Someone in my group asked me if I knew that it was over 100 degrees in New York and that people were actually dying. I looked up at the sea planes and kites sharing the air space above my beach blanket and realized how much I just wanted to stay.

At the airport the next morning, I met up with my aforementioned favorite bartender, David, who I had also briefly dated in the months preceding my move to Reno. He is a great guy who I respect. He’s about 15 years older than me and I’ve always found him to be wise and charming. He happened to also have a 7am flight, and it was also in the same terminal. After trudging through security and grabbing some crappy airport breakfast, we found an empty area of the terminal where we sat down and caught up. Eventually, he asked me what no one else in Seattle had gotten around to.

“So,when are you going to move back here?” we both laughed, knowing that he was only half-joking.
“I wish it were that easy. I don’t know if I can just pick up again and move all the way out here. But I’ve missed this place for two years now.”
“I had an ex-girlfriend who moved to New York and ended up living there for three years. She had a lot of pride, and she wanted to prove to herself and everyone that she loved it and that she could make it. But she was absolutely miserable. She ended up moving back here and kicking herself for staying there for so long.”
“I’m not miserable in New York, but I’m nowhere near as happy as I am when I’m here.”
“Just make sure you are staying for the right reasons, not for your pride or for what you think other people expect of you.”
“I can’t just pack up everything and abandon my life there because it would make me happier.”
“But there’s a lot to be said for letting yourself find happiness.”

We talked until he pointed out that my plane was boarding. After a long hug, and vehement promises to try and stay in touch this time, he headed toward his gate, and I boarded my plane back to New York.