If you’ll recall, I was loathe to join Facebook but finally gave in - to peer pressure from two people whose opinions I value highly… so, whatever. Now I have connections to various people of varying levels of closeness and whatnot. This is fine. I’ve been using Facebook as a place to display my newfound Flickr addiction (obsessively checking my Flickr stats to see which photos are getting the most views… it’s a little sad and a little sick). But that’s another story altogether.

Today’s story is about me being cynical and bitter. Not horribly so. Not even comically so, perhaps. Or not. You decide. Here’s the short story and why the hell it has anything to do with Facebook.

I received a message today via Facebook from a person I knew in high school (and elementary school before then) and who found me on Facebook and requested my Facebook friendship (I feel the need to designate that as its own special flavor). The message (twelve years after high school graduation) was three lines long. The construction:

A greeting, then “Are you married? Any babies?”, and a closing.

This is a sweet and lovely person. She recently had a child and sounds happy. I really would love it if I could just instantly reply, without thinking twice, “Great to hear from you! Congratulations! No marriage and no babies for me, but I’m happy all the same!” to subtly respond to why, at the age of 30, I haven’t found a mate to entrap in marriage and why I haven’t birthed young to propagate our already overpopulated species. Nope.

I have to go through this cynical and, admittedly, downright nasty thought process and get all defensive, practically bristling at the fact that it’s the FIRST THING someone asks. “Are you married? Any babies?”

NO and NO. How about asking, “How are you?” and leaving it open-ended? It’s just a more proper way to handle it, really. What if I were unable to have a baby for any number of reasons? What if I were a lesbian? What if I’d just miscarried or gone through a divorce? Why is the ball-and-chain/baby question first and foremost on most women’s minds? When I say I don’t have either, I almost always see eyebrows and eyes soften and hear the utterance of a sad, sympathetic little “Oh.” (Yes, even when they write - I imagine it then by reading between the lines). Then they ask me if I’m planning on it. Why must people assume that all uterus-equipped bipeds are just floating along until they can jump on the birthing bandwagon?

Mind you, I don’t feel there’s anything innately wrong with jumping on the birthing bandwagon. It’s a personal choice, much like almost everything else in life. My dear friend will be having her baby in just a couple of weeks and I will be in attendance at this birth, acting as her doula. I’m highly supportive of this - it’s what she and her husband want and it will bring them a new shared happiness. That, as they say, is a beautiful thing. Another dear friend just let us know that she’s expecting her second child; she’s always wanted to be a mother, and this is natural and right — for her.

For me, right now, in my current life situation and relationship status and thoughts and beliefs, marriage and motherhood are two things that don’t cross my mind at all… even when I’m talking to my friend about her pregnancy and her child. That maternal instinct that some women have or that kicks in when they get to be my age? Nope. Hasn’t happened. I look at babies and think they’re lovely and cute and a wonder… but I don’t have the stirrings and urges that make me think I want to experience that personally. I just don’t.

The only thing that’s made me change my song from “NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. NEVER.” is that I can’t account for one big variable. The other person. At this point, I seem well on my way to a firmly established spinsterhood, chock-full of fun hobbies, wonderful friends, and no breastfeeding. But I will allow for the 1.3333% chance that I’ll meet someone, and that that someone will be amazing, that we’ll decide that we really like each other in some overlapping period of time, and perhaps decide that we could put up with each other for another 40+ years. If that was the case and this person was suitably amazing and made me want to engage in this redonkulous science experiment starring me as the petri dish… there might be a chance.

But the point is that I dislike myself for being incapable of reacting to that question without anger or annoyance or a defensive attitude or a lengthy blog post to make me feel better for having bitten my tongue and written back, “Congrats. No marriage or kids for me. How are you enjoying motherhood?”

If the post title compels you to start singing that song by the Killers, by all means, do so. Yesterday was chockablock full of things to do. First, at 11 am, I helped a climbing friend move back onto her college campus; she recently had ankle surgery and is on crutches, so a helping hand was needed. I got sweaty very quickly; it was humid and we got everything moved out of the house, into cars, out of cars, and into the dorm in 2 hours and 15 minutes. Intense.

Then I went down to Princeton to meet up with my friend Sara to pick up something she was holding for me (technically, for my mother - but I was happy to play liaison) and then hang out for a bit. We wandered around the Princeton University campus for a while. It’s lovely. Quite lovely. Drew University in Madison, NJ, also has a lovely tree-filled campus, but Princeton kicks its ass with architecture (in some cases, Gothic - which is gorgeous) and sculptures on the grounds. See below for photographic evidence of the sculpture and the architecture:

"Big Figures" by Madgalena Abakanowicz

Alexander Hall at Princeton University

While in Princeton, I also had some delicious gelato - a scoop each of roasted cashew, Anjou pear and SWEET BASIL. They were all quite good - the flavors were amazing and unexpected (esp. sweet basil). The consistency, while good, didn’t quite measure up to the awesomeness of the gelato I had at the Capogiro Gelato Artisans locations in Philadelphia.

Around dinnertime, my brother joined us since he lives about 10 minutes outside of Princeton. So we went and had some Indian food for dinner, along with a fairly tasty Shiraz - Fools Bay Dusty’s Desire Shiraz from the university liquor store across the street. BYOB is nice.

We walked around a bit to make sure we were all OK to drive… stopped and had tea at a Starbucks… and then went on our merry ways. I got home around 10:30, so it was a fairly long day.

And today is all about cleaning. More purging of stuff. I’ve got two more boxes of books for Goodwill, as well as two bags of clothing… and possibly a whole pile of CDs. We shall see how inspired I am to simply throw shit out. I am quite a packrat, so I know the dangers of deliberating too much over whether or not to keep things. Most times, I just have to tell myself, “NO!” and chuck it.

In the long run, it will make it much easier for me to load a moving truck in the coming months (a search on Craigslist today yielded some decent results, so I just have to prepare myself for “comfortable financial readiness” so I can afford to buy any missing niceties and not screw myself by biting off more than I can chew - as I’ve done in the past).

Last night, I had 11 hours of sleep. I got home from work, had some soup and toast and got into bed with a book to read. I fell asleep at 8:30 (without setting my alarm) yet miraculously awoke at 7:30 this morning.

I hope most fervently that I’m not getting sick. The only times that I can sleep this much or need this much sleep are when I’m getting sick or in the depths of a nasty-ass depressive episode. It’s not the latter, so it would seem to be the first. Perhaps that overabundance of sleep will have recharged my body and left me healthier and able to fend off whatever is trying to sicken me.

Ugh.

Anyway, I’ve been feeling a bit of pudding-brain lately and needing some sort of mental stimulation. The NYT crossword puzzle will only take a girl so far. Rock-climbing does involve a decent degree of mental stimulation in the form of problem-solving and strategizing, and I may very well have a new climbing buddy in the coming weeks (my friend messaged me through Facebook and asked how she could get started; we have plans to go this afternoon).

But I need more. I don’t have the money to go back to grad school, and I checked our local adult school offerings and there were some interesting (and affordable) courses like introductory Japanese, introductory guitar, photography, and a film discussion group - so I may try one of those (perhaps guitar since I have one now).

Another thing I’ve thought about is just getting some college textbooks and walking myself through a course (for fun, mind you) that way. Lifehacker just posted their list of the best places to save money on textbooks. Working in the publishing world, I’m aware of how the used textbook trade doesn’t do the book industry any favors, but having been a student who got away with paying very little for her textbooks (English major = NOVELS, working in a bookstore = discounts), I remember well the shock I felt when I actually had to buy something at the campus bookstore at full price. Say, an intro to psych textbook (which I still have today) that set me back $160. Which was and continues to be a sizeable amount of money to pay for a book you’ll use for only a few months, honestly.

Of course, this was 1997 and prices have increased greatly since then. And I know from my brothers’ experiences that the hard science topics like chemistry and the various maths and engineering can easily set you back $300+ per book.

It’s a bit of a no-win situation. The prices are high because the production costs and values are high and the bookstores mark them up to make a profit. Students don’t usually have assloads of money, so they’re looking to save money by buying the last edition or buying it used from last semester’s classes. But I’m beginning to pontificate.

The point is that it might be worth ordering some textbooks like an intro to Japanese or art history. That might keep my brain stimulated for a bit.

And now, time to get ready for work. Half-day = twice the work in half the time. But it’s a holiday, so I should not complain.

This seems to be happening a lot lately - I’m getting tired far more quickly, far more intensely and far more frequently. It’s stress; I know this. I can feel it.

I tried to engage in some retail therapy tonight with a friend from work. Normally, I can find something at Century 21 to scratch that itch. Tonight? Nothing. I tried on some fall boots, some dresses, browsed expensive handbags - and nothing smiled at me devilishly, saying, “You know you want me… take me home tonight. I don’t want to let you go ’til you see the light.” (Yes, that’s Eddie Money. What of it??).

However, I did find boots that I want, but I’ll have to wait until they hit stores later this month. I’ll need to try them on since Shorty McShortersons gals like me who have a bit’o'meat on their bones (and/or well developed calf muscles) have been known to run into problems with tall boots. There’s a whole issue with the boots being designed for much taller, willowy lasses. Those lasses usually have plenty of wiggle room all around their calves in tall boots because the widest part of their leg is at the top of the boot; for me, being short-legged, the widest part of my calf is much lower down the boot (say, near a tall person’s ANKLE) and makes it nearly impossible to find ones that will zip up over that part of my leg.

That said, I remain hopeful that I will try on the new Angora boots from Born and find them to be PERFECT.

And hope springs eternal. Just like my hope that I’ll find a suitable apartment in a non-ghetto area within my price range, ideally on the lower end so I’m not spending 50% of my monthly income on rent. 50% already goes to paying off school loans and credit card debt and car insurance and car payments and other sundry expenses like gas and visits to the doctor and PSE&G bills and the occasional mad dash to the British food store. So, if I want to have money for, I don’t know, food and toilet paper, I sort of have to find something on that lower end.

Since I haven’t been providing high quality narrative posts or commentary lately (or in the last few years, depending on your tastes) here’s a song. Perhaps it’s a bit “twee”, but I love the harmonies. It brings me right back to high school choir and madrigal singing ensemble.

It’s called “Chicago” by Lucy Wainwright Roche (yes - her half-siblings are Martha Wainwright and Rufus Wainwright):

And, OK. Here’s another treat. Speaking of harmonies, here’s a song called “Melody Day” by Caribou.

I fought the urge to leave work early today. I only wanted to leave early so I could make it back home in time to get to a certain store before it closed at 6:00.

That store? The London Food Company in Montclair, NJ. I was sitting here at my desk, drinking tea, and thinking, “You know what would go really well with this tea right about now? A Garibaldi biscuit.

Mmm. Thin biscuit-ness with tons of squished currants between the layers of biscuit. Sweet, but not too sweet. Crunchy, but not dry. So good.

Sadly, I’m out of luck today. Perhaps I’ll be able to justify leaving work early tomorrow for these tasty delights. I have to come in early for a meeting, so it stands to reason that I should leave a little earlier as well, no?

I’ve been going through my books and determining which ones could be donated to Goodwill. Earlier today, three boxes of books were thus removed from my life. I filled up another and have empty boxes ready for the next wheat/chaff separation.

It feels strangely good. First, because I’ve donated them and can pretend that they’ll go on to have fantastically great lives in someone else’s hands. Second, because that’s three fewer boxes I’ll have to worry about packing up and moving with me when I find a new place. Third, because I got rid of some old college books as well as books that were recommended to me by people whose opinions held a lot of sway in my world 12 years ago but who I later came to see as mere mortals after all.

Essentially, lots of those books were an emotional purge; looking at them took me back to a specific time in my life when I was still fairly young, impressionable and not comfortable enough in my own skin to say, “You know what? I don’t like David Foster Wallace at all!” for fear of the people I quasi-pedestalled* losing respect for me because our tastes differed. Those days of youth.

* (Horrible neologism - sorry - but it wasn’t idol worship; I just had them up higher than they deserved to be.)

Anyway, among the books donated today was a copy of A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again. I hesitated for a moment, thought about keeping it so I could give it another shot - perhaps I just wasn’t in the frame of mind to enjoy David Foster Wallace at that time?? I looked at the back cover… read the back cover copy and saw that smug-ass author shot… and tossed it right in the box. See? I can’t even bring myself to post that photo here. I just can’t.

It’s getting late-ish for a Sunday night. I had some semblance of a weekend - which was very nice in an odd way. Even though I was pretty unhappy for most of it, it was an unburdened unhappiness. Lots of tension headaches and neckache. Lots of random around-the-house stuff like dyeing faded curtains, making pancakes and poached eggs and bacon for breakfast, doing dishes by hand since the dishwasher is broken, helping my sister do her hair for a wedding, laundry, ironing and blow-drying a wet book to save it from mildew and worse-than-death, assorted cleaning, purging of the books, etc.

And to treat myself, I ordered a MOO stickerbook of some of my Flickr photos. I don’t think you ever get too old for stickers, really.

I’ve had this same headache (at varying levels of intensity) since Tuesday night. Since I realized that I don’t know what differentiates a migraine from other headaches (other than light sensitivity and nausea), I visited my old friend, WebMD.

I’m not starting down the migraine path, thank goodness. More of the “episodic tension headache” path, characterized by symptoms like:

• Headache upon awakening √
• Difficulty falling asleep and staying asleep √
• Chronic fatigue √
• Irritability √
• Disturbed concentration √
• Mild sensitivity to light or noise √
• General muscle aching √

I’ve checked all the ones that apply to me lately. I’ve been jerking from sleep around 6 am or earlier every day (highly unusual for me), I’ve been a bit of an irritable bitch at work and have caught myself saying things that are marginally rude, I can’t concentrate worth shit and want to sleep all the time, my neck and back are achey, and I am majorly sensitive to light.

So - thankful that it’s not a migraine, but still not liking that these episodic tension headaches can last anywhere from a few hours to two weeks. That’s just not right.

Whatever. I’m feeling like I’m going to fall over in my chair, so I should get to bed.

I did add a Flickr widget/badge today, so I’m feeling good about accomplishing something today.

For quite some time, it’s bothered me that I didn’t know the actual ending of that aphorism. I like to think of myself as a culturally literate person (English and psych majors: please enjoy unpacking that one), so this was especially annoying.

So I used the magic of the internets and looked it up. The full thing is:

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride.

Of course. Of course! I can see now why we’ve truncated it thus - a) we’re inherently lazy and b) beggars are so passé.

Why am I even talking about this? I was thinking about how I wish it was the weekend already. And about my wishes and hopes for the weekend. I know I will have a good time, but I also hope to get some good pictures. My ultimate wish is to get a decent photo of myself. This photo of me with a cocktail umbrella behind my ear (from the one and only drink I had that night) isn’t the most “professional” thing to have up on Facebook. My primary contacts (and reason for joining) are work-related, so there won’t be “eva gone wild” photos coming any time soon.

Also, they don’t exist. Not only because I don’t allow photography (much like the Louvre and other great cultural centers) but because I don’t go wild. If I get a second drink, that’s a lot.

NOTEWORTHY: My friend Sara (coincidentally, the friend with whom I will be spending the weekend) has another review up on PopMatters, yo. Check it - she saw Earlimart perform and wrote about it. You can read it. And should.

Not as noteworthy: I’m watching Akira because while I’ve seen it before, I couldn’t remember a thing about it when it came up in conversation last week. I’ll probably fall asleep 20 minutes into it just by virtue of being in my own bed again, but I can hang onto it for a bit. I am sending back two Netflix tomorrow, so that means I’ll have two fresh ones heading my way shortly. Tasty fresh Netflix.

Cleaning is boring me. But I have a few more hours to do this before I join my mother and brother for dinner - and then attend an evening of Chinese music and dance at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, NJ, performed by Divine Performing Arts.

I’m also thinking that on Thursday night (the only night I’ll have free this week) I might do some blog redesign - because CHANGE IS GOOD.

Tomorrow is Monday and I’m already tired thinking about what I’ve got to do this week. I’ve got a conference Monday through Wednesday, and business dinners Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday night is rock-climbing, and Friday after work I’m leaving for Philly to visit my friend Sara. This week I will truly be working for the weekend.

Rather than driving to Philly and dealing with weekend traffic, expensive gas and scarce parking, I’m taking BoltBus down, so I’ll have to report back on that experience. It’s $26 round trip from NYC to Philly, which is about $10 less than what it would cost me in gas, but I’m saving myself some stress - I hope. My friend at work has used BoltBus before and said she liked them better than Vamoose; she’s taken both to D.C. - but only Bolt goes to Philly. It’s also got free wi-fi, but I don’t have a laptop. Ah, well. I’ll have to deal with being disconnected for a brief while. Or, I can update via email from my cell phone. There is a way. It’s magical.

Anyway - that’s what I’ve got heading my way. I’ll definitely be bringing my camera since there’s a beautiful old cemetery (Laurel Hill Cemetery) I want to photograph, as well as the Arboretum at the Barnes Foundation, and just the city of Philadelphia itself.

There, now. Thinking about that is making me feel a little less stressed. I’ll practice with my scripts for the conference when I get home tonight. I want to keep part of this weekend to myself.

So, after having been deprived of rock-climbing for a solid month, I managed to find a friend to belay and got back to the gym last Wednesday as well as tonight. Last week, I tore the shite out of the skin on my left hand, since my protective callouses had disappeared. My hands were pretty much healed by Sunday, but still looking a bit raw. I didn’t tear them up tonight, but they’re mightily sore and dry… and I’ve actually been doing better at the gym than I expected to after that much time away from climbing.

My biggest problems (what with my gimpy left wrist) have been overhangs. These are precisely what they sound like - parts of the (typically) vertical wall that jut out somewhat horizontally (on an angle, in any event) and “hang over” your head. That might be a poor explanation - a Google image search should help.

So, in order to get past an overhang, at one point or another, I either a) have to hang from the more horizontal portion of the wall by my gimpy wrist and reach up over the overhang with the good wrist, or vice versa (both of which result in some discomfort or unpleasantness) or b) have to pull my entire body up and over through sheer inertia. There’s some major defying of gravity involved; that’s not as easy when you have a butt and hips and not a tremendous amount of upper body strength.

Anyway, I felt pretty good tonight since I got past an overhang that I wasn’t able to get over last week. I could even say I got over it multiple times since once I passed the crucial point of the climb, my hands were so tired they kept giving out with the next move and I kept dropping. And kept returning to that point and trying again. I’m tenacious.

I kept at it and finally just asked my belayer to give me a moment to rest, hung there, shook out my arms and shoulders and hands, exhaled deeply (for some reason, this really works and untenses tension that I sometimes didn’t even know existed until that moment) and just mustered up my last bit of energy to fire through the last two moves and finish the damn thing. And it worked. And I was done. And it was good.

As long as I get to keep going and trying and working at it, there will come a time when these baby steps will become one bigger step, and it won’t be long before it will come naturally. I mean, it was only 11 months ago that I started climbing, and while my progress hasn’t been as speedy as some people’s, it’s been good for someone who’s not innately athletic, who’s missing a bunch of bones and who was struggling to lift a half-pound weight with her left hand 18 months ago.

Just call me Pollyanna.

(Except that’s not exactly what I’m doing. “Pollyanna” has become symbolic of being optimistic, but that wasn’t really her deal - I remember from the book that her attitude was more, “Oh - the mission sent us crutches for Christmas instead of a doll or toy. I guess I should be happy anyway because I’m fortunate that I don’t need those crutches like some other poor child.” I would probably just get angry at the ineptitude of the service organization for leaving some poor crutch-dependent child without crutches because they couldn’t get their gift distribution list together. And I’d want to help them by creating a spreadsheet and a series of checks and balances. But that’s just me.)