Rachel Not Rebecca » closure

Catch Up

Rachel Not Rebecca — Thu, 28 Jun 2007 15:31:00 +0000

Hurray for the east coast. I have had delicious pizza and bagels and thus life is good.

In my last days in Chicago, I managed to have some fun. I had a drink at the Lounge in the John Hancock building. I jumped in Lake Michigan with all my clothes on. I met up with Adrienne for lunch. Adrienne is a high school acquintence of mine whom I’ve known via Onstage tech and decathlon. Adrienne is one of those people whom I’ve always wished I got to know better.

Final thoughts on MAPSS?

Well, it wasn’t the worst way to spend 9 months.

Scene: Chris, trying to convince me that my thesis is not a failure.
Me: Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’ll say it again ‘An MA in 9 months is way more productive than getting knocked up’
Chris: Yeah that only takes a day. Or like, 10 minutes!

Well, I did get a boyfriend this year, so at least I’ve accomplished something
-Sarah

I am not qualified for any job my MA could get me
-Eric

Who is this “Chad” person?
-someone’s thesis advisor

What’s wrong with the people in your program? They always look so depressed
-CIR person

I don’t know anyone who’s said ‘MAPSS was a great experience! I’m so glad I came!’
-the conclusion of last week’s conversation

Damnit, I should have done CIR!
-me

MAPSS lies
-the general consensus

Man, I’ve Gotta Get Out of This Town

Rachel Not Rebecca — Tue, 19 Jun 2007 20:54:00 +0000

Damn, I’ve written a lot lately. Chalk it up to procrastination. Packing in my overheated apartment is absolutely no fun. It’s far better to sit in front of the fan, or sit in my air-conditioned office. The problem with not being busy is nothing gets done. When I have a million things to get done, I’m like a machine. When I have nothing to do but pack and enjoy my last few days here, I am a useless waste of space.

I have also acquired way too many books between thesis stuff and class materials, which I am hoping I can fit in the car. There is an odd balance of stuff that I took out here that’s not going back, because its going to my brother’s apartment, and stuff I’ve acquired here.

Also, I normally save EVERYTHING. Class notes, print outs of readings, etc. I have an entire filing box full of stuff from my undergrad; all my OCD notes, etc. But I am showing no mercy. I have probably gotten rid of several trees worth of print-outs. It’s kind of freeing. Like it took me about 18 months of thinking about it to even sort through all my undergrad garbage and file it. Now this stuff is gone and I never have to worry about it again. Which makes me think I should throw away all the boxes of stuff that are in my parent’s attic.

Plans for the rest of the week include going to the aquarium, because its free this week and they have penguins, meeting up with Adrienne for lunch, seeing some people on last time, and wishing good riddance to Hyde Park and U Chicago. This is new and different, as the end of anything usually brings on a giant bout of nostalgia, but I’m so done here. I can’t wait to drive away.

Anything Can Happen

Rachel Not Rebecca — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 01:08:00 +0000

So after discussing the logistics of yet another move (blech) it’s official. I’ll be back in New York/Jersey at the end of June. No, I do not have a job or an apartment. However, last time I decided to move to New York I didn’t have either of those things, and it worked out pretty well.

It’s a weight off my shoulders to know; that’s one less decision to make. It’s the obvious thing to do really — Chicago has never felt quite right.

Getting that rough draft in really confirmed it for me — I’m almost done with what I came here to do, and now I’m ready to go home.
And as I learned in the final weeks of my final semester at Skidmore and as I saw again in my last few weeks in the city, a lot can happen in a short period of time, especially when you’re living towards an end.

Now to catch up my IR reading, write one awesome final draft, and get my ass back for the Second-Great-Job-and-Apartment-Search. Actually, properly speaking its the second great job hunt and the third great apartment hunt. And while I’m sure I’ll be cranky in the process (ug, job hunting. In July.) its going to be worth it.

Protected: Obviously, I am Zen

Rachel Not Rebecca — Fri, 01 Sep 2006 21:39:00 +0000

Protected: Best Attempt At Grace, Redux

Rachel Not Rebecca — Fri, 07 Jul 2006 17:43:00 +0000

Boys in Black T-Shirts.

Rachel Not Rebecca — Thu, 13 Apr 2006 22:04:00 +0000

So I went last night, and I actually had fun, and it was the right about of socializing to snap me out of my “waaah, I don’t want to socialize” mood.

I got home, and I talked to HeWhoShallNotBeNamed, who was ¾ of the way into a bottle of wine…which made for an interesting conversation, in which he called me “babe” and “darling” a lot.

But we also talked, really talked, for the first time in almost a year. He told me about things with his current girlfriend. He loves her. Considers her marriage material. There’s a small twinge of jealousy.

But when he says, “I still maintain that you and I never would have worked long term” I can finally agree. Hindsight is 20/20. And then to my surprise “But I know I should have treated you better. I didn’t give you enough credit, and I didn’t respect your feelings.”

That was shocking. Especially coming from him.

We talked about U Chicago, New York rents, and Astoria bars. I told him a little bit about my life.

And then it came back to “us” even though there was never really an “us.”

“Can we admit we had an aborted relationship?” he asks me. “I still insist it never would have worked, and I was right for saying that.”

“You were right. You didn’t have to be such an asshole, but it was college. So whatever.”

“Can I call you my ex-girlfriend?”

“I already call you my ex-boyfriend.”

“Nice!”

He’s gotten, as I teased “profound”, but really I think it’s just that he’s a bit more sensitive, probably the result of having a girlfriend he’s actually interested in keeping. And it’s weird; I’m kind of happy for him. I’m kind of happy that he’s not such a jerk anymore, even though he was such a jerk to me. It makes me feel like I wasn’t crazy for seeing that potential.

So it was an amusing conversation, rather confessional on his side, I must say, and…yeah. Talking to him no longer makes my heart pound or my hands shake. So finally making good on dinner is set for Saturday, and it’s going to be kind of weird, but a year after-the-fact, I think I am finally confident enough to handle it.

Protected: Break Up Boxes

Rachel Not Rebecca — Wed, 20 Jul 2005 04:54:00 +0000

Protected: Careening Through the Universe

Rachel Not Rebecca — Mon, 18 Jul 2005 05:05:00 +0000

Done — Redux

Rachel Not Rebecca — Sat, 02 Jul 2005 06:17:00 +0000

When I wrote “Done” last summer, it was a lie. I wasn’t anywhere near done with HWSNBN.

This summer, I still think about it a million times a day, but I have decided that I can no longer expend anymore of my emotional energy. It’s been hurting me for way too long.

Because, as Hobbes wrote, an appetite for something that can be attained is understandable and acceptable – that’s just called hope. But to want for something with no possibility of attainment? That’s just despair. And I don’t want to feel that way anymore. It’s one thing to be “fine” with someone who doesn’t want to be with you, but it’s quite another to be “fine” with someone who has moved on from you.

This time, I’m “fine” with this, because I have to be. In some ways, it’s a relief, almost. It’s no fun to keep getting hurt.

I have to admit, despite the fact that I loved being around him, I would spend every train ride home wracked with insecurity, my mind running over the hundred things I did wrong THIS weekend, and well, that pretty much felt awful. No one, except probably Laura, understood why I kept doing this – I’m a smart girl, and I’m supposed to be too smart for this.

I haven’t been able to give up until now because I never really got a chance in the first place – and I wanted one. I wish the timing had been better, because he fell into my life at the worst possible time – I wish it hadn’t just been a rebound fling. I wish I hadn’t been such a mess last year. Once he hurt me I was so scared of it happening again, that I just kept acting out and getting him to hurt me so at least I would know what to expect.

I don’t blame him for getting frustrated with me, but the reason we kept having the same conversation, was because no matter how many times he told me “no” his actions left open just enough possibility.

So I do hate this.

I hate that I spent so many months falling in and falling out, and falling in, spent a few weeks of having exactly what I wanted, only to wind up exactly where I started. I was just a whim – albeit a highly sexually charged whim. I hate that he was thinking of someone else any time he was with me. I feel stupid. That even though all the signs were there, and when we both let down our guards there was just this energy between us, I was wrong, over and over again.

And really, I hate the loss of possibility. When he kissed me for the first time a year and a half ago, after I had had a crush on him for so long, and completely given up on the chance of anything ever happening between us, there felt like there was so much possibility.

Just a whim. I have to remind myself of that. He asked if we could be friends. I glared through my tears that we are barely even friends now.

“Then why did you even think it would work in the long term?”

And the ugly truth is merely because I wanted it too. Because I wanted him to care. Because I wanted to call him with good news or bad days and vice versa. Because I thought we could have, if we – who am I kidding, if he — let it happen. There doesn’t seem to be a point in trying for that anymore. He hasn’t spoken to me unless I have spoken to him first in three months. I know he doesn’t care if we stay friends.

The ambiguity was what killed me. Ambiguity always kills me. I told him that the first night. And good god I don’t want to think about that night, because I will cry if I think about how ridiculously happy it made me.

Anyway. I’m sad about this, but I’m also relieved, because I would have kept chasing him as long as he let me, and playing second best isn’t much fun. This is as amicable as possible; no malice on my part, and not even any bitterness. I don’t hate him.

I need to cut ties, because no matter how tough-as-nails I have the ability to be, it’s way too painful to see him with someone else right now. I’m only human. I care about him, and wish only the best for him, but that doesn’t mean I have the desire to smile through this kind of tears. There’s nothing noble in that.

So I’m writing this, because it’s all I know how to do, and after all, HWSNBN was the one who told me last summer after reading ridiculously dramatic entries “if you want to be a writer, it will happen for you…get people to start investing in you now. And writing it down makes it real.

And it isn’t going to hurt a year from now; this too shall pass. This will happen again…Years from now, I’m going to be laughing with Laura and Sebastian about the crush I have on some guy who just joined the department at whatever school I”m teaching at. He’ll be cute, and intelligent, and arrogant, and Laura will tease me “Remember how you used to have such a crush on…”
“Shut up, don’t remind me,” I”ll interrupt. “God, he was so cute. But he was such a jerk, I don’t know what I ever liked him”

(Let me count the ways that I abhor you. You were never a very good friend…and you were never very kind, and you let me down, almost every time. But what can I say? I adored you)

As a writer, it’s my occupational hazard to romanticize. But even Ayn Rand was a total drama queen.

So sure, I’m sad about this, because my life is headed in an awesome direction and I wanted him around for all of it, especially because we’re going to be living 10 minutes away…but it’s okay. And i”m going to be better than okay. It isn’t what I wanted, but this is something I can live with. And I have to admit it feels like a weight is being lifted off my shoulders, because I know it’s going to stop hurting soon. And that’s pretty much the perfect – ok, it’s the only – alternative.

Done.

Rachel Not Rebecca — Wed, 22 Dec 2004 06:50:00 +0000

I have started several different essays in the past 48 hours, all of them different takes on relatively the same subjects and themes. But they aren’t going to be perfect, and I want them to be perfect to express all that I want to say.

But for now, I’ll present an imperfect take.

I’m done. I’m finished. I am at the moment that I have been anticipating since October 2003. This is the day I have counted down to since I found out the date of my last final.

Perfect ending to my academic career:

My Modern Political Thought final, while not difficult in content, was intense in the amount of material covered. It required writing six essays in three hours and one was required to include a great deal of information in each answer. The first girl who finished was this ditzy girl, who was the cause of much eye-rolling from my corner of the room. As she was leaving, people groaned, complaining that they were only half done with the exam (think the typical whining from people when we used to do timed writings in Roeser’s class). She waved her exam in the air and said “don’t worry, you all did much better than me.” None of us would doubt that.

A few minutes later I finished my exam, and got up to leave. Again there were grumblings, and nervous laughter, as people realized they should be on at least the end of the fourth essay. I got to the door, and without thinking turned around and, in opposition of what the ditzy girl said, declared “Well, I think I aced it! How about everyone else?” I couldn’t help it. I’m never going to see most of those people again, I might as well been snarky.

I went upstairs, turned in my exam, and got my Tocqueville paper back. That paper tortured me. I struggled with it. I fell in love with Tocqueville in the process.

This professor is notorious for marking up papers, such that his critiques wind up being almost as much writing as the paper itself.

The 5 pages were nearly blank, save a few grammatical errors, and a few parts starred with comment “good.” I turned to the last page.

A+
And “Excellent job, Rachel.”

And that was all.

I spent the day packing and visiting professors. The professor whom I have worked as a Research Assistant to, and taken four classes with practically cried when I gave her a “thank you” card and gift. Then, she gave me a thank you gift and a really nice letter, and I definitely got weepy.

I went to the Exit 17 Dunkin Donuts with the misanthropes – we were all quite brain dead from finals and lack of sleep, but it was the usual amusing, honest, intellectual evening. These two people have made the end of my college career more enjoyable than I could ever have envisaged. If I take anything positive away from Skidmore, it is they.

I drove home from Laura’s and purposely played “Famous Last Words” for bittersweet scary relevant lyrics.

I sit in my nearly empty dorm room. I did this last semester, turning 21 while severely hung over in an empty Scribner room. Exactly seven months later, my hair is longer, and I’m clad in a sweatshirt instead of a tank top.I’m infinitely happier and mentally healthier. It’s very strange to be ending a school year in December. It already doesn’t feel like an end and the freezing cold weather just adds to my lack of belief. There must be something in the air in May that exacerbates my inherent maudlin sensibilities. Last May found me sobbing on the front porch of Hick A at 2 in the morning. December finds me asleep at 2 AM most often, and spending my waking hours in quiet contentment and loud spiritedness.

In some ways I could say I would have laughed at you that night in May if you told me I would spent this night in quiet reflection of 3.5 years and feel simply at peace with everything that occurred. I even expressed that I was going to be depressed come graduation because of my lack of anything to be nostalgic about. But I know myself. When I reach the end, I tend to glorify, regardless of circumstance.

I will never glorify my college career, because I’m painfully aware of how difficult most of it has been. But I’m always cognizant enough to realize I should be damn grateful for the amazingness of these past two months. Because I deserved them. It makes me a little sad to leave, but at least I can go out on a good note. And as my aforementioned favorite professor teased me “You should always leave the party while you’re still having fun.”

And while I’m still the least likely person you’ll see at a college party, I’ve had a wonderful time finally stumbling into this lifestyle.

“Out of respect for the things I was never meant to do, I have learned that my strengths are a direct result of my weaknesses, my success is due to my failures, and my style is directly related to my limitations”

A thousand thanks to ye who know who you are. Especially those who started this 3.5 years with me and stuck around to hear me annouce “Hey stupid, I graduated” this morning.

Protected: Fourteen-Thirteen-Twelve

Rachel Not Rebecca — Sat, 11 Dec 2004 00:20:00 +0000