Time for change: back to my origins

Thursday was possibly the worst and best day of the last month for me.

On the good side, I finally got a placement, which meant I knew what school and grade level I was going to be teaching in the fall. My grade level might still change (and please please cross your fingers for me that it doesn't) but my school is pretty much set.

On the bad side, we got our lease renewal contract on Thursday night. I have lived in the same apartment for the last six years and Jake's been in it with me for the last five. Each year, when the lease renewal form comes, we have weeks of agonizing conversation. They all start the same way:

He: "We really need to move."

She: "Must we? It's such a pain."

He: "We're paying way too much here and we don't even like it."

She: "Yeah, you're right but it's such a pain!!"

And from there, he gets progressively more practical whereas I get progressively whiney.

The fact is, it's a pain to look for an apartment in New York City. You have to call 900 people to see 10 apartments, 2 of which are maybe in livable conditions. I don't have the time or patience to travel all over the city to look for apartments. Especially this year cause we're also looking in the Bronx, Harlem and Brooklyn. Talk about all traveling over the place.

Assuming we get even close to finding a decent apartment, I then start having nightmares about the moving process itself. Jake and I are both packrats to the nth degree. I'm talking computers from Freshman year in college, ten years ago, or newspapers that are now three years old, or wrap of a gift a friend gave me five months ago. We have five bookcases, floor to ceiling, that are all triple-stacked in each row and we still have books piling up on our dining room table and the floor. We have every issue of Wired, and New Yorkers for the last two years.

A few years ago, I read a book on simplifying your life. It suggested putting a bunch of things you didn't use into a box and then putting the boxes away. If you didn't open the box in six months, you could throw it away since you obviously didn't need the stuff. I decided it was a good idea and filled about six boxes of stuff. The boxes are still in my closet.

I just simply cannot throw anything away. It's as if each item has a piece of my soul attached to it. talk about dramatic, eh? Well, this is why moving is giving me nightmares once again as it's time for the yearly "we should really move out of here."

This time, I agree with Jake even more so than before. I'm ready to move into a new neighborhood. With my recent salary cut, I'd love to pay less. I like the idea of shedding some of my stuff which I assume the move will force. It's like sort of starting over.

Tonight, we're going to see a place in Brooklyn. Cross your fingers for me. I want this year to be the year we didn't renew our lease.

Spring might finally be coming to New York City.

This winter has been one of the most eventful and thrilling in my life. The roller coaster ride that is my life has reached new levels and promises to get even steeper. It's not that I don't think of writing my site all the time like I used to, it's just that I recognize it for what it is now. I began it cause I thought it would be fun to unleash my thoughts onto the web. I went through the "please read me" obsession and made a lot of adjustments over the first few months. As a good student I complied with my inner regulation that I shall write every day. A little voice in me kept repeating that people would stop coming if I stopped updating regularly. I accomplish. I finish the things that I start. And nothing, no trip, or person was to stop me from doing my daily homework by posting my site.

And then September came and went and my belief system, which was already on its last legs, shattered.

I like the fact that snakes shed their skin. I wish I could shed my skin each time I wanted to. In the last few months I've realized that I live my life according to other people's priorities more often than I'd like to. We all grow up listening to rules that the adults around us present. Between birth and adulthood, there are many adults who come in and out of our lives like parents and other family members, teachers, baby sitters, mentors, managers, etc. Each person comes with his or her own baggage and each person pushes us different ways. In my life, I have met very few adults who've encouraged me to find out what I want and who I am. People have promoted me and helped me walk the path that I claimed I wanted. But no one pushed me to discover myself.

I don't mean to imply that people stood in my way or that I wasn't allowed to be me. I mean I don't think I knew what "being me" was. Looking around me, I don't think this is a rare phenomenon. I guess what's unusual is my need to work on getting to know me, getting to be me. Which is an ongoing challenge since who I am seems to change constantly. This makes me think that the struggle - and joy - of getting to know me could take forever.

My life until now has been all about the destination. All about the path that would take me there. All about reaching, working, struggling and achieving. I think that now I'm ready for some living. You might think that quitting a part-time, somewhat cushy job for a challenging and scary new career might not be the best way to start living, but I think that's exactly the way.

Leaving the old skin behind to grow a new one.

One that might not lead anywhere. One that might just be a side trip on my journey. One that might even be the biggest mistake I will have made. One that I am determined to make the most of. One that will change my life. One that has already changed my life.

While I see the value of a destination, I want to take a break and enjoy the journey. Sink into the moment. Pay attention inward. Pay attention outward. Pay attention in general.

That might be why I am not so sad about not writing my site daily anymore. I know that when the need comes back, it will still be there and I will do it again. Until then, intermittent is good enough for me.

Spring is coming to New York and I am ready for it.

Previously? Together but Apart.

I lost my bracelet yesterday.

My sister gave me a diamond bracelet a month ago in honor of my engagement. I got a lot of presents in February but this one was my favorite. It was delicate, beautiful and my sister gave it to me. I can't tell you how sad I've been since I realized it was missing.

Earlier this week, I bought myself a swatch. My friend Michelle took me to the store cause she collects them and she got the idea in my mind. Two days later, I went back and bought myself one. It's a skin swatch, one of the new James Bond series. It cost me 75 dollars.

After I bought the watch, I agonized over it endlessly. I already had a great watch, did I really need another? Weren't there better ways to spend my 75 bucks? I won't making a lot of money next year and it was really spendthrift of me to blow it over a watch. Especially when I already have one. I can't tell you how much time I spent worrying about this new purchase.

I came home and asked Jake if I should keep it. I called two friends and listened to lectures on what a total dork I am and how I should, of course, keep the watch and stop worrying about it. I deserve the watch, they persisted. Stop thinking about it, they insisted. You are insane, they laughed.

I was still slightly worried but I kept the watch. I've been wearing it since Tuesday and I love it. But I didn't truly stop worrying about it until I lost the bracelet last night. The watch was 75 dollars, the diamond bracelet: several hundred. Not to mention the sentimental values attached to it, which are irreplaceable.

It's amazing how it takes something major to put one's life in perspective. Why does it take a disaster for us to realize the value of our lives? How come we need a family death or illness to bring us closer? Why do we need a terrible excuse to be nicer to our fellow men?

Did I really have to lose my bracelet to stop worrying about the watch?

I think we, humans, lack perspective all too often.

Previously? No Strings Attached.

If we live once, as many people would have us believe, I think it's crucial to make the most of this only-try that we get, don't you?

I stress a lot. I worry about the smallest things. I yearn for the correct answers. The right path. I regret stupid little things. I wonder many what-ifs. There are times I am scared to walk down a path that looks appetizing because I spend too much time on the possible negative consequences.

I spend most of my time ensuring for my future. I save. I work. I take the right steps, I say the right words, do the right things. I invest in people. I work on my career. I am careful, calm, collected and thoughtful. I am organized, planned, and well-prepared.

And then there are those crazy moments. A glimpse of randomness. An unplanned purchase. Playing hooky from class. Spending seventeen hours with a friend. Dying my hair. Testing out how it would feel to let go.

These things may seem frivolous to you. The might not sound crazy. But they are to me. And each day that I do something small, I worry and then I get mad at myself. Life is to short, I try to remind myself, it's a collection of moments and it's best to enjoy as many of them as possible.

Even if I didn't have the issues I have with letting go, I think what's excruciatingly hard is finding a balance between the 'living today' and the 'planning for tomorrow.' I do think that it's a good idea to be cautious and have enough money to pay bills and have a consistent enough income. It makes sense to plan for a family if you're interested in having one and put some money aside if you're planning to have children. Commitment and responsibility are part of life and I'm okay with that.

Yet, so is spontaneity. I want to be able to take the plunge every now and then. I want to be able to let go. For a while. Take a risk. Try something new. Something uncharted.

The trouble is figuring out the consequences. Walking the thin line between the two. Hopping back and forth but being okay overall. How exactly do I manage that?

Previously? Rediscovering.

With all that's going on in my life lately, my mood is behaving like a pendulum.

On the whole, I am happy. Most of the work for the wedding appears to be under control. We're almost exactly on budget. Jake and I are getting along fantastically. Work's going well, for the most part. The exams are over, and I don't get to find out the results until April so I have a month of relaxation. I have to wait on the TB tests and the medical checkup for the wedding. We think we might have found a house.

So it all sounds good right?

Except for, I am stressed out all the time. I spend my nights looking at apartments all over New York City, hanging out with brokers whom I could go on and on about. Every second I am home, I feel this sense of urgency like I am not getting enough done and I am so overwhelmed that I just turn on the TV and do nothing, which, of course, makes the next day exponentially worse. I have a mountain of eleven books checked out from the library and the books are just not being read fast enough. My knitting has come to a temporary halt. My bills are strewn all over the coffee table. Dinner tonight is pretzels and almond butter. Not to mention all the unknowns of where I will be living in a few months, where I'll be working, where I'll be attending school, etc.

So I tend to swing back and forth between joy and crippling fear. In the last two weeks, I've found three major sources of help.

The first is specific to me. Yesterday, I was working at the bookstore and saw that someone had brought in the Teach For America book. In this book, Wendy Kopp, the founder, talks all about her struggles to start and maintain the organization. She outlines its goals and explains why certain teachers are more successful than others. I had read the book cover to cover on the floor of a Borders a month before I applied. Leafing through it again reminded me why I wanted to do this in the first place. Not only do I have no doubt that I want to do TFA, I am proud to have anything to do with such an organization. I've decided that each time I have doubts, I'll walk into the nearest bookstore and leaf through the book.

The second is much more general. Amazingly, music can put a smile on my face in a matter of seconds. My mp3 player goes everywhere with me and even when I'm simply walking across the street to drop off my mail, I listen to music. It makes me want to dance. It erases all the stress and negativity. I am amazed at the power of a few notes each time. But my mp3 player has never failed me.

The last way is also not specific to my situation. If you're a consistent reader of karenika, you'd know that I am a bookworm. Reading books, like music, transports me into a separate world where my wonders don't exist. Fiction or non-fiction, it doesn't matter. I am so engrossed in the writer's world/concerns/issues that I don't think of my own. I used to be able to read at home, but lately I've had ample distractions. On Saturday, between exam 1 and exam 2, I had an hour free so I went to a small cafe across the street and read my book while I ate. Even when I was about to have an exam in less than an hour, the book erased all my concerns. I did the same thing twice since then. A small restaurant, a tiny coffee shop, one of the multitude Starbucks' in the city. Me and my book. It's a match made in heaven.

I love the fact that I can escape my world without physically leaving it.

You have any ideas on what's a good way to temporarily forget your troubles?

Previously? Parental Guidance.

I simply haven't had time.

The demanding jetlag refuses to leave. The upcoming wedding has been looming in the not so distant future and the details change hourly. The only thing we know for sure at this point is that Jake and I love each other. Which, I guess, is all that matters.

We spent a weekend talking to three cake people, two photographers, four caterers, two florists, and a band. The amount of money that spills from these people's mouths so easily appalls me. The amount of work required to do a really simple wedding has begun to overwhelm me. I just want people to come and to have a good time. Is that really so hard?

This weekend is another several-hour drive to meet the officiator. I know it will be over soon. It has to be. May is approaching rapidly. Thankfully.

I came home to an envelope from my job, requiring that I fill college applications and get recommendations. I've graduated from college too long ago. I don't have any professors to write recommendations anymore. My Wall Street boss can't really speak on behalf of my capacity as an educator. Not to mention the ten hour exam I will have to pass next weekend. I can't really understand why I do this to myself over and over again. I must truly enjoy major challenges or loathe comfort.

I haven't even truly begun the apartment hunt, another overwhelming block in my hourly rising battle of getting things done.

So, you see, I want to be pithy. Instead, all I can be is amazed at my ability to keep complicating my life and marvel at my pleasure of torturing myself. Why do I keep striving to make my life more complicated? Why can't I just relax and enjoy life for a change?

I'm reading "Fast Food Nation" and put it down for the supremely unchallenging Grisham. I sit and watch TV. I run around and repeat details of my wedding to a million strangers. I am tired of giving my address and phone number out.

Things will calm down soon, right?

Previously? Jetlag.

I don't know what happened.

To be fully honest, it's been this way since September. I just can't seem to find something worthwhile to say. September and October were spent in confusion, disbelief, and applications. I honestly cannot even remember November.

December had me interviewing, brought a proposal, a promotion, a job offer, more holiday food, and a lovely New Year's eve. All in one month.

January turned my life upside down, sent Jake back to work, meant we're definitely not moving to Texas just yet, brought on some begging to make my new career work, and meant hours and hours of work planning for the upcoming wedding.

February so far promises my first flight since September, an engagement party in Istanbul, and more wedding arrangements.

Through all this, one would think I'd have more to write about. More to think about. More to feel. More to blabber on and on. But somehow I don't. Most days, I sit on the computer, trying to come up with something fascinating, something interesting, something readable. And I end up with nothing.

I'm not exactly sure why.

I spend most of my free time lying on the couch staring at the TV. I knit like mad, trying to finish my sister's and nephews' scarves on time. I'm trying to keep the wedding thing together. I'm trying not to disappoint my manager and team at work. I'm trying to arrange our honeymoon plans. I'm trying to read up on teaching and study for the New York State licensing exams. My brain is pretty close to turning to mush and I am just barely able to do the context switching when necessary.

Maybe that's why I can't seem to write much lately. Any ideas?

Previously? Power of Many.

Another year has passed and Jake and I have put another nail in the coffin of the curse of New Year's eve. No fights. A lovely night thanks to Jason, Shannon, Anil and their great friends. Only laughter at the stroke of midnight. Laughter and kisses.

It appears my only resolution for 2001 was "to be a better person, inside and out." I don't know about the inside part but I did lose 26 pounds and dye my hair blonde, which translated to my being a different person outside. Considering the fact that I've wanted to lose weight since freshman year in college, I'd say the loss of weight was an improvement. So I guess I accomplished at least 50% of my resolutions from last year. As for the inside, you'll have to take my word that I've made some progress along those lines as well. Though, I would be unfair if I didn't admit to going back on Diet Coke which started the day after September 11, even though I'd gone almost two years without it.

December has been such a whirlwind of events that I haven't had time to set resolutions for 2002. Heh, I love writing 2002. I love saying 2002. I love that it's a palindrome. Anyhow, back to my point. I'm trying to figure out what my resolutions for the coming year should be. There's the set I have each year: lose weight, quit diet coke, exercise more, finish your novel, etc. The same items I have on my list each year, and the same items that get transferred from year to year because either they never get achieved or they get temporarily achieved until I fall back the next year when they reappear on my list.

And then there's the big stuff like: let go of the past, worry less, forgive yourself, stress less, stop trying so hard, etc. Issues that are at the core of who I am, issues that are way too serious and require way more commitment than a grocery list of resolutions. These issues will only get resolved with time and the regular course of events in my life. Some might never go away, some might disappear by tomorrow morning. But none will be a resolution I can set or follow.

2002 is a rare case where I know I will have some major upcoming events that promise to change my life. I can resolve not to stress over the upcoming wedding. Or the move to a completely foreign state. I can resolve to be the best teacher I can be without taking on all the problems of inner-city education. I can resolve to not worry about learning to drive at the ripe age of 27. Not to worry about having to pack my life into little boxes and move them across the country. But the fact is, I can't make any resolutions about unknown future events, even if they're in the foreseeable future. Setting those types of resolutions is guaranteed disappointment.

A few days ago, I wrote about how humans don't change on demand. I think resolutions fall into that category. It's a time of year that simply makes you sit at your table and list out all that things you wish you were or hope you weren't. Who cares? So what if you don't exercise enough? What's the big deal about eating too much chocolate or not reading enough? In the end, if it really matters to you, you will do it or you will stop it.

Regardless of what day it is.

My resolution for 2002 is to try a little bit each day.

Previously? Looking Back.

It's been a long time since I've lived alone.

Five years ago, upon graduation from college, I moved to New York and rented a small one-bedroom apartment. Jake had one more year of college so when the summer was over, he went back to Pittsburgh, leaving me alone in the apartment.

I never minded being home alone. Ever since I can remember, I've always been easily self-entertained. Between my books, my music, the TV, and my computer, it's almost impossible to be bored. That first year, I spent many of my nights watching TV and chitchatting with Jake on the phone or over zephyr. At the time, I was talking 3-d graphics classes and I pulled many all-nighters trying to get my trumpet to look just right.

From December 1999 to May 2000, I lived alone in a corporate apartment in Tokyo, Japan. I spent most of my time then working late and studying Japanese. Even though I had occasional visitors, Tokyo did get quite lonely after four or five months. I missed being able to walk on the streets and understand what the signs said. Or turning on the TV and having more than one channel in English.

Two days ago, Jake left for home and I am scheduled to join him on Monday. I've spent almost every minute since Friday night at home. The only time I went out was today, to grab lunch at a cafe four blocks from my house. One would think that I must be miserable considering the circumstances, but I feel quite fulfilled and even jovial. I've written a short story. I've knitted more of my scarves. I've read magazines and books. I've watched countless hours of TV. I've redesigned my web page. I've even completed a favor for Jake that I'd been putting off for quite some time. I've yet to reply to my emails, but we still have tomorrow.

There are major advantages to living with someone. Especially someone you love. I can walk over to him and give him a kiss or ask for a hug anytime I feel like it. I can convince him to take a walk with me if I feel down. I can hear his laughter and see his smiling face. All these are special privileges I'd never give up. But there are also downsides to having another human being share your one private place in the world.

There are times Jake and I want to watch different TV shows. Or one of us wants to sleep when the other one suggests going out. He might be on the phone when I want some quiet time to read my book. The fact is we're sharing space. Not like the office where you expect there to be other people, but at home where it's meant to be your safe haven and your own private place to do as you please. Living with someone else requires that you follow some level of social rules within your own household. Living with someone else is hard work.

I like living with the person I love and I'd take the complications of sharing space over not getting to see him all the time, any day. But I also try to maximize the occasional alone-time I get, which is why being home for so many hours in a row actually puts me in a good mood.

Not that it stops me from missing him madly.

Previously? One Of Those Times.

Why would you wait another year to get married? Haven't seven years been enough?

You've just been promoted to Vice President and you're quitting?

Are you insane?

That seems to be the one thought everyone agrees on lately. I must be insane. I mean, could so many people be wrong?

You bet.

It seems to me that everyone lives slightly vicariously through others. I mean when we hear good news or bad news relating to a friend or family member, we tend to put ourselves in their shoes and feel obligated to give advice. Well, maybe it's not an obligation but a sign of caring. Regardless of what it represents, lately I've been hearing a lot of it. Already overwhelmed with the shower of good luck that I've been soaking myself in, I've decided I can do without all the advice.

Not that I don't appreciate the good nature with which it's offered, but there are times in life where one needs to step back and take a look at the events from the outside and make her own decisions. This is one of those times for me.

One of the reasons I tend to have few regrets is cause I spend a lot of time thinking about each of my decisions. No matter how my new steps turn out, I want to be able to look back on my life and say that I thought I was doing the right thing. That I thought about it seriously and truly believed in it at the time.

I never believed in mistakes and I think life is what you make of it. I am tired of being fearful and I'm sick of living with or worrying about other people's expectations. I've been itching for some change and it seems I'm about to get my chances. All I want people to say is: "good luck."

I read a poem many years ago that was supposedly by an eight year-old girl. In the poem, the girl talked about how she likes to pray to God because as opposed to the other people in her life, God doesn't tell her what to do or what she did wrong or what's best for her. God just listens.

I'm not very religious but I liked the point of the message. There are times in everyone's life when she doesn't want to hear advice. When she doesn't want to hear what she should do or what she shouldn't. When she wants someone to just sit there and listen. Sometimes that's the best help one can offer.

This is one of those times for me.

Previously? Misjudgment.

The last two weeks:

Envelopes with signatures across the seal.

Hitting the submit button in a web site that might actually change my life.

A celebration for two of my favorite people deciding that they are meant for each other.

Rereading essays for the seventeenth time.

Human behavior, imitation and culture.

A red scarf, knit by yours truly, with only a few small holes.

Crossing fingers and toes for good friends trying to change or maintain their lives.

Four-hour meetings, three days in a row.

A new team member.

Learning about the writing of the constitution, Aristotle and the stoics, the history of the United Nations, scientific tidbits, and the Medicis.

A movie poster designed by me, one that's based on wishful thinking.

Resumes, too many iterations.

Anthrax, mail, fedex, subway, bomb threats.

Reading, writing.

Black roots rejuvenated, too chicken not to stay blond.

Five less pounds. Lifetime membership.

Stress, lack of sleep, anticipation, fear, worry.

Stolen moments of desire and love.

Hope.

Previously? Heels.

I curse a lot.

And I mean a lot. My favorite curse word is fuck. I love the way the air gets built up behind my lips before it slowly escapes through my teeth. It's a word that encourages forward body movement. It gives me a sense of liberty each time it springs from my mouth.

It started in college, but I can't think of the particular reason or instance. It may have been an imitation of my surroundings. Or not. All I can remember is my first Christmas vacation in college. I returned back to Istanbul and I was in the midst of a heated conversation with my father. We switched to English, as we tended to do when emotions heightened, and the next thing I know my dad's face turned beet red.

My father has always been a perfect gentleman and I don't think I've ever heard him utter a curse word. He's the sort of person who knocks on an open door, just to make sure he doesn't disturb your privacy. He looked at me and said, "I would appreciate if you wouldn't use that language with me, Karen."

Now it was my turn to feel embarrassed. I hadn't even noticed the curse words.

During Junior year, when I was a Resident Assistant for fifty-nine women, the other RAs and our supervisor tried to come up with a replacement word so that I could feel the emotional release without offending any students. The best advice was "fire truck" but even that doesn't come close. That year, I made an extra effort, at least in front of the girls, as I figured it was my responsibility.

Upon graduation, I started working at the investment bank that still employs me. If you know anything about investment banking, it should be that there aren't many women in the industry. Same goes for technology. So as a coder in the bank, my cube was surrounded by the cubes of six men. A few weeks into the job, one of the guys walked up to me and asked me if I could lay off on the cursing for a while.

I hadn't even noticed.

I don't want to give you the impression that I'm not well mannered. I never curse in front of Jake's parents and neither with mine. I behave perfectly appropriately in situations that call for it. I would lie if I said I'm ladylike and dainty, but I'm not coarse. I don't curse at strangers or my clients. I try not to be offensive, but I don't enjoy people tiptoeing around me because of my gender. There are women who mind curse words and women who don't. Same goes for men. It doesn't directly correlate to your gender.

I try to respect the values of the people around me. But when my program craps out with a segmentation fault and the debugger won't tell me why, I feel a strong urge to abuse my computer.

It might not help me find the problem, but it really makes me feel better.

Previously? Biographies.

Ever heard of the term "too comfortable"?

When I read Heather's Miss fiddle twiddle pick bang, it hit close to home. I'm fidgety, too, but on a much larger, non-athletic scale.

It seems I'm allergic to the steady state.

I constantly need to be planning the next step, the new challenge. As soon as I reach one goal, I start planning the next. It's like enjoying the good times never even crosses my mind. I wrack my brain, trying to come up with yet another seemingly unattainable task.

In the beginning, it was easy. I decided to come to the United States. My teacher said I couldn't, so I had the double advantage of reaching my goal and proving her wrong. Once I got to school, it was all about declaring a minor in Art, making sure I got all my credits right, getting the Resident Assistant job, becoming an editor, a sexual assault counselor, teaching computer skills, and so much more. School's an easy place to set goals.

Fall semester of my junior year, I realized I was almost ready to graduate. By the end of spring semester I'd be done with all my credits and required courses, except one. In my major, there is a class only offered in the fall semester of your senior year. So I couldn't graduate. The intelligent thing would have been for me to take it easy and enjoy my senior year like most students. But instead, I applied for a brand new master's degree and bugged the head of the college until he relented. In the next three semesters I completed my undergraduate and my masters.

Then I worried about getting a job. As a foreigner, it was crucial that a company employ me so that I could stay in the country. Once more, I had a purpose. Something to occupy my time and make sure I didn't stop worrying and get too comfortable.

Once I got the job, there was moving to New York City, furnishing my apartment, completing a bunch of projects, taking a three-month trip to London, and another for six months in Tokyo. Learning a new programming language, figuring out how to build applications the right way, learning Japanese. I spent hours sweating over my green card application. I found out all there was to know. I did it all. I got my card. During those years I also set goals outside work.

There was learning to live with Jake. Drawing in 3-D, Italian, French, Sign Language, writing a novel, yoga, and so much more. Anything not to stop.

About a year ago, I was ready for a new challenge; my job was too easy, I wasn't learning anymore. But just taking another job wasn't hard enough, I decided to push the limits again. I wanted a part time job. Only three days a week. So I started interviewing. I found a job inside the same firm. A great job. I started volunteering with the Deaf. I took eight new classes. I picked up the saxophone. Just cause I wasn't working every day didn't mean I'd lie around lazy. I did my job well, I got promoted.

And here we are. In a perfect situation. I have a great job. A relaxed summer with only three classes and I get to volunteer. My boyfriend and I are getting along incredibly well and I am head over heels in love, even after seven years.

But I'm starting to fidget once more.

It's all too good. I can't think of any goals anymore.

So now, I'm making them up. I want to get a PhD, I think. Start my own non-profit firm. Do some good for the world. I want to move to San Francisco. Make a huge change. Start over. Start different. See if I can still reach seemingly unattainable goals. See if I can keep raising the bar.

I've got the itch.

Previously? Gender Bias.

One of the main reasons I tend to not like personality tests is that they seem to mostly test who you think you are as opposed to who you really are. After all, you're the one sitting there answering all the questions. If the question says, "When at a party, are you more likely to mingle or sit at a corner and avoid getting noticed?" you can say "I'm the life of any party" and no one would know whether you actually told the truth or not.

Not you're thinking, "Why would I lie?" right?

I'm not trying to imply that you'd purposefully try to affect the results of the test, but I think that many of us have an incorrect notion of who we really are. I can think of several reasons for this imbalance. One can be because we tend to pay more attention to our personality when we're young and being judged by others and then as time goes on and other people voice their opinions less, we tend to not notice changes in ourselves. Or maybe we concentrate so much on whom we want to be that we don't notice who we actually are. Or maybe we don't like who we are so we don't even want to admit to ourselves the sad truth. And possibly a million other reasons.

There have been times in my life when I'd call up a close friend and ask him what he thought of me in reference to a specific scenario. I'd wonder whether I'm sociable or if I'm caring and compassionate. Obviously since he was my friend his answers were biased but hopefully a little less then my own were. I wonder how widely our answers would differ if I took a standard personality test and asked a few close friends to take it for me. Do I come across the way I think I do? Am I really the person I think I am?

There are psychologists who believe you are only who others think you are. To me, that's a really sad thought and I can't yet fully articulate why.

I know that, like many people, I act differently around varying groups of friends. A girl I've known since birth will differ in her ideas of my personality from the guy I met in college or my classmates in my sign language class. I also know that who I am is more complicated than a test category. We all are. But I still wonder whether who I am is who I think I am. In the end, what makes me who I am, my thoughts or other people's assessments of me?

Add to that mix the incessant conversations that occupy our lives about who we should be. Parents, teachers, managers, siblings, friends and many other people that have been in our lives pass judgment on some of our actions. They influence our thoughts, our behavior patterns and even our actions. Think of all the things you do to please your family and loved ones. How much of that defines who we are?

I'm afraid I don't have a point or conclusion today, just many questions. However, I'd be delighted to know your thoughts.

Previously? Facing my Face.

I was always the ugliest child among my friends.

The girls in my group were nothing short of drop dead gorgeous and they'd make sure to remind me of the difference in the quality of our looks. Ever since the time I heard a guy mention how I was the only ugly person they hung out with, I couldn't look myself in the mirror without the word 'ugly' sprinting to my mind.

About two years ago, I cut my hair. I'd been growing it since the fifth grade and it was weak and difficult to manage. Since then, I cut my hair maybe twenty times. I dyed it to dark brown, auburn, orangish red, dirty blonde, deep red and now I'm once again trying to become blonde. And I've decided to start a peace process between my face and me.

Now I stare at the mirror for a while and try to see what my face tells me. My eyes remind me of my dad. They are a light brown with darker tones on the edges, a sign of my middle eastern heritage. The little lines on the corner of my eyes are getting deeper: a sign of my increasing happiness. I see lines across my forehead, a sign of my continuous worrying. When I smile, thick lines form around my nose and a tiny dimple appears on the left side of my face.

I have nice teeth. I never had to wear braces and they've always been straight. My face has somewhat grown into my large ears and my haircut mostly hides how much they stick out. Even my nose says something important. It's a symbol of more of my roots, Jewish ones. The purple marks under my eyes insist that I don't get any sleep no matter how many hours I may lay in bed. When I'm sad, my eyebrows curl up in the weirdest of arches. My hair reminds me that I'm learning to let go.

I'm learning to look at myself and see something besides 'ugly'. I see my family, my background, signs of my happiness and characteristics. And I smile.

I think I'll keep this face, even if it is 'ugly'. It's mine.

What does your face tell you about yourself?

Previously? Audience.

I started writing diaries at the age of eleven.

I still recall the very first day I scribbled my first words. I struggled to distort my handwriting to appear somewhat decent. I remember looking at the colored pages with small "Hello Kitty" images all over and awkwardly trying to find the pithy words the pretty pages deserved.

I kept a diary for every single day of my adolescent life. Every single day from eleven years old to eighteen. Any friend from back then could easily tell the stories of how I would never go anywhere without my overflowing diary and a can of Diet Coke. If that's not enough, my eighteen diaries are the proof of my obsession.

By the fourth one, I'd developed a pattern for ending a diary and starting a new one. One of the private ceremonies I held at the start of a diary was naming.

If you were to open any of the pages of my diaries, you wouldn't see any real names. Every single person in my life had a nickname that would only be used in my diaries. Most of the names were quite stupid and generally referred to a characteristic of the person. So at the beginning of each diary, I would pick the person that symbolized my mood best and name my diary after him or her.

For the rest of the diary, I would start each entry with "Dear Such-and-Such" and actually write in a tone as if I were speaking to the actual person. The things I wrote, the feelings I conveyed were possibly more honest or deep than I'd necessarily tell to the person's face, but the attitude was right on. With each new entry, the person's face would flash before my eyes and make me smile. She or he was my audience for the duration of that diary.

Earlier this week I started thinking about my audience for this site. Who would I have used for its nickname if it had one? Whose image flashes before my eyes as I type these entries?

I'm not sure of the answers. Certain entries definitely feel like I'm talking to a specific someone and others are mostly talking to myself.

What about you?

Previously? Beauty.

I can't ride a bike.

And I can't drive.

Well, that's not entirely true. I have a driving license. Ahem, a Turkish driver's license. Not to undermine the license itself, a Turkish license is considered international which means I could use it to rent or drive a car in the States. So having the license is a good thing and I don't undermine its power.

Getting the license, however, was a total joke. After I passed the written exam, which is way more complicated than the American one, I met an exam official, I have no idea what they are called, at the driving-exam site. Two other driver wannabes get in the car with a traffic cop. I get in the driver's seat and the exam official in the passenger seat. Since it's their car, you are forced to know how to drive a stick shift. So I get in the car and the official tells me to start the car and go straight. I start moving, switch from one to two and go for a while. He then tells me to make a u-turn, which I execute successfully, and then he says 'pull aside', which I also do. I'm then told to get out of the car and one of the other wannabes takes the driver's seat.

I just passed the test.

So I can go straight quite well and I make one hell of a u-turn. But I'm not exactly sure that constitutes as driving. So I say I can't. Also, driving has a lot to do with experience and by the time I qualified to get a license in Turkey, I already lived in Pittsburgh without a car, after which I moved to New York City. So I've had a license for eight years and I've driven all of four days in that time.

As for the bike, that story is even more pathetic. My sister can ride a bike beautifully. By the time it got to me, my parents were thoroughly unmotivated and never even bothered to teach me. While it's impossible to ride a bike in Istanbul, people ride it often in Burgaz, the island we live on during the summer, so I would have had the change to practice. But nope, they never bothered. They must have known my lack of ability way back then.

During my senior year in college, Jake tried to teach me how to ride a bike, but all I can say is that when you're twenty-one the ground is much farther away than when you're six. Let's just say the experiment wasn't all that successful and leave it at that.

So here I am, almost 27, and still unable to ride a bike or drive.

All the more reason to move to California.

Previously? Perfection.

One of the biggest disadvantages of being successful, or having a smooth life is the strong fear of failure that plants its seed in one's mind.

It might sound cocky to say that I've had an easy life, but I've been blessed and I've tried hard not to take it for granted. I've always been a good student, worked hard to make sure my parents' money wasn't being wasted on me. I rarely skipped class, and tried to apply myself well. After graduation, I took the right job and have been working in the same firm for almost five years, now. About eight months ago, I decided to work part time so I can volunteer more and take some classes. Even now, I don't spend a moment being lazy. I am taking eight classes and volunteer five hours a week. I consider my life wonderful and I try hard to appreciate my luck.

One of the things I noticed lately, though, is that I'm scared to take a risk. Even though the idea of dropping it all and living in Italy for a year excites me to no end, I fear I have too much to lose. The voices in my head ask what would happen if I can't find a job upon my return. I want to try to work from home, or for myself, but I worry about not being able to make it. I spend hours constructing scenarios of what can go wrong. And I'm so busy worrying that I don't even try.

Sometimes one has to fail to learn that failure is not to be feared. Sometimes the best way to understand that losing your job is not the end of the world is by being fired. Going through hard times and bouncing back shows you that you're strong and that you will find a way to survive. Humans are much stronger than they appear.

The only way I'm going to know that dropping everything and moving to Rome is a good idea is if I do it. It might even turn out to be a bad idea, but just about anything is a good life experience. True, some lessons aren't worth their consequences but those are few and far between compared to the ones that are. Each new job, each new risk makes you stronger and shows you your capacity.

Therefore, staying at a job cause I'm scared I might not be able to find another is a bad idea. Just like staying with a boyfriend cause I'm too scared I might never meet a new person is a stupid idea.

So, I've decided to make some changes. Some drastic ones and some not so drastic ones. The best time to take risks is when there are fewer people being affected by my decisions. When I have a family, it'll be harder to pick up and move to another country. I have a few more years before then and I plan to make the most of that time.

Life is about to get exciting.

Previously? Games.

I've always thought of myself as a pretty decent person. I try to be nice to people and I make an extra effort not to harm anyone.

What differs between levels of kindness is a combination of expectations and intentions.

When my boss asks me for a favor and I do it, I can be classified as a good employee (or a kiss-up depending on the favor). But I think it's fair to say that I have reasons to want to keep my boss happy.

Similarly, I am kind to my family and friends. I care about them and I want to make them happy. I don't want my friends to be sad, hurt or in difficulty. Therefore, I take the time and effort required to help them out, to work with them and to do their favors.

So it's fair to say that, in measuring whether you're nice or not, we can exclude those people. How nice are you to strangers? Do you hold the door to someone whom you know is walking into the room after you? Do you help someone if they drop their stuff in the middle of the street? If someone asks a question about something you know, do you take the time to help him out?

I used to have two teammates. When stuck in the middle of a piece of code, one would give me an idea to try while the other actually sat with me and we worked through different alternatives until we came up with the best solution. In my book, they would both be considered nice since neither of them ignored me, but the second guy went above and beyond the call of duty. In the process, he gained a loyal teammate. I knew that I would always take the time to help him no matter what the circumstances.

So part of being nice is doing more than expected. Giving when it's not required. Going out of your way when you don't need to. Having pure intentions.

The other part is tied to what you hope to receive as a result. I often hear people complain about how so and so wasn't thankful enough. If you spend all night helping someone out and then he blows you off when you ask him a question, don't you have the right to get mad?

Probably. But I think you should never help someone with the intention of getting something as a result. If I help a person because I know they have the connections to get me a job, am I really being nice? What if initially I didn't know that he could get me the job? My intentions were nice but then my expectations took over.

That's where I need improvement. Just because you're nice doesn't mean the other person has to be nice to you in return. Being a good person isn't about that. It's about having the right intentions with no expectations. That's when you know you did something good. That's when it's rewarding.

I need to work on that.

Previously? Genius.

My relationship with alcohol has always been a rollercoaster ride.

In Turkey, we have no drinking age. My first real boyfriend liked his vodka on the rocks and he liked to have it often. And he hated drinking alone. We spent many nights at bars, he with his Vodka and me with the only alcohol that would slide down my throat: Safari with Peach Juice.

Even back then, I never drank wine or champagne.

After I got to college, I was completely freaked out with the fraternity scenes. Even though social drinking is big in Istanbul, I'd never seen people drinking for the sake of drinking before. In Pittsburgh, I stopped drinking altogether. They didn't have Safari there anyhow.

For no logical reason, my second boyfriend also enjoyed his alcohol. He was a large man who could down several beers in a minute, and he worked hard to prove it.

When my first boyfriend got drunk, he'd stop being so shy and share his deepest emotions with me. So I didn't mind his alcoholic habits so much. But things weren't so simple with the second man. He seemed to have more anger and resentment than the typical teenager. Alcohol brought all this suppressed anger to the surface resulting in urinals being pulled out of their sockets and water fountains being torn off. As I said, he was a large and muscular man. Unfortunately, it also resulted in lots of emotional, verbal and physical abuse. None of which helped an already self-deprecating person.

We tried to go to several Alcoholics Anonymous meetings together, but it's impossible to quit for someone else. He wasn't ready. He couldn't do it. Or he wouldn't do it.

It took me too long to realize that I would never be able to fix his problems. But I finally did. I got out.

I'd never been a major drinker, but after him it got much worse.

The first time I got drunk was in Jake's dorm room with Wine Coolers. Since I hated the taste, I downed them really quickly and they went right to my head. The burning sensation was so strong that within minutes I ended up taking off all my clothes. Everything was suffocating me and had to be removed. Thankfully the only other person in the room was Jake's roommate.

I've always thought that I should drink. Everyone else did. Not drinking made me boring and I hated being boring. I've tried just about every kind of wine and alcohol. I'm able to drink Midori Sour, Archer's and I can do shots since they go right to my stomach. But no wine, no champagne. And I'm careful not to get drunk since it's not really socially acceptable to remove clothing at public places. Just the physical activity of drinking is difficult. Let alone the emotional baggage I've attached to it over the years.

One of the nice side effects to growing older is that drinking is less a part of our social surroundings than before and I don't feel as pressured to try it.

Champagne? No, thanks, I'll have the water.

Previously? Ketchup.

This weekend was catch-up weekend. I finally got to implement the design I'd dreampt up a few weeks ago. Like it? Don't like it? Tell Me. Many thanks go to six, heather, christine, and leia for helping me out. All the design faults, ugliness and stupidities are mine. I don't want you to think this is representative of their work as their workis much much better, but they did take the time to tell me what they think and answer my questions. Thank You!

A while ago, I asked people to share melodies that brought back memories. Here are some replies I got. Send me yours!

In case you were curious about my hairdo, here's me, in multicolor.

As for the theory of life Heather posted a while ago, here are my charts.

Expect some more changes soon. But not real soon. I need some sleep first.

Previously? Spiderwebs.

My sophomore year in college, my friend Jessica recommended a fun book called Life Colors. The book is supposed to tell you your aura color.

You take these extensive tests, which are multi-question and can be answered by "yes", "no" or "sometimes". At the end, you add up your replies and pick the category with the most yes's.

My aura is blue. Hands down. I have a small dose of green, which must be why I can function in corporate America, but I am pretty much the casebook example of the overly emotional, overly maternal blue.

Do I think all this aura stuff is true? Nope.

Do I find it entertaining? Sure, I'm pretty easily amused.

Do I decide anything based on these results? Good Grief, No!

But one of the things I like about this book is that it doesn't just list the typical characteristics of a blue. It differentiates between two states that are common in most people's lives. Centered and in power versus being out of power. This certifies that I am not the only person who acts totally different when I feel confident then when I am drained and weak.

On a good day, I am kind, confident, a true "doer" and I kick ass. Nothing can get to me cause I rule. I will do anything in my power to help others.

On one of the many bad days, I whine. I am paranoid and worried constantly. I am insecure.

To an outsider, these dualities might give the impression that I am possessed, but they're both me and now a published book confirms that possibility. Color me happy!

To add to my delight, Pamala adds that blues like to comfort and counsel people, they worry continuously, they cry even at happy movies, they are bad at receiving compliments, people trust them, they are great promoters of things they believe in, they desperately want to be loved, if one bad thing is said they will remember that over a million positive things, they are often overworked and overwhelmed with responsibilities they create, they are strong feelers and they must learn to love themselves.

It's good to know that there are enough people like me to justify an entire category.

Previously? Anywhere, Anyone

Today was a good day.

Last few months have been days of crisis after crisis. Going to work and staring at the screen and coming back home without having gotten my scripts to work. Spending hours trying to make sense of everything that just refuses to cooperate. Not responding to email or phone calls while the do-to list keeps increasing. Some jerk stealing my credit card and using it to put expensive crafts supplies. Classes where I would love to do the homework only if my brain would cooperate.

Wednesday, I realized one of the biggest reasons of my unhappiness at work. Thursday, I got it resolved. I had a very important meeting today, which went so well it was beyond my expectations. And to top it all off, I fixed my script.

I responded to the three most outstanding and most dreaded emails I'd had since November. My friends Judy and Priscilla, whom I hadn't seen in three years, came to New York so we got to meet and have a long chat. My Italian Literature teacher recommended several books that I've been looking forward to read. I got the notary signature/stamp on my affidavit due to the fraudulent charges on my credit card.

As more and more issues got resolved, I felt more energized and fixed even more stuff. Amazing how something small can set off a chain reaction.

Sometimes the universe just aligns to fit your needs and all you need to do is be thankful.

Thank You.

Previously? Silence.

For some inexplicable reason I seem to be overcome with a mood best described by the word "blah."

I don't feel motivated to do anything. A few weeks ago, I was playing around with a new design and came up with something different for this page, but I haven't had the time, or more correctly the motivation, to implement it across all my pages.

The last few weeks at work have been almost counterproductive. Going to work has become more frustrating than not. I sit in front of the computer and stare at the screen. I've been working on the same 3-page perl script and three sql queries for the last month. Concentration simply refuses to cooperate. If by some major luck, something starts making sense long enough for me to realize what direction to take it in, my nerves decide to react forcefully, making me stand up, therefore, knocking out any productivity I dared have.

In a strange twist of luck, I am still coherent during my classes, but I crash every minute in between. I fall asleep in the subway on the way to classes, I plop myself on the couch the second I enter my house. The TiVo and I have gotten real close. I seem to be stuck on Canto XXV of The Inferno for over ten days, now. And the deadline to finish was today. My library books are sitting on a shelf, waiting for their due date. I haven't even picked up my saxophone in the last five days.

My mother's here from Istanbul for the week and I can't walk around with her. The freezing weather makes it ideal for us to take long tours of The Met or Guggenheim but my nervous system has its own ideas of what I should and should not be doing. I'm just tired, worn out and unable to think straight.

In case the writings here have lately been sporadic and lacking in intensity, now you know why. (If you think the writings here have always lacked that umph, my page is prolly not your cup of tea, anyhow.)

Previously? Vive La Difference

Just in case it wasn't enough that I've been on my back with severe back pain and have tingling sensations on my left leg where I also seem to be entertaining a minor loss of feeling, the powers that be decided that I should also have a cold.

It seems I have swallowed not one, but three porcupines. I am alternating between shivering and sweating. At least there's the side benefit of the weight I lose each time I make the trip between the couch and the heater.

So I did what every reasonable woman would, I dyed my hair.

I am officially blonde.

I could tell you the entire tale of how I was orange just before that, but I won't. Be thankful.

As the hairdresser dried my hair, I kept staring at the image reflecting back from the mirror. A few encounters with scissors and several hours of sitting with my head covered in aluminum and Ta Da! I'm a brand new person.

Suddenly everything seems possible. Of course I'll use the conditioner on my hair. I'll get a facial. I'll start taking care of my skin. I'll even get a manicure. I'll put make-up on every morning like a good blonde. I'll even blow-dry my hair.

Suddenly all is possible.

And, as Heather said earlier this week, I'm fine.

Really.

Previously? Chocolate.

Why can't I be one of those people who can live on four hours of sleep a night?

I spent most of last weekend putting my sister's present together, which meant that I got very little sleep. Specifically, on Saturday night I slept around four hours and I had six hours or more on Friday, Sunday and last night. Even with all that balanced sleep surrounding one night of not so great sleep, I couldn't keep my mind from wandering all weekend and all day yesterday. I dozed off several times during my architecture class.

Though, in my defense, the teacher is a really soft-spoken, slow moving woman who turns off the lights to show slides in a warm room. All those coupled with the 7:30pm class time should be enough to put any normal human to sleep. I spent the last four days like a zombie, walking from class to class. The funny thing is, I am awake and aware during most of my classes, but any free moment is like a permission to crash.

The final jolt came when I fell asleep during my volunteer job today. I mean, I really slept. Can't even be sure I didn't snore. (Thankfully my officemates are deaf and prolly didn't hear my snorts.) I was knocked out for only 20 minutes or so and I woke up on my own, but it was quite embarrassing, to say the least. (As an even funnier side note, my boss, John, had changed the screen saver on the computer to say "Karen, Wake up!" which was totally appropriate today!)

After that sleeping episode, I had to go through two more classes and neither was in English. Pure torture.

People tell me to stop taking so many classes or doing so many things, but that's not the point. I don't want to stop doing a million things; I want a body that can support the active mind I have. I want to be able to sleep three to four hours a night, so I can have more time to study and read. I hate that I need sleep so badly.

My neuroscience teacher says that you can actually go insane from lack of sleep. Hmm I wonder who thought that was a good design decision?

Previously? Paranoid.

I'm exhausted as I walk through the door. It’s only 8:30am and I have no idea how I will make it through three classes and five hours of volunteer work that's supposed to follow my appointment.

I get out of the tiny elevator on the eleventh floor and walk down the long, windy corridor in search of the suite number. Even though I can tell the door is not locked, I knock and a voice tells me to walk right in, so I do. As I make my way down a shorter corridor I marvel at the sense of liberty I get from the high ceilings. I should move down to SoHo, I think.

She's not like I expected at all. I don’t really know what I was expecting, but I do know this is not it. She appears to be in her twenties, American, tall, thin, and pretty. She's wearing fashionable frames. She's nice but not in a touchy-feely way. She's not fake either. Genuine niceness, such a rare quality these days.

I sit at her desk and notice the small glass ball filled with water. Tiny, red fish swim in it. "Do they really live without having their water changed?" I ask.

"Yes, it's an entire ecosystem in there," she says. "I didn't believe it when I saw it either but they live like that for six years." That's an eternity for fish, in my experience. I smile at the beauty and complexity of nature and survival.

Japanese and Chinese characters cover most of the decoration. For a second, I wish I were still in Japan and then I remember how lonely I was and how sick I've been and I feel glad to be home.

She asks me questions about my medical history and lifestyle. As always, the word "stress" comes up more often than it should. I tell her that I've come to accept that I like living on stress and she nods. I don’t even bother to imagine what she must be thinking. I can't be the only weirdo she's ever seen; we do live in New York City after all.

She makes me stick out my tongue and checks my pulse on both hands simultaneously. She then takes me to a small room, containing only a chair and a massage table. She tells me to take of my socks and pants and lie on my stomach. As she sticks the needles in my body, she warns me about the small pinch. In some cases, my body jerks involuntarily. It’s not really painful but I can certainly feel most of the needles in my body.

She leaves me be for a few minutes and then comes back to take them out. She mentions that I might feel elevated pain or numbness and that it's normal for the first time. We make an appointment to see each other again on Monday and I walk away, worrying about the pain that's still shooting up and down my leg.

I run to the corner of the street and jump in a cab, away from the calm of her suite to the madness that is my life.

Previously? Knowing the Future.

Crack.

When I was a teenager, my friend Karen's knees would crack each time she bent down. My mother's knees did the same. I remember thinking how neat the sound was and how I wished my knees would do the same. Cracking your fingers is just not the same as the fragile sound that escapes your as knee joints bang against each other involuntarily.

Even though, I knew that the sound was an outcome of bone ends touching each other (well I don’t really know that to be a fact, actually) and, that in the long term, this sound was a bad omen for the future of your bone, none of that took away from the coolness of it.

One the morning of February 1, 2001, I got a glimpse of the feeling behind the noise. As I picked up my arm to help myself off my bed, several bones made me aware of their presence. On the way over to the bathroom, with each movement of my left leg, I became immersed in the symphony of my joints conducted by what I assume must be my herniated disc.

After a half-a-day of cracking, I decided it might be a good idea to call my physical therapist. I must have been right cause he asked me to come over immediately. Apparently, the sounds coupled with the tingling sensation and pain traveling the length of my left leg isn't a particularly good sign.

So I rip myself away from the fascinating world of SQL queries and limp to the therapist. He pulls my legs, uses the sonogram and the heating machine, cracks my pelvis joint so loudly that I'm not sure I will ever be able to procreate, and makes me lie in several uncomfortable positions. And then he gives up. He asks me whether the pain is gone and all I can think of is how now both of my legs are hurting. Helplessly, we part to reconvene the following morning.

On my way back to work, the symphony continues.

Crackle. Pop.

After another hour of idly staring at my beautiful, black flat screen, I pick up my coat and join the commuters of the 6 train.

Now that I can fully appreciate it, I decided I don't really want my knees to make that sound. Where did I get off wanting to be cool anyway?

Previously? Phone Call

I've always been a curious person. My mother used to tell me that as a kid I asked questions non-stop. Her friends asked her why she kept replying to me instead of telling me to lay off the questions. But she never did. She is a real patient mother.

I don't do something unless I can see the logic behind it. In my household, all rules were explained as opposed to forcefully applied. Since I was a pretty responsible little kid, I never had a curfew. I went to an all women's high school where I was on debate teams. I've just always been in a position where I feel comfortable backing up my actions and choices and thoughts. Mostly cause I spend time thinking of my choices and have reasons for my decisions. It could even be safe to say that I spend too much time thinking about them.

For this reason, when challenged I tend to be too head strong. I feel like I can justify myself and I expect others to back up their arguments, too. When Jake and I fight and I say something, I can always spew out a million examples to make sure he understands where I'm coming from. But I'm sure he hates it.

At work, timid people think I am overwhelming cause I like to explore an issue before I make a decision and I am generally adamant about my opinion and like for others to prove me wrong before I change my mind. For confident and intelligent people, that's not a problem. They tell me what a moron I am and why my idea is totally wrong. I really like that. I have no problem being told that I don't know the right answers, I just want the other person to prove me wrong. I want them to have thought about it, too. I want them to challenge me not to tell me what to do for the sake of it. If the highest manager in my area says I have to do something and I think it's a stupid suggestion, I don't shy away from telling him. I'm not usually rude about it, but I also don't nod and go to a corner and do as he said. And it says so much about my boss that he doesn’t fire me. Actually he's mentioned that he likes that about me.

The problem is that I don't like the idea of the other people (the ones who don't feel comfortable yelling back at me) to think that I am not open to listening to their suggestions. Cause I am. The only way one can learn is by listening to other people. I just want them to explain how and why they reached that opinion and in most cases they either don't know or they don't want to share.

Or maybe I've managed to scare the crap out of them.

Previously? Changes Abound

As in most things, I have quite a few things to say about that.

I've always been opinionated. I used to think that certain choices just feel right to me, but when questioned, I seem to have no problem coming up with well thought out reasons to back up my beliefs. So it seems I do think about things.

I am not exactly sure of the ways in which I come up with my opinions and beliefs. Some of them are intuition, others are from having read on issues and some are from having talked to friends who have opinions. I find the final way the most effective.

There is nothing more challenging and more rewarding than talking to an intelligent friend whose opinions differ from yours. When I was in college, I had a friend who disagreed with me on just about everything. He was really bright and had sound reasons for his beliefs. We spent hours talking about abortion and marriage and many other controversial issues.

His reasons made me think, in some cases they made me reconsider. In others, they made me hang on to my beliefs even more. But the best part is that our conversations challenged me. They made me see these issues from a different perspective.

When I was in high school we used to have to debate in class on topics where we didn't agree with the opinion we were arguing for. The teacher thought it was important to realize that there are two sides to every story and nothing is ever black or white. She was a good teacher.

So if you have opinions, I say speak up. Learning starts with sharing. Wise people will never flame you for having a different view, especially when you have your reasons. And narrow-minded people will always judge you and tell you you're a moron for thinking that way no matter how well constructed your reasoning. Such people are not worth worrying about.

I'm always up for others challenging my beliefs and choices. Anything that pushes me to explain myself helps me get to know myself better.

And you know what they always say: Know thyself.

Prevously? Trust.

I’m not sure which specific childhood experience has spawned this personality trait, but I’ve had it pretty much for as long as I can remember. When I was little, I used to be one of those girls who hung on to her mother’s skirt and cried a lot. As I grew up, I yearned for a close friend, one who understood my way of thinking. Having starved for any friend at all, each time anyone became remotely interested in being my friend, I would stifle the life out of them. Guilt trips, paranoia, “why didn’t s/he call me?”, “how come they didn’t invite me along? Don’t they like me anymore?” All of these were a constant part of my daily life.

The behavior wasn’t aimed at only humans. Even our dog, Pepsi, knew I needed more hugs than a normal kid. And if you’re suffocating a dog (in the figurative sense) you seriously need help. (then again, you’d need even more help if you’re actually physically hurting the dog, if you ask me)

For the longest time, while I was acutely aware of this flaw, I didn’t think I’d ever learn to get over it. Each boyfriend had to suffer through my jealousy and my need to be called at all times. I’ve always believed that jealousy stems from lack of self-confidence. If you feel good about who you are, you tend to bug other people less. Even though I knew the actual reasons, I kept telling myself that all this suffocating was cause I cared so much.

Knowing I was so bad at letting go always made me worry about having children. I was sure that my kids would grow up to despise me and run away the minute they legally could. The same insecurities also caused me to hang around when I shouldn’t have in many cases. Holding on to a relationship which was physically and emotionally abusive or a friendship that reduced my already low self-image.

I don’t know if my self-confidence has improved (not substantially) or if I care less (not really, in most cases) but, for some reason, I’ve stopped holding on so tight. I don’t feel the need to have my friends call me every day. I don’t hold people to their words when they casually say “I’ll call you later.” I don’t need constant attention anymore.

I don’t mean to say that I am 100 percent cured. I still care, in some cases, way more than I should. I still have long-lasting moments of self doubt which cause me to snap at my boyfriend. But I’ve recently realized that I’ve loosened up a little, which means there is a chance I can totally get rid of this trait, eventually.

Maybe I can have kids, after all.

Previously? Blame Game.

For some reason, I didn't have many culture shocks. Even though Turkey is over 99percent white and over 99percent Muslim, I didn't seem to have a severe issue with the differences. I did, on the other hand, have some embarrassing moments.

On my first day in Pittsburgh, my parents and I went to open a bank account. While my mother waited, Dad and I sat with the lady from Mellon Bank, talking about my different account options. In the middle of our exchange, some random guy, who was opening his own account, walks up to me and says, "I hear you're new in town, so am I. Here's my number. Call me and we can hang out." Right in front of my father and the Mellon Bank woman. The lady from the bank looks at me and smiles. "I see you're making some friends already."

Cause I am a total weirdo, I did call the guy the next night. During the phone call, he must have used the word cool at least a zillion times. Up until that moment, the word cool meant something between warm and cold to me. It took me several months to acquire the colloquialisms they never teach you when you learn English. Most of my friends can tell quite entertaining (or embarrassing, as the case may be for me) stories from those days.

Back to my point. One of the only culture shock moments I had was in relation to the words on that T-shirt. Personal space. I come from a country where guys and girls all kiss each other hello. I mean guys kiss guys and girls kiss girls and girls kiss guys and vice versa. Not on the lips, mind you, but on the cheek. On both cheeks. I walk hand in hard with many of my friends. I hug them, I tell my close friends how much I love them. It's not a sexual thing, it's cultural, I guess. When I came here for college, I was totally shocked by what people consider a personal question. And by how much people resent your being 'in their space'. For the longest time I couldn't figure out what that space even is. It seemed to be an invisible barrier I was unable to see.

In the past few years, I've worked hard at recognizing the barrier, but I still have no idea why people need to have it so badly.

Previously? Mind Your Manners!

When I was little, I had the misfortune of having a set of so-called friends who were all equally boring and beautiful. They all believed that the brand of your dress or shirt was much more important than the book you’re reading. Actually I don’t think they read at all. The thing is since they were all alike and I was the only one different, I ended up being made fun of. A lot.

Even though I was six then and I am twenty-six now, many of my self-doubts (and I have more than the usual amount) can be traced back to those days. While my mind can easily differentiate between their priorities and mine, deep down where most childhood memories are stored, I have a lot of anger for people who make fun of others. Even after all these years and many good friends later, when I see those people from my childhood, I cringe and go back to being the book reading, coke-bottle-bottom glass wearing, ugly girl.

Those people were one of the biggest reasons I decided to move to the United States. Even when I was twelve, I knew that I would always be judged as weird and eccentric in my home surroundings. Even though they love me and are terribly proud of me, I think my own parents think I am a little weird.

The thing is, America did what I thought it would do for me. I made it okay for me to be weird and it showed me that everyone is weird, in their own way. Well, at least in New York they are. (Please don’t be offended if you live in New York, I’ve come to realize that weird is not such a bad thing after all. It might even be awesome.) So now I am more secure (most days), I have friends who accept and even like me the way I am.

But the little girl who was teased mercilessly still lives somewhere in me and each time I hear someone bash someone else for liking a popular teen pop singer, or for having a web page that doesn’t measure up, or watching TV or anything else, I feel like kicking and yelling. I feel like standing up to those people like I should have so many years ago. Children especially, but people in general, have no idea how strongly their words might affect someone else. I just don’t understand the kind of pleasure one gets from putting someone else down.

I hope this explains things a bit better.

Previously? Variety is the name of the game.

My aunt’s son, not a step but her own son, just quit a secure job where he held a solid title. He quit so that he and two friends could start their own company.

I said, "Good for them, this is the best time for them to take risks. They have no dependants, no obligations to anyone but their own selves."

The thing is, I totally believe what I said. Assuming all goes well, I'll most likely be trying to start a family in a few years. Few being two or three at this point, not five or ten. If I had any say, I would like to have my first kid by the time I'm thirty. This means I have about three years or so to play. This thought process is one of the reasons I decided to go part-time, but sometimes even that's not enough.

Tonight Jake and I were talking about how nice it would be for us to spend two months in Burgaz. In the summer, my family lives on that tiny island which sits on the Marmara Sea. If you look at the pictures on the link you can easily see that this place is like a small piece of heaven. The island is so small that you can tour the entire circumference in about three hours, on foot. No cars are allowed on it, we only have horse carriages. The neat thing is, we already have a home on this island. It would be so nice if we could just escape to Burgaz for two months and read our books, swim, lie under the sun, and sleep.

Sounds wonderful, doesn't it? Except, we won't be able to go. Cause we're not the type to just drop everything and leave. We both have quite secure jobs. My job is truly awesome in many ways and I don't think I want to take the risk of losing it. We have a nice home, a little bird, and weekly obligations.

I can sit here and keep making excuses, but I think it all comes down to the same thing. We're too chicken.

Previously? Nice!

When I’m at work, since sitting is the worst thing for a back with a slipped disc, I’m supposed to get up every twenty minutes or so. The thing is, thanks to my acute pain, it takes around fifteen minutes for me to concentrate hard enough to get stuff done. If I were to get up every twenty minutes, I would get absolutely nothing done. So work is a total mess. I am pissed that I’m not accomplishing work and I am pissed that I’m in pain. The more pissed I get, the more pain I have; it’s a fun cycle.

Each night, I come home and lie in bed. Work to subway, subway to bed. I haven’t gotten a word of reading done. I’m still not signed up for all my classes. I don’t care what I eat, whether I eat. Maybe this is what they call depression. Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe I’m just whining. Who the fuck knows.

What I do know is that I need to get work done. I need to go to my volunteer assignments. My sign language class starts Tuesday and I’ll fail if I miss classes. I need to sign up for my courses or I won’t be able to get in.

I know that people who know me and love me will say that none of those things matter and my health is the only important thing. I agree. I would give so much to have this pain stop. To be able to stand up again without cringing. To get a full night of sleep.

But I’m tired. I don’t want to be sick anymore. I want to be able to go on with my life. I want to learn to play the saxophone. I want to go kickboxing. I want to ski. I want to learn how to Waltz. I want to sit without crying. I want this crap to be over.

I am so goddamn tired of it.

Previously?

With my record of letting go, that’s a real good thing.

The few mistakes I have made, I have never been able to forget and let go. The choices I made; the choices I didn’t make. Each and every mistake haunts me. Imagine what life would have been if I’d made more of them.

Regrets.

Lance’s new creation, The Dead Letter Office is all about that. I spent some time reading a few of the letters and it seems most people talk about what they didn’t do, what they wish they’d had the guts to do.

It’s amazing to me that so many people thought of mostly what they didn’t get to do in their death instead of all their accomplishments and happiness and loved ones.

Many people mentioned not getting to be with their loved one. I’ll leave that one for another day.

Tonight we watched The Family Man which is about a similar subject matter. It’s about the questions we ask ourselves. The “What If?”s

What if I’d never left Turkey?

What if I’d agreed to go out with him?

What if my parents never divorced?

What if I never met Jake?

There are two different kinds of what ifs. The ones you can control and the ones you cannot. Leaving Turkey was a choice. So was saying No. But the divorce and meeting Jake were beyond my control. It’s only the ones where I decided that I can regret. The reason I don’t most often is cause I remind myself of the choices I made and the rationale behind them.

No matter how much I think I’m bound to make some mistakes. I am only human, but everything is undoable. It’s never too late.

If it helps you to write the dead letter so you can figure out what your regrets are, that’s wonderful. But the real key is to fix them while you’re alive and live the rest of your life regret-free. What’s the way? Maybe a cheesy Nike logo: Just Do It.

You’ll be amazed how easy it is once you start.

I don’t need to write my dead letter, I already know what it would say. I do need to learn to get over my regrets.

They wear me down.

Previously? No Fights.

Over a month ago, my computer had a virus which caused me to reinstall the registries on my machine. Thanks to an illness that renders sitting a very painful activity for me, I haven’t used my desktop since that night. I do know however that the soundcard is still not working and I have absolutely no idea how to fix it. I can only imagine the more subtle errors that are still sitting on my machine, which I won’t be able to catch until my discs stop digging into my back.

My clothes are all over the living room couch and the chair in my bedroom. Until we packed for Christmas, our luggage sat on the floor, unpacked since Thanksgiving. This morning, Jake kindly unpacked our bags from our shortened vacation so now my clothes decorate the chair, the treadmill and the bed.

I am supposed to put pillows under my knees when I lie on my back and under my tummy when I lie on my stomach and somewhere under my legs when I lie on my side. On my bed, we currently have six pillows, just in case I am in a certain position and a pillow is not at hand. These pillows start in their correct location (under my knees, for example) but end up on the floor after several hours of battle during the night. A few hours later, they’ll end up back in bed, possibly even under my head this time. The dust in my house and I have become close friends.

Jake has been doing all the house errands, cooking me three meals a day and doing anything in his power to make me put as little effort on my body as possible. He’s kind, loving and generous.

I love him.

I don’t know what I would do without him.

Previously?

This holiday season I seem to be spiraling into a rather odd mood. I don't know whether it's the excessive amount of medication that's been piling up in my body, just usual holiday blues or something else, but I do know that I'm a little off. I go from ecstatic to miserable in a matter of seconds. One minute, I'm sitting on my couch, watching something stupid on TV, relaxing and the next minute I'm weeping uncontrollably. Does this mean I should see a professional? Probably. I think it's just the overwhelming amount of stress I lay upon myself. I have seven untouched books, all due to the library in ten days. I have a novel that's waiting to be written and I am really behind at work. But what do I spend my free time doing? Watching TV and sleeping. I just don't feel motivated to do anything.

Let's hope this week in Savannah turns out to be what I need.

For those of you who celebrate, Happy Channukah!

I believe there are two kinds of people in the world: ones who make lists and ones who don't. While the makers can't understand how the others can keep track of things, the non-makers don't believe in keeping track. Anyhow, since I'm a list maker, my friend Mike's idea sounds just like my kinda project.

He said that he had this friend who made a list of 100 things she wants to do before she dies. The list contains anything from 'having a baby' to 'being on TV'. He talked about how his friend tries to do one thing in the list each year. After our conversation I started thinking about wishes that would make it to my list.

So I sat down and made one. Believe it or not, it was hard to think of 100 things, I could only come up with 50. I figured I'd start on the 50 while I thought of others to add. I'll type up the entire thing in a few days but in the meantime, here are some sneak previews off my list.

- fly a plane
- go to Antarctica
- read a book in French
- get drunk
- own a Dalmatian

The items can be anything, the only criteria is that you want to do it. Some items can be things that you know you will do someday like getting married while others can be things that will really take an effort to accomplish, like climbing the Everest. The only caution I want to mention is to make sure the list item is something you can measure. If you put an item like 'be happy' on the list it's really hard to figure out if that item is ever officially off your list.

Anyhow, it's your list so you can put anything you want on it.

What items would make your list?

Previously?

After another sleepless night on Monday, I've been given codeine. I'm praying it will help me get through the night cause this pain has started testing my and Jake's patience and the strengths of our relationship. When you lie awake at three in the morning, with pain, and someone else is sleeping soundly next to you, it's amazing what goes through your mind. Especially since I've been taking pills that make me psychotic (more so than usual).

Anyhow.

It seems we're finally gonna have a president. I must say that I'd much rather wait several more weeks than get this guy as the president for the next four years. I was quite pissed with the Supreme Court yesterday. I can't believe they took as long as they did with the decision making. They did know that the entire nation was waiting for them. After those many hours, they didn't even make a real definitive ruling. What a bunch of crap.

I don't think I've officially mentioned Candy Land here. Thanks to Heather who's got the board, Michael, Dinah, Daniel and I are playing it online. I've never played this awesome game before so I'm enjoying it tremendously. Up until yesterday, I was the major loser but Mr. Mint's come to my rescue and I'm charging ahead. Come root for me!

'Tis the season to give. And get. What do you want from Santa this year? Harrumph (actually it's Jezebel) asks "Have you been naughty or nice?" Come on, you know you want the goods, it's time to face the music.

As opposed to most normal people, I'm a huge fan of the holiday season. I love the Christmas lights (even if that makes me a bad Jew) and I love making my resolutions (even if I never keep them). For those of you who don't like the holiday season, why not try to change your point of view this year, just to try something new? Maybe it'll grow on ya.

Who knows?

Previously?

In case you were convinced that Bush won, over a month later you still can't be sure. I wonder how many people's careers are gonna be over before we get a new president?

Thoughts
from calm to psychotic in under 60
This morning I woke up much better than yesterday. My back was still aching but I'd actually managed to sleep most of the night so I figured that had to be a good sign. On the way to work, flurries of snowflakes were falling and I smiled. I love snow, especially when it's sweet and non-intrusive like it was.

Until 3:45, I was having an okay day. Small frustrations of getting my schedule together were annoying but not enough to throw me off. My sign language class is offered on Tuesdays now so I was actually happy. And then....and then my so-called doctor's office called.

I went to this doctor for the first time on Monday morning. I specifically asked how long the appointment takes cause I had a 10am class and they told me it would be no problem. No problem my ass. I got out of there at 10:25 and then I still had to call back to schedule a follow-up appointment. When I got out of my class, on the way to another, I called the office and had to call three times just to be able to get an appointment. That morning when I was seeing the doctor, I told him I really didn't favor taking pills and he said that while he agreed with me, he still wanted to put me on steroids cause he said it would heal my disc problems immediately. So I said fine and started taking all three medications he prescribed.

Yesterday, after having spent a painful and sleepless night, I called the doctor's office at 9am and asked them to find out why I was still in enough pain not to be able to sleep. The fucking office calls me back a day and a half later, and the stupid-ass secretary says she's gonna put me on another medication and that the doctor wants me to schedule an MRI. To say the least, I freaked. I asked the chick whether I was supposed to take this new medicine in addition to what I already was taking and she said yes. I asked her why I needed an MRI and she goes, "Look I have no idea, I'm telling you what the doctor told me. He looked at your chart and told me to do this." So I tell her about how totally unresponsive this doctor's been to me and how I will have to change doctors and she goes "Well, I thought I was being real nice to you." I must tell you that at this point, she probably could not have said anything without me blowing up.

So I hung up and called Jake who told me to call my regular doctor (who is wonderful and amazing) and ask for another doctor. I call the woman's office and she's gone for the day. Her very patient and kind nurse listens to me as I cry and babble over the phone about how I wanna know why I need to take even more medication and how I'm still in pain after these steroids and how this doctor won't tell me what's going on. I just went berserk. I'm at work and I'm weeping. I call my poor mother all the way in Turkey at 11:30pm, still blabbering.

In the meantime, I call NYU to schedule this MRI and the woman tells me I need a permission number to be able to schedule an MRI and since this is a regular procedure, the doctor's office should have already given me one and the hospital can't schedule an MRI without it. So I call the office back and the woman's totally clueless and she says she'll need a few days to get me this number. Let alone the fact that the earliest MRI appointment I can get at this moment is already 10 days away.

As I get off the phone, I realize my regular doctor did call me back and is now leaving to go home. I struggle to call her back but her office is closed so I get her paged. The paging service is a total bitch and hangs up on me as soon as she has my number. This amazing doctor calls me back from God knows where and she calms me down. She tells me that I'm probably having an emotional reaction due to one of the medications I'm taking. She tells me that she wants me to change doctors and says that I totally should feel comfortable with my doctor and gives me another name to call at 9am on Monday morning. I ask her if I'm supposed to take this additional anti-inflammatory medication the other doctor gave me and she goes "But you're already taking an anti-inflammatory" and she says that one should never take two anti-inflammatory medications at the same time. So she tells me to go home and lie down and ignore the other medication. She's kind, she's wonderful, and she’s amazing.

I go to the pharmacy where the asshole doctor called for my prescription and the pharmacist says that with the current medication I'm taking he would recommend highly against my taking this additional medication. I tell him my general doctor agreed and that I refuse to take this new prescription and come home to lie down.

All of this in about 40 minutes. I am now dying with pain and that doctor is extremely lucky he's nowhere near my vicinity.

Why do doctors in this country suck so hard? What happened to personal care and attention?

Previously?

The New York subway system is really entertaining. A woman threatened to smack a guy with her Snapple bottle and a guy started talking to strangers about dick-shaped gum. All of this in the first five minutes of my ride. Don't you wish you lived here?

Have I mentioned how much I love Christmas? A lot. On our first winter in New York, we bought a Christmas tree and since I never had a real one, I didn't know one was supposed to water them. Duh? Yep. Anyhow, this year we're leaving town for Christmas so I didn't wanna buy a tree and kill it once more, but I really love the smell of fresh pine. So guess what I did? I bought a wreath! It smells divine. Color me happy.

If you ever wanted to know what happens behind the closed doors of Alcoholics Anonymous, here's your chance. Then again, those doors aren't really closed. Anyone can attend. I've been to a few with my ex-boyfriend but that's another story for another time. Even with the high rate of alcoholics in America, 2 out of 4 boyfriends seems too high, doesn't it? Amazing how I seem to attract them, especially since I don't drink.

A while ago, I wrote about the author of Fight club. As I talked about his unique style, I seemed to have missed a few details. He also likes the make sure all his books have major twists in the last ten pages. Not to mention that his books are full of twisted people and subjects. Even though I really enjoy his writing style, I couldn't get myself to finish his second novel.

Who are your favorite authors? Whose style do you enjoy?

Previously?

When I mentioned that my back was broken yesterday, I meant it. Last night, I lay in bed almost crying from the pain. There was absolutely no possible position in which I could curl up and not hurt myself. I tried lying on my back, my stomach, my side, half leg off the bed, both legs under my stomach. None of it worked. Nothing. Nada!

So this morning after a few hours of walking around hunched and changing positions in my chair every few seconds, I started worrying that something might have gone seriously wrong. I have a family full of people with slipped disks, so I had reason to worry. My wonderful doctor was kind enough to give me an appointment pretty much right away and she told me, thankfully, that I hadn't injured anything permanently but that I wasn't in real good shape. She gave me some strong drugs (weee!) to take the pain away and told me that she wants me to do physical therapy. Ugh!

My experiences with physical therapy are horrendous at best. I had years of it back at home. It was okay while the guy was doing it but minutes after he'd leave the pain would start shooting up and down my spine and I'd end up, curled up on the floor, weeping. You must understand that after such magnificent memories, I am really not looking forward to these sessions. It might even be better to keep walking around hunched up.

Thanks to Heather, I had my first laugh today. Thanks for making my day, I really needed it, especially today.

I came home, all bummed out, really feeling quite miserable. About forty minutes later, I called my friend John who lives in Japan and we talked for quite a while and I am so glad we did. From December of last year to this past May, I was living in Tokyo, for work and I had no friends whatsoever. John, and his now girlfriend Liz, were two of my closest friends. John actually ate lunch with my almost every single day of those six months. We even sat at the restaurant, him reading his book and me reading mine. He listened to me whine about my job and played the typing arcade game with me until the wee hours of the morning. Liz took me to my first and second hairdresser trips. Since she knows how to speak Japanese, she talked to the funnily dressed woman who was about to change the length and color of my hair. If it weren't for her, I would have never had the opportunity to experience the hair washing machines that wash your hair on their own. Just like sticking your head in a toilet bowl. By the time I got off the phone, I missed Japan and felt thankful for my friends, no matter how much or little I get to speak to them. Thank you John and Liz for being the best! Since they are both taking the same Japanese exam as I am on Sunday (well Liz is taking the expert level but it's on the same day) I also wanted to wish them both tons of luck!

May you always be surrounded with friends (and no backache).

Before?

That's my current situation. Thanks to a very cold Thanksgiving weekend and a warm cat, I am unable to breathe and unable to stand up straight. My throat is irritated from my continually dripping nose and I can't open my mouth without some form of phlegm interfering (I know you wanted to know that). Four days in a row of this and five days away from my exam, I can guarantee you wouldn't want to be in the same room as me today. I am grouchy, I am sick and I am miserable.

To top it off I got my first virus in the eight years I've had computers. Thanks to my wonderful mother and my stupid laziness to check each mail, my computer was infected with the stupid ass Feliz Navidad virus two nights ago. It took me several hours to even realize the stupid thing was in my machine. Yesterday, I woke up to realize I was unable to run any executables. This stupid virus changes the association of .exe files for your computer. Nicely enough, that's the one file type association that cannot be edited or deleted. So, in my very unconscious state, I kept trying to find a solution and decided that, short of manually updating my registry, I had no choice but to reinstall NT on my machine. I'm sure there must have been other options but I really couldn't think of one, mostly cause I am pretty much unable to think in my current state. Even if I had had the balls to screw with the registry, regedit is an executable and therefore wouldn't run. Neither would DOS. I'm telling you, it wasn't funny. To add to my fun, I couldn't find my copy of NT. Much to the chagrin of my backache, I started going thru all my boxes and came up empty.

Thanks to this joyful situation, I was up till after 3am last night, reinstalling NT, reinstalling Windows Office, and reinstalling all sorts of other programs without which I seem to be unable to function. Jake, rightfully so, kept yelling at me about how I should just install Linux and get all my troubles over with. I must tell you, if it hadn't meant reformatting my entire drive, I very well might have done that. If I haven't said so before, let me say it loud and clear now, I hate Microsoft products. They suck! As soon as I get a decent amount of time off, I am freeing my life off any of those.

Life is just not at its best for me right this minute.

Before?

The greatest thing about having written years of diaries is that I can now go back and read them all. Amidst the childish blabber, I find some gems.

During the last years of high school and in the beginning of college, I used to ask people to write me letters. Handwritten ones. As much as they whined about it, I have all these amazing letters now. Trust me when I say that they are much more precious than email. I had this theory (which I still believe in) that people feel more comfortable writing things down as opposed to vocalizing them. Somehow when we write them down, things become easier to say. We can talk about our feelings and our disappointments, etc.

When you write things down, you don't have to worry about the opposite party's reaction. You don't have to worry about their disappointment, lack of excitement, disapproval, anger, bewilderment or anything else. You just pour things out, writing to a faceless entity. I've found that this process makes people more honest, more open and more at ease. Don't believe me? Give it a try!

Before?

I wrote the entire outline of my novel today. Twenty chapters of three acts each. Considering the two main characters and beginning of the story had been in my mind for several months, it was neat to see whether I could form an entire book's worth of a story out of it. I think I can. I hope I can. I really love this story and I am quite attached to these people. I want to do this one. I want to do it right. May the Muses help me out.

Derek says writing a book is hard. I couldn't agree more.

I did spend some chunk of time studying for my Japanese test as well. Not as much as I would have liked to, but enough to not give up on this exam, yet. I just hope my brain holds up.

Self-confidence is a weird thing, everyone who lacks it thinks that she is the only one who does so. (I am tired of using the politically correct she or he thing. Since I am female, I am using she. If you're male, please adjust accordingly. Thanks.) I look at some people and feel like they must be amazingly happy. I see this person who looks stunning, has a great job, wonderful boyfriend and friends who seem to love her. I think to myself that this person must feel delighted with her life. And then I find out that she, too, doubts herself and feels insecure and my jaw drops. I wish I could find a way to cure self-doubt. It's such a crippling sensation and it seems that no one is spared. If you know the secret to how not to be insecure, please share with me.

Before?

It's times like these that make me reconsider my willingness to go back to school.

I wish I could tell you something pithy about today but I spent the entire day studying Japanese, desperately trying to come up with an outline for my novel and mostly running away from both chores by watching a week's worth of TiVo. I'm sure tomorrow won't be shockingly different.

I did see Charlie's Angels last night and loved it. It was funny. It was witty. It was silly. It was fun. It was the perfect Friday night movie.

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Are you nice to people? When was the last time you were rude to someone? It's really amazing how some people don't realize the importance of being nice to everyone. I'm not talking about kissing butt or faking it, but genuine cordiality. There is no reason to not be kind to everyone. It's so interesting to me how something that goes around comes around. The person you're mean to might be at the other end of an interview or might become a client. I just don't understand what causes people to be rude. To me, it makes perfect sense to try and be nice to everyone. When someone is nice to me, especially when they have no reason to be, it so makes my day and I love the idea of doing that for someone else. Wouldn't you?

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Thoughts
The weird thing about being sick is that I can never seem to remember the time when I wasn't. As soon as I get sick, it feels like I will always be sick. I feel hopeless and miserable and each time I try to recall how I felt without the sickness, I can't seem to. Maybe it's just me, but it happens to me every time. It's one of the major reasons I hate getting sick. The sore throat, chess pain, incessant sneezing, fever and nausea are some others.

Happy Halloween! This is the first time in my life that I'm giving out candy. Last year, I was at my friend Laura's house for Halloween and it was the first time I carved pumpkins. Since I never gave candy out before I wanted to go all out. I bought full-size bars and lots of them and then I got worried and bought some snack sized ones as well, just in case too many kids showed up. I just hope the kids come to get it or my diet will become toast!

I was trying to link a picture of my plate of candies but I can't get the image to be small enough, so it'll have to wait.

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I spent all of last week bummed that I was leaving town cause I had so much to do. Yesterday, we drove back to New Haven after working out in the cold an entire day. We took the 11:15 train from New Haven, getting home around 2am. All of this, so I could wake up in my own house and finish the list of things I had planned for this weekend. Do you want to know what I did all day? You guessed it: nothing! I woke up all congested and dizzy. I walked from the bed to the couch and planted myself in front of the TV, actually, the TiVo. I spent the entire day watching one program after another. I did write the scene for my novel that was due tomorrow, but that's it. Nothing more. I am such a loser! Argh! I do the same thing every week. You'd think I would have learned by now.

Thanks to my portable Panasonic player, I watched High Fidelity on the train home yesterday. I'd read the book a while ago and loved it. The movie, as usual, wasn't as good. Even though Cusak tried hard, Hornby's cynicism just can't come across on the movie screen as it did on the pages.

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Anyhow, we drove from New York to Boston for the annual Serve-A-Thon. Since Jake was a City Year Corps member in 1992, he and his family do the Serve-A-Thon every year. If you're from New York, it's similar to the New York Cares Day. I really enjoy the day-long community service sessions cause everyone is so hyped up and you meet all sorts of interesting people. The best news I heard today as that City Year is planning to come to New York. I've been wanting to volunteer for them for a long time and now it looks like I might get the opportunity. Yeaay!

After cleaning the park and raking leaves all day, we drove to New Haven where Jake's brother goes to college. His roommates and he are throwing a Halloween party. I didn't even go to parties much when I was in college so it's funny that I should choose to attend one four years after I graduated. We'll see how this turns out.

Before?

Well said, and how true. If only I knew of a way to make my mind and heart listen.

Sorry about the lack of long posts and passages, they will be back real soon, I promise.

Today's word is obsession. Good word in my household. Both of us get totally obsessed about things. The funny thing is that the subject matter isn't all that relevant. Only the strong obsession with which I throw myself at it. When I started writing a book, I obsessed about learning all the details of grammar (not that you can tell from my log). For some Godforsaken reason I decided to keep a blog and got totally obsessed with all the other ones. I spent hours of my day reading everyone's words. I even wrote emails to some of these people. Not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just that, for a while, it consumed me. I kept trying to think of ways to change my blog so I'd have more visitors. I checked my referrer logs every second. I'm trying to get across the difference between liking something and totally obsessing about it.

For better or worse, I seem to be over that one. I now read a few logs whenever I feel like it and if people don't want to visit my page. So be it. I can't force them. However, if you have been reading my page and do like it, it might be nice of you to make contact. Make me feel like less of a loser and all. Heh Heh.

There are good obsessions, too. For example, my two good obsessions are reading and learning. I can never have enough of either. But I guess the word obsession has bad connotations doesn't it?

When I tell people of the obsessions I have, and in most cases the sorrow they cause me, (like how I am not worthy) they tell me to stop thinking that way and to appreciate all the great things in my life. The thing is, if I could do that I wouldn't be obsessing!

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I also spent some of today scanning pictures of my awesome nephews. Are these not the cutest kids you've ever seen? Well, I might be partial but they make my heart do cartwheels.

Lately, I've been pondering how different my life might have been had I been born in the United States. Besides the small differences, I wonder if the major parts of my life would have been the same. Since no one in my family or surroundings was an avid reader, would I have been a book lover even if I were American? Would I still have learned as many languages? Would I have still chosen to major in computers? Or would I have wanted to be an artist or a writer? Being a writer was not a realistic possibility for me in Turkey. It's not that we don't have writers, it's just that, in my limited surroundings, that would not have been an option. I have a feeling I would have been much more involved in environmental causes and community service. I might have been a vegetarian. It comes down to how much your genes affect you versus your environment. I wonder what about me would have been exactly the same (besides the physical appearance, of course). I will never have the answers but I still can't help wondering.

Before?

1. dial 1-800-888-3999 (it's free)
2. listen to the options
3. when you hear number 7 press number 7

This so made my day!!! Thanks go to Jessica!

Thoughts
My first day back home and it's pouring. What a bummer.

I watch a lot of TV and I mean a lot. For me to get my work done, the television set has to be on or I can't function. I generally watch what most people call crappy shows since I multitask while the set is on. Last week I've started watching Gilmore Girls and I must say it's awesome. The dialogue is great, the characters act well and it doesn't hurt that they are gorgeous. It's funny. It's witty. Watch it. You know you want to.

I woke up at 7am today, which isn't so bad for jetlag. Hopefully, this means I can stay up past 7pm tonight. I managed to write my scene for the novel writing class and get my shit together in enough time. It's amazing how I get all the necessary stuff done when I have a minimum amount of time left to do them. On the other hand, when I have a week to do something, I never get it done.

Last week, when we had the terrible bombings and killings in the Middle East, the thing that terrified me most was that CNN had a logo for the whole thing within seconds. I find that offensive.

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Just a week ago I was all excited to go back to Turkey and today I couldn't wait to get back to New York. I met three jazz musicians on the plane who play locally, so now I'll get to see them perform. One of the advantages of living in New York. I always thought New York would be a bad place to raise children. I planned to move to Boston whenever it was time to start a family, but these kids on the plane seemed to hate Boston so much that they made me reconsider. I don't want my kids raised anywhere with close minded people, which seems to leave only New York or San Francisco as possible alternatives. I just always thought it would be cruel to bring up a kid in an apartment building when I could offer him or her grass to run on. I guess we all wants things for our children that we couldn't have ourselves. But maybe that's not the answer.

Very very jetlagged. Going to sleep. Hopefully I'll be coherent soon.

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Anyhow gotta go now since I'm not even supposed to use the computer much. More short pdates this week and longer ones later.

Before?

Thoughts
Only ONE day before I fly home; two till I get there. It's so weird. I only start missing home when I know I'm about to go there. I mean, I miss my family and my friends all the time, but right before I am about to fly home, everything increases by several orders of magnitude. Suddenly, I can't get home soon enough. I want to be there now. I start calling my friends and telling them that I'm coming and the excitement in their voices makes me ache to be there immediately. Since my sister had her amazing twins, I have started going home about ever four months and it's never enough. I can and do spend every waking moment of my vacation with them. Oh, I'm homesick all over again. Only 48 hours to my plane.

I read this article in Real Simple magazine about a couple who moved from Los Angeles to a farm in Oregon where they grow lavender. He's an actor and she's a documentary writer and they talk about how much their life has changed for the better since the move. They talk about the hikes, walks, and rafting. They talk about how they made friends immediately. I often tell myself that I want to leave New York and my friends make fun of me. Someone who can never do fewer than six things at a time could never live anywhere else probably. Still, the idea of living in between lavender or walking by a lake with my dog by my side spawns dreamy images. I hope I can muster the courage to try such a drastic life change. Maybe we can have a trial run in Martha's Vineyard. Then again, I hear it gets freezing there over the winter...Sigh!

Before?

Here's today's lyric: "You want a part of me? Well I'm not selling cheap."

Know the source? Hate these lyrics? Have better suggestions?

Goody Links
If you're into books, and I am if you haven't guessed so far, you'll enjoy the mp3lit page with lots of mp3s on books read by their authors. While it is hard to navigate and it's still missing most of my favorite authors, I did enjoy listening to Kurt Vonnegut and Anthony Burgess. They also have poetry and non-fiction. Thanks go to megnut for this link. Go listen to some books!

Thoughts
For the last three months, I've been going to the gym here at work. I've never been a shower-in-public person. I don't feel comfortable being naked around other people. To be totally honest, I don't even feel comfortable being naked alone. I'm sure many people would say that it means I am oppressed and have issues. Most likely, they're right. I always told myself that if I can get rid of the weight I gained during college, I can be at peace with my body once again, but I'm not even sure that's true. While I'd finally be more comfortable, I still don't think I can prance around naked in a room full of other people, even if they are all members of my gender. Maybe I should have gone to burning man, it might have freed me. It's really not possible for me not to be self-conscious. If anyone has any good suggestions, I'm all ears.

One of the greatest things about sleeping in the same bed with a male is that men are walking heaters. As I lay in bed, shivering, I feel utterly thankful for the heat Jake's body gives off. I'm sure there's a scientific explanation for why men are much warmer than women. While I look into the matter, I'm gonna keep enjoying my personal heater.

Some people have differing thoughts about the TiVo Giveaway. I think it's perfectly fine not to enter. I already wanted one. I can't function without the TV on, so it'd be good to have the shows I enjoy instead of most of the crap I end up having to watch.

Oh, and, Happy New Year.

Exactly one week from today, I'm flying home. Hooray!

One of the things I notice in most successful people is that they were totally ambitious about what they wanted. There are a few lucky people who fell into something they liked and got to do it, but most people worked hard and totally concentrated on wanting the life they eventually got. Think of your own life. Your goals. Are you where you've always wanted to be? If so, you're in a rare situation, make the most of it. If not, why not?

I am peppermint! Crisp and refreshing, you're the flavor of candy canes and after-dinner mints — everyone's favorite comfort candies. If you were a season, you'd be winter — bracing and energizing, but cozy, too. Your honesty and forthright personality make people feel like they've known you forever — they can't help but be drawn to your sweet, fresh nature. Perhaps a little old-fashioned, and occasionally shy, you're generally happy and well-liked. Traditional and invigorating, you're a truly tasty treat.

Hmm. Winter. My favorite season is Spring. And I must say my forthright personality often embarrasses the people around me. And I hate peppermint! Oh well, at least it was correct about how people can’t help being drawn to me. Heh heh.

On Saturday night, as I watched the movie with my friend, the woman sitting next to me kept staring at me throughout the movie. For a while, I thought it might be cause I moved, but even when I didn't blink or utter a word, she kept staring. It took me large amounts of self-restraint not to turn to her and yell, "What's your problem?" Afterwards, I wondered how much effect random people have on my day and my mood.

Obviously, it only matters what you think of yourself but it's fascinating how a total stranger can sway one's mood.

Send me mail, wish me well.

You don't even stop to ponder how self-involved you are to imagine that people have nothing better to do. People spend a lot less time thinking about you than you think they do. Next time, you find yourself worrying about how someone is directing a comment at you, try to refocus your perspective.

We watched Happy, Texas last night. I still can't make up my mind about whether I liked it or not. It definitely is no masterpiece, but it was sort of funny. Stupid funny, but funny nonetheless.

Argh.

I don't want to choose. I want it all.

I swear to myself that I will no longer try. I say that I will just read amazing books and appreciate the people who are capable of creating them. I will enjoy good movies and masterpieces of art. I don't have to be an artist to be a great person. It's okay to not have the talent to write. I have to stop the torture of putting myself out there just to get disappointed over and over again. If I don't try, I can't fail. Yes, I say, I will stop. I'm not writing anymore.

Until the next morning, when I wake up with an idea and run to the keyboard. This is the one, I fool myself, this one will be my masterpiece.

And the vicious circle begins once more.

Saturday night Jake and I went to a restaurant by our house to have dinner. The weather was so wonderful that we looked for a place with outside seating. As we sat on the bench outside the restaurant, waiting to get a table, a small, brown mouse scurried by us towards the tables. These tables were outside the restaurant but within a low barricade the restaurant had put to separate itself from the sidewalk. Jake and I looked at each other and waited for the shrieks to come. Ten minutes later, we were seated and forgot all about the mouse, until the woman in the table behind ours cried out a few unintelligible words as we saw the poor mouse run for his life squeezing below the tent barricade. The owner of the restaurant simply shook his head as the animal tried to find freedom. I truly think it's impossible to live in New York City if you're afraid of mice or bugs of any sort. You wouldn't be able to walk down the street or use the subway. As this little mouse made its way across the road, two women walked by and one shrieked while the other said, "Why are you so scared? It's Mickey Mouse." No joke.