If you’ve visited this blog before, you may have noticed that the tag line has changed. The old one (which I loved) was “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard because I use those old-timey frosty mugs.” (Back in the height of my karaoke-ing days, “Milkshake” was my go-to closer for the night.) However, as I recently began blogging on this site again, I want to have a clearer focus of what I plan to write about here. This has been an incredibly eventful year for me personally (new job, got married, traveled, became a homeowner) and I’d like to start documenting these experiences for friends and family to read about. Also, I have a tendency to take on multiple pursuits at a time (roller derby, Crossfit, yoga, maybe even a big project that I may or may not be procrastinating on). In summary, I’m pretty bad at staying still. You know, #YOLO and such.
Ironically, my hair is currently too short to put up in a ponytail.
It has been a long time since I’ve written on this blog. For the last 10 months or so, I’ve been a regular contributor to the literary blog Drinkers With Writing Problems. While I am still an active member of the group, lately I’ve been itching to return to Ponytail Up; however, I wasn’t totally sure what focus I wanted this blog to take. I have decided that I will continue to post fictional and conceptual work at DWWP, while I will use my this blog to write more personal stuff–streams of consciousness, opinions, and stories from my own life. There will be lots of words and not a lot of pictures. I don’t guarantee beginnings/middles/endings. We’ll see how this goes.
Right now, I am sitting in an airport waiting for my flight which is delayed by nearly 2 hours. I have been on an extremely short business trip in Atlanta that is only meant to be 24 hours long. Last night, I exited the plane and saw on the first TV screen that I passed that Robin Williams was dead of apparent suicide. Like so many other people on the facebooks and twitters have commented, this celebrity death has hit me harder than most deaths of famous strangers. When I was a kid, during the summer my siblings and I would spend the hottest part of the summer sleeping in the basement in the cool subterranean darkness. Sprawled out on couch cushions and sheets, we would watch Nick at Nite with the ceiling lights turned off, bathing in the black & white flicker of The Patty Duke Show or The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis. Our absolute favorite was Mork & Mindy; I can remember laughing and trying to force ourselves to stay awake well beyond our usual bedtime to see Mork’s manic streams of jokes. As we grew older, we accumulated even more favorites among Williams’s work: Aladdin, Mrs. Doubtfire, Jumanji. In college, Good Will Hunting was my #1 jam. I am thankful to him for all of the beautiful memories he has given me, and am saddened that his life ended in such deep unhappiness.
There are countless think pieces on suicide, depression, and loneliness currently circulating on social media, and I am glad that at least one positive thing to come out of this tragedy is that people are remembering to tell others that they love them and that they are there for those that may need help.
I am incredibly thankful that I so rarely feel alone and that I have such amazing love in my life. I know that I am lucky and I cherish the people I care about. At my old job, I would travel more often for work and for longer periods of time, and I can remember the loneliness I felt at being physically separated from my family. I’m sure that most people who travel for business feel the same when they are away from their loved ones, unless you’re a hardcore loner or George Clooney in the first half of Up in the Air. When I am in a different place than my husband, I feel highly aware of just how big a chunk of Earth separates us. I worry that if some sort of worldwide disaster were to hit, we wouldn’t be together (I’ve always been more prone to anxiety). Each additional minute of delayed flight pushes our reunion further away, and I want to shake my fist at the aviation gods for holding my plane hostage at whatever small commuter airport it’s currently stuck at. For now, I must sit here with my headphones and laptop, The National streaming into my ears in place of my husband’s laugh. And when I finally get home sometime tonight, I will hug him and tell him that I love him.