I’m looking forward to the day that my brain becomes numb to all rhythmic thumping sounds, but it probably won’t be soon enough for me to take a quiet nap in my apartment.

I have decided to write a book.

I KNOW, right? Yea, but so there’s only this one teensy problem where I don’t have any ideas as to subject matter or genre or really anything, mostly because I don’t have any “expertise” or “knowledge” of any subject like at all. I pretty much know about shopping for sweaters and painting my nails. That’s like, maybe three chapters? So since I am self-centered and lazy, I was thinking my best shot might be to focus on amusing anecdotes about my awkward childhood and subsequent awkward adulthood, a timeline which was interrupted by an anomalous time in high school where I was cool and interacted with people (I wasn’t cool) (but I thought I was cool). I could turn my own experiences into lessons for today’s at-risk youth, or (more likely)  just a vague guide about how to hide your lifelong candy addiction from your boyfriend and your dentist (but not really your dentist. He knows). Isn’t this an exciting time where anything is possible?

So as it stands right now, I am going to write a book with no point or subject, ascribing no particular genre, with no tone of voice. Oh, and no overall message either. It’s going to be great and probably awkward, because that’s how I roll. I’d like to note that I will not be using the word awkward as much in my book as I have in this post.

But what better platform to sort out your ideas and thoughts and money-making schemes for best sellers than on your internet blog, right? I mean this thing is already chock full of gold, stories words, so in a way I’m already on the road to published authordom and I didn’t even know it. The truth of the matter is this: literally all of the blogs I read on the regular are in the process of writing their books. Sure, most of them are cartoons or food blogs, but that’s not the point. The point is that I want a book, and that I shouldn’t be hindered by the ever-growing list of things I can’t do. So expect a lot more really fucking awkward childhood stories, links to sweaters that I want to buy, pictures/videos/christmas cards of my cats, and other riveting tidbits about living life as a person like me. I’ll get the ball even rolling-er with a super interesting dream I had last night and told everyone about:

I dreamed that myself and what I assume was most of my graduating high school class were at a graduation party for ourselves, but as our current 25-year-old selves. I spent the entire dream earnestly thanking our senior class president for his years of service, and slow-shaking his hand.

That’s it.

I’d say we’re off to a rip-roarin’ start, wouldn’t you?

Also, Jesse, apparently I’d really like to thank you for years of dedicated service to our class.

I meant it when I said I try to make sure my nails are always fly as hell. I have to say, I feel like I killed it tonight. What, you don’t really know what you’re looking at because of the low resolution of the picture provided? Well, suffice it to say, they’re awesome. I used Sonia Kasush “Starry Night” (black with silver sparkles), with some awesome $1.99 nail stickers. Target is my bitch, even though I left without buying the amazing-but-$40 Missoni pajama pants. Sad face. For the astute observer among you, you can also see my pajama pants, my pillow, my neck pillow, and my bra strap. There’s…a lot going on.  It’s like a word find, only with bedtime things! And, you know, not words.

You wake up in the morning. You wash your face. You wash your neck and everything is going great until, omigod, there is a GIANT PAINFUL LUMP under the left side of your jaw. Your throat is sore, but only on the left side. You remember saying yesterday that you felt a sore throat coming on, so you pass the day as usual. That night as you try to sleep, you have to adjust your positions to accommodate the new swollen friend who lives on your neck. The seeds of worry are planted in your mind.

Day 2: Maturation

The next morning you awake and immediately check the mirror. OK. It’s still there. Your throat is still sore (still on the one side). You show no other discernible symptoms of illness. You spend the day gently prodding the mass to see if you can discover it’s point of origin. You begin googling remedies for a sore throat. The fact that this is all occurring on one side of your neck begins to cause you some alarm. You go home and take some Advil and sleep the sound sleep of someone not harboring a tumor on their neck.

Day 3: Nosedive into Complete Nervous Breakdown

You wake up on Day 3. It’s still there, mocking you. Your throat is still sore. You have absolutely, unequivocally, zero other symptoms of sickness to speak of. You become greatly distressed. You begin googling things like “giant swollen lymph node on one side of neck.”

The first thing you learn, of presumably utmost importance, is that you should be able to tell whether the node is “squishy and moveable” vs. “hard and immobile”, as this is what separates “common cold” from “probably cancer”. Your desperation increases exponentially as you poke and move your lump, as it seems to be both squishy and hard, and it moves a little but not that much. Googling “degree of lymph node squishyness/moveability” does not yield any desired results and you become pretty sure that you do in fact have cancer because your node isn’t as squishy as it should be. And now it hurts more.

Is your node painful or not painful, be careful to note that NOT PAINFUL MEANS CANCER! Well, mine is definitely painful! Excruciating, now, actually. Yay! Did it appear suddenly as if from nowhere or did it grow slowly and steadily over time because SLOW AND STEADY MEANS CANCER. Why yes, it did appear suddenly! I am in the clear! Is it enlarged to over one inch? Because this is a cause for concern. Oh my god, I’m dying, I’m dying, YES it is bigger than one inch. I probably have days to live. Become greatly concerned.

You know what, just start flat out googling “lymphoma” and “how treatable is lymphoma” and images of lymphoma and images of other enlarged lymph nodes and “what is wrong with me” and “why is it only on one side” and “how do I get rid of it” and “why, just why”.

Go on your lunch break. Realize that you are probably blowing this whole cancer thing out of proportion. Remember that it could be a million other things, like a cold! Or the flu! Or maybe strep, or mono, or tonsillitis, or an abscessed tooth, or an ear infection, or a drainage problem,  or lymes disease, or Hodgkins Lymphoma. Or maybe just a tumor. Utterly fail at cheering yourself up, and also everything else, ever.

Come home from work. Talk to boyfriend. Take Emergen-C. Gargle with salt water until the inside of your mouth becomes like the skin of a lizard. Take some advil. Gargle again. Go to sleep.

Gargle again.

When this is all over and your lymph node has receded to normal size, remember for the next time this happens that a.) you are completely insane and b.) you should not have access to Google, because it will ruin your life.

While driving to work a couple of weeks ago, enjoying the cool morning air through the open window, a long lost memory took hold of me and refused to relinquish its grasp. At first I was alarmed…scared, even. My panic dissipated as I realize that the memory was not wrathful. No, it was a sweet memory. Sweet, with hints of cinnamon and cloves, gently mingling with ginger and nutmeg, all gloriously combined with the robust flavor of coffee. I knew at once what the memory was trying to tell me: Pumpkin coffee season was nigh. I nearly cried.

I had my first pumpkin coffee (iced) from Dunkin Donut’s yesterday. It was just as magical as I remembered it, and I look forward to having it for every meal from now until December when they switch over to Gingerbread coffee which is like pumpkin coffee’s jealous younger brother who will forever live in the shadow of pumpkin coffee’s unattainable glory.

I won’t insult you by explaining why pumpkin flavored things are always (100% of the time) better than non-pumpkin flavored things; some things simply are. I want to help you. I want you to walk with me in the path of righteousness, the path that’s lined with all things pure and pumpkin-flavored. Let me teach you…

1.) Pumpkin Coffee: Dunkin Donut’s. Starbucks. Tim Horton’s. Green Mountain Coffee. Iced. Latte. Frappuccino. Hot. Sweetened. Injected. On your face. In a bath. YOU CAN’T GO WRONG.

2.) Pumpkin Beer: There are a lot of beers trying to jump on the pumpkin bandwagon, but only one that you really need to pay attention to: Shipyard’s Pumpkinhead Beer. “Subtle, Spiced, Flavor Sensation”. It’s deliciousness is outrageous. Truth time: Having it readily available on tap at any local bar is the real reason that Eric and I moved to Maine.

3.) Pumpkin Icecream: What I would give for some pumpkin icecream right now. The wonderful people at Denville Dairy introduced me to this delightful treat, adding their own spin with pralines and caramel swirl. TOTALLY RIDICULOUS. Dover Dairy Maid even has soft pumpkin icecream which….I can’t even. I can’t. I need to find pumpkin icecream in Maine immediately.

4.) Pumpkin Soup: Do you want to have something pumpkin flavored that won’t get you drunk, fat, or jacked up on caffeine? Have some pumpkin soup! It’s warm, it’s wholesome, it’s flavorful, it’s soup, it’s pumpkin! It’s pumpkin soup!

5.) Pumpkin Baked Goods: Quite possibly the origin of all pumpkin flavored things. Pumpkins begot pumpkin pie. Which begot pumpkin bread. Which begot pumpkin muffins. Which begot pumpkin bagels. Which begot pumpkin cookies. Which begot pumpkin…cupcakes? I think those exist.

All exaggeration aside, science dictates that there are roughly ten billion ways to make whatever you are eating at this exact moment pumpkin flavored in some way. What started as a relatively simple combination of spices has become so much more than that. It’s become an obsession, an addiction. An entire aisle in the baked goods section. A way of life. Join me later this year when we will be discussing how to cope with seasonal pumpkin withdrawal (SPW), and why peppermint and gingerbread are not appropriate replacements.

2.) Win tickets to see your favorite band at a local outdoor music festival. Think about how much gas will cost to get there. Consider selling those tickets. Do not sell those tickets.

3.) Make a list of all of your marketable skills. Cry into a pillow for an hour. Revise list.

4.) Make a list of all of the things in your apartment you can sell. Threaten your cats with a menacing glare as you do so.

5.) Assign a monetary value to absolutely every aspect of/object in your life.

6.) Pick up a cheap hobby to keep your mind off of your budget. Realize you don’t really have enough money to buy the supplies for said hobby. Buy supplies anyway. Forego food shopping for one week.

7.) Google “reasonable monthly food budget for two people” three times a week.

8.) Google “how dangerous can selling drugs actually be”.

9.) Think about a time when you were able to buy a coffee without agonizing for half an hour over whether or not to buy that coffee. Hold on to that memory. That memory is all you have.

10.) Absolutely under no circumstances eat anything but pasta for exactly one month. Repeat as necessary. (Which is always).

11.) Self-medicate with beer that you initially felt guilty about buying but then realized that you need it to keep yourself from googling yet another budget article.

12.) Absolutely under no circumstances write down your monthly income minus all of your bills and living expenses. Do not spend an hour staring at the number that results. Do not cry.

13.) Start writing a blog post about how you won tickets to see your favorite band but then quickly lose focus and spiral into a self indulgent list about how broke you are. Have some reservations about posting it. Proceed anyway.

**MOST IMPORTANTLY**

12.) Never. Never EVER. NEVER EVER EVER ABSOLUTELY NEVER EVER PLEASE DO NOT EVER LOOK AT THE OUTSTANDING BALANCE OF YOUR STUDENT LOANS. DO NOT TAKE NOTE OF HOW MUCH OF YOUR MONTHLY PAYMENTS IS GOING TO INTEREST. Be a good monkey and pay your monthly payment for the next 30 years of your life and one day, maybe after your dead, but not definitely, your education will be paid for.

I might post in more depth about the end of the Harry Potter movies at later time, like a time when I’m not in the throes of grief, mourning, and (self diagnosed) depression.

For now, I’ll just say that this was me last night :

not even an exaggeration.

Sigh.

Avery spending some quality time with his nemesis, the spray bottle.

What I’m trying to say is, I’m growing wheat grass for the cat. The box tells me that my cat will seriously love this grass, and then love me for growing it for him. It also says that it will “help with hairballs”, which is what piqued my interest in the first place because I’d rather not continue this game we play where he starts coughing and wheezing, and I’m like “Just get it out!” and he continues to wretch and I’m like “Seriously, you’ll feel better.” and then we stare at each other and he coughs for a little while longer before swallowing and going about his business because he doesn’t understand what I’m saying to him.  It’s frustrating for all involved. What the box doesn’t say, what I had to look up on Google just now to find out, is that it doesn’t help with the digestion of hairballs. Rather, wheat grass aids in the passing of hairballs. So basically I’m growing grass to help my cat throw up on all of my stuff more easily.

Whether I am truly OK with this remains to be seen, but I’ve become rather alarmingly attached to my little plot of seeds, so, by god, I will see this thing through. It’s sitting comfortably in a tiny plastic pot in the window sill right now, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t check on it multiple times a day. I was feeling pretty down about it yesterday morning when I checked on it and still nothing had sprouted (like, I mixed all of the ingredients together on Sunday night. Tick tock, wheatgrass). So imagine my rapture at coming home after work and discovering a single tiny sprout! I’ve never felt so fulfilled, so at peace with the universe. I know, I know, some hard lessons are ahead for me and my wheat grass, what with me growing it solely so my cat can eat it and then regurgitate it. Just let me have this moment.

The other neighbors we’ve met are not, I repeat, VERY NOT OK in our book. They pretty much had violent sex with our book, loudly, for four hours. The fact that they, too, like our cat cannot save them now. Yea. We live under those people.

We are coping with our trauma by fantasizing about the many ways they might not actually deafen us with their sex every night for the next year that we live here. I had a longer list, but since I’ve had some time to think about it I’ve become rather cynical about the whole situation and am now left with only one possible solution:

1.) Maybe one of them is dying. I mean, one of them will probably die. Like, either of natural causes or in a slightly less natural way, like from me killing them.

Until any such determination is made, we will make ourselves feel better by leaving DVD menus playing at top volume all day long.