I'm so cool, I even missed my own birthday!
Actually, I didn't. I celebrated for like four days. Well, three out of four, with an intermission. Tattooing and karaoke party Saturday night, Ryan Adams Sunday night, and yesterday museums with Tara and fancy-pants dinner with my favorite boy (licorice-braised duck and the best dessert ever, seriously -- OMG). I'm a lucky girl.
But let's not overlook the fact that I'm OLD. And as I've done the past few years, it makes me feel better to reflect blogwise over the events of the past year so I know I'm doing something with my life. I try to do as much as possible, really.
I started 25 working at Starbucks and wanting to run to another ocean. Instead I quit the coffee shops for good and bumped my way through a ridiculous amount of part time jobs before I found some steady income modeling, researching, and occasionally, slinging booze. The enigmatic full-time job still eludes me, but like all those who are older say, I'm still so goddamn young.
I started to hang out with other writers I knew from the Cantab. I heard poems by Brian and Jamie and Simone and knew I wanted to do that and I decided to work harder, to commit myself to writing poetry as well as fiction. I started to read more.
I spent October as a vampire haunting the young and old of Greater Boston, writing, watching movies rented from my local library, and trying to enjoy my mounds of alone time. I had time to reflect. I figured out a lot about myself and the person I always wanted to be. I decided I was strong and arrogant enough to be that person.
On Halloween Sandra tattooed two skeleton keys beneath my clavicles and I wrapped myself in a bedsheet toga to play Sappho. After many whiskeys at the Cantab a tall blond man in white boots and eyeliner got on stage and read John Berryman in a voice that vibrated down my spine. "Who's that?" "That's Derek." "Is he gay?" "I don't think so." After many more whiskeys and some attempts at dancing at Zuzu I crash in a random twin bed in Allston and wake up with this Derek character spooning me still in my toga. I scramble out of there and stagger still drunk over the Charles to get my car. Two weeks later, he was my boyfriend.
This winter was magical. I met so many beautiful people who have become my best friends. I became a poet. I signed a contract with my agent for my novel Backstage at the Caribou, and Warner and Bantam and Dell and so many other presses read it and for so much of the year I thought it was going to be published and all my dreams were about to come true. It wasn't till the spring when reality hit again, and I had to face that maybe not all of my dreams were going to come true just yet. I think the other things are good enough to accept that.
What else happened at twenty-five. I fell in love. Made so many wonderful new friends, did things I was afraid of, danced and danced and worked and worked. I moved up to Somerville. I finished a book or two, wrote poem after poem. Had four features in the Boston area. I've been so many places, New York, Cape Cod, Connecticut, Michigan, South Carolina. Saw Wolf Parade, Elvis Costello, MGMT, Bob Dylan, Ryan Adams, Liars, and so many other groups. I legally changed my name. I started working out. I went to the beach so much. I was happy way more than I was sad.
I think it may be safe to say, Miss Jade, that even with the burglaries and the sicknesses and the manuscript rejections and the changes, that this may have been your best year yet.