To the person or persons leaving anonymous comments on this blog thing, please stop it, it really aggravates me. I can’t deal with the mystery, reveal who you are!

I woke up this monring with every part of my body in pain, including some specific parts often used in metaphor. I could not breathe. I drove down to Providence in the rain to take my midterm and have my chef bring me to tears. I found out that my day off on Monday does not actually exist, it is really just an additional day of classes on Friday. Today was simply wonderful.

I wandered through today, my mind busy with the subject of old friend returnign and occasionally, the thought of a rare species of fish. All was trouble and nonsense today when it came to my thoughts. But, there is writing to be done.



Last night was definitely an adventure of sorts. A completely unexpected one. I ended up with a $30 parking ticket, but it’s just money. I got to take a day off so it was worth it in the end.

I should probably start working on my project for school, but I most likely will not. i will finish this entry at another time when my head isn’t stuck in the moment of fuzzy dreaming right before you wake up.


This was the least ridiculous of the photos

Dear Someone,
We’ve never met and I have no idea who you are but today I wronged you and it is going to effect us both. I took something of yours, and now I have no way of giving it back.
Let me just say this was not my plan. I was forced into a shopping mall to help my father find new shoes(because the man is hopeless without me), and it was on my way out towards freedom that I saw your glasses. They were lounging on the table, peeking out of their green leather case, next to the folded up World News section of the Globe. The mall was closing, and my intention was to turn them in, but as soon as the case was in my hands it was no good. They were mine.
In retrospect, I feel guilty, but only because I wish I could have found you. We seem to have some things in common. Your glasses tell me that you must be an old man, , people tell me I’m an old lady in disguise sometimes. We don’t have this in common but you are practically fucking blind (I cannot keep your glasses on for more than a few seconds or I go cross-eyed and get a splitting headache). The newspaper laid out in the middle of a mall, you must have been reading instead of shopping which means you must have hated it there as much as I did. We could have talked and watched obnoxious teenagers go byOurs would have been the perfect friendship, I’ve laid the whole scenario out in my mind. Our shared love of the same music and the color green, and sweaters. Oh why did I have to go and steal your glasses? Bah, such is life.
I am sorry old man that these things could never come to pass, but I have your spectacles and I will cherish them always.


It’s the calendar page again.

Today brought with it some fantastic news: My hard work actually paid off, quite literally. My school gave me an additional scholarship for my grades. My parents are attributing the scholarship amount to their loan on the cost of my car. I just paid off my car! Life just got a lot easier.

I was in a great mood and wanted to see people but I ended up venturing into Harvard square alone to run some errands and get some coffee. My celebration consisted of a cappucino at a random cafe and picking at some vegetables in a healthy burger restaurant. Then I ran some errands.

I was at Cardullo’s looking for specific plate supplies and I asked the man there if they sold the real Nutella, the kind not made with hydrogenated fats in a factory in New Jersey. They do not, which was disappointing. Somehow this question got me into a conversation with the man at the counter. He told me, in his boston accent, that I looked “pissed” and I explained how I was a pastry student and I was just tired from my insane schedule. He asked me my name,
“Alessandra”(why did I tell him that?)
and when I didn’t ask for his he told me anyways
He told how he works as a painter during the week(house-painter I’m assuming) and there on the weekends, and doesnt have much time either, except to
“play [his] guitar”
He asked me what I was doing later and I lied viciously about my amazing plans.

So my love life options currently consist of the dishwasher from work who keep asking for me and refers to me as “the little one.” and creepster Christian from Cardullo’s. Thing are looking up!

(Kill me)

I realized today that you are a lost cause, but that makes two of us. So maybe this could actually work.



So today, after almost a year of having this computer. I finally figured out how to use the built in camera. Very interesting. I was saying to Nicole(Rather, I was saying to myself because she was away from her computer at the time) that it’s really the modern day version of cutting up a cardboard box and pretending to be a newscaster(with terrible 60’s hair). At least that’s how I felt.

And now here’s Mickey with the weather…

The news of my life would be rather boring. And quite difficult to shoot from tiny computer camera. But still rather funny.

I caved today and had a smoke which I should be ashamed of but it was better than sex at the moment. In fact, some of the noises I made on the curb may have been inappropriate for public spaces but I really just did not care, and evidently the old guy walking by didnt either.

I found out last night my little brother had never seen Vertigo which was absolute blasphemy, so we rushed out to see it at Coolidge Corner and a marvelous time was had by all. More on that later, I have work to do now.


I’m angry. I want a cigarette like I cannot describe, to the point that I may just go for a drive to get one. I’m so close to giving in. This. Fucking. Close.

I spent sometime today thinking up a mass amount of projects I want to begin. It feels good to get this stuff out on to “paper” but as of recent I have been trying to express myself visually. Trying and failing.
Trying and hiding the evidence.

I have always kind of wondered that if a picture is worth a thousand words, who is the real artist? The one who takes the picture or the one who writes the perfect thousand words?

I’m always looking for the perfect thousand words, or maybe I’m just waiting for the perfect few to come out of his mouth. I have no idea who “he” is, though I guess I would if I’d just admit it to myself.

There are two sides of me, the one that’s painfully neurotic and the one that’s uncontrollably spontaneous. Recently I’ve rarely hit middle ground.

I spent some time today sneezing, reading my grandmother’s dusty love letters to the man she had an affair with, my step-grandfather. They are written on thin blue paper that is lighter, so as to save money when being mailed. Many of his letters are postmarked from Mexico. Many of hers are marked with moments of socialite gossip. He signed his Valentine’s cards with a question mark. They are all in their original envelope in a heavy brown leather suitcase marked with travel stickers from all over the world. The only one I can clearly make out still it from the “Grand Hotel Roma.” There are about 8 copies of the newspaper announcement of their marriage in the “society” section of the New York Herald Tribune in 1965, each copy folded perfectly and now yellowed perfectly in the large pocket of the suitcase, next to copies of their wedding invitations. I don’t know how they make me feel. Maybe just upset that I cannot write letters anymore. Maybe afraid that I option will take out the remaining love letters I didn’t destroy with the rest. Maybe just aggravated that his handwriting is so goddamn messy.

I want a cig. I want to get out of here. I took a day of today for the first time in weeks and it’s made me never want to go back. I have a mild fever. My body is yelling at me to rest but The option just isn’t really there, my mind is SCREAMING at me to get out. Out of this house, out of this country, Away from these people. God knows what. I feel the winds changing in me again and telling me to move and I am so stuck in place its causing me physical pain. If I had the money for the ticket I’d be on the next flight to Europe, even if i didn’t have a cent to feed myself once I got there. I am slowly losing weight, though none of it shows. I am slowly losing my ability to work in this world.

I think it’s high time I got myself into a little trouble.


Today was an experience. I learned that it’s high-time I get myself a pair of real sneakers(my feet are in severe pain) if I plan on walking long distances. I also must remember to stop interrupting people. Really have to do that.


I’m having one of those nights where I listen to that same song over and over because it continues to suit the moment perfectly.

I finally went out for a walk last night. People keep saying to me “Oh I love walking, I do it every day!” Well you know what, condescending asshole, why don’t you sign up for a charity walk too? You know what I love doing? Not walking, and I have no problem saying that. I have severe knee problems, and every step I’ve taken my entire life has hurt, so shut up.

I actually had a ton of fun on my walk, because I went out late at night with my headphones on and just danced down the street like a madwoman. If this was 60 miles of dancing I’d be ready to go tomorrow. I don’t care if I’m in public and I look ridiculous, If it gets my training done. There was one moment though when I went past another jogger and I felt pretty judged. I don’t even own athletic sneakers yet, I was wearing my checkered shoes. I should probably get sweatpants or something too. I have to stop messing around. Regardless, you may officially refer to me as Alessandra Goddess of Exercise and feel free to imagine “Eye of the Tiger” is playing every time I enter the room. I’m going to do this!

Not to sound like an advertisement but you can still donate to my walk! I know you guys are all poor college students but seriously, put aside five bucks it could really help. If I don’t raise $2,200 I can’t walk.

I’ve been thinking about posting some of my real writing up on this thing, it would just be the stuff I’ve got on my computer so some of it would be old. Thoughts?


I do a lot of driving to and from school, and as a result, I have a lot of time to just sit and think. I will tell you I have some strange thoughts while I’m on the road. During rainy days, I’ve probably had every thought there is to have about windshield wipers

Well, today I had another one of my long drives, and at some point on my way to school I became incredibly angry. I realized:

What happened to the lost art of conversation?

No one really just talks to each other anymore. Everything has gotten so incredibly passive. It’s a link –to-an-email-to-a-phone-number-to –a-text-message-to-Go-knows-what-else. Where does a real “hello” fit in? It’s basically gotten to the point that when I do have good conversation with people I’m so cracked out on joy it’s unhealthy. I’d probably pass up dinner and dancing to fuck the brains out of the first person to offer a satisfying in-person dialogue. Where did we go wrong as a society?

Example A: Instant messaging. Maybe I’m just not cut out for all this technology business because I’d rather be tapping away at a dusty typewriter or even scratching with a quill. But I just hate it. My issue is that I can’t lower my standards from those of normal conversation, yet there are the awkward pauses. So while a “normal” person by today’s standards can type something on the screen and wait twenty five minutes for a response, my reaction is “why aren’t they responding? was it my tone of voice?”

Yes, tone
I think about my tone of voice over instant messenger.
Because I just can’t help it. I can’t change my mode of behavior. So the entire process of talking to someone online becomes a torturous game of me struggling to adapt to the situation and failing miserably. Because I’m old-fashioned in ways an eighteen year old really shouldn’t be.

I’m just upset with the way things are going, the way no one can make eye contact anymore, myself included. The way we are all so connected yet we choose the most passive options possible to contact each other. There should be a national turn off your fucking cell phone and talk to someone day.

People think I’m self conscious because I mess around with words a lot, I edit what I say, but its just that I actually care what’s coming out of my mouth. I care enough to not abbreviate every other thing and to actually laugh at your jokes. When I ask someone how their day was I mean I want to know what they did, how they felt, did they love, were they mad, did they fall flat on their face on the pavement? I want to know! It an honest question! But somehow our language has been dumbed down as to be meaningless. I’ll continue this rant later, or probably just delete it.


Last night was interesting.

In an attempt to squeeze a social life in somewhere between work and school I drove out to the Coolidge Corner theater to see Persepolis with Nicole and her friend Bobby(who is also my friend? Ish? He is a thing of sorts)
Anyways I slaved at work all day and stopped at one point to make them some cupcakes because I thought it would be cool and I was a jerk the last time I saw her for not bringing cake and talking about it incessantly, which is hard when you’re in a kitchen 7 days a week.

So I’m waiting outside in the cold with no coat for half an hour so I can buy Nicole a ticket and give her and Bobby their cupcakes(and chocolate chip cookies) when they finally message me(after the movie has started) saying it will be fifteen minutes more. So I wander up to the ticket counter and tell my little story to the people and the this lovely red-haired girl says to me:
“You tell your friends to fuck off and I’ll let you into the movie for free”
Which was just really funny, but I told her I simply could not do that because I was excited to see them beyond all belief and I really wanted to give them these cupcakes I had made them.
“But that’s just adding insult to injury”
“Would you like a chocolate chip cookie?”
“Come inside”

So I went inside and gave out all my chocolate chip cookies and they gave me popcorn and tea to warm me up. Then I had the most lovely conversation with a woman who turned out to be a curator of the Boston Independent Film Festival and she told me all about her favorite selectiosn then gave me two free movie passes to the theater. I mean really, as far low moments go this turned out amazingly well.


This whole being in a kitchen 7 days a week thing is starting to get to me. I feel like I’m about to go insane, but in a completely different way than usual. I think what it comes down to is my current conflict is all external. For once in my life my mental state is pretty clear. Maybe it’s the mood stabilizers(OK its probably due largely in part tothe mood stabilizers) but I have this vast amount of the world pushing in on me and I’m just waiting for the day when I go postal.

I finally had a day off today. well not really, I got out of work at one in the afternoon so it was like having a day off, but nobody was around. So I ventured into Boston alone. I went into the North End and got some coffee and some pastries, and ran inside to hide from the rain. Then it was onto Harvard Square to meet up with the family for a screening of Contempt at Brattle, which was a long excuse for my father to relive his youth and see brigitte bardo sprawled naked on the white carpet. Best line:
“I re-read The Odyssey last night.”
Which evidently only my sister and I found funny.

In other news, on my way to work today I came outside to find a squirrel perched on the fence in my backyard, eating an ENTIRE piece of toast(I have no idea where it came from). My initial reaction was to scold him for stealing, but he turned and hobbled away a bit. It was pretty adorable. I should have offered him some jam. The squirrels in our neighborhood are probably going to open a fucking sit down restaurant in our backyard if this continues, because after Easter a few of them had a chocolate feast when they cracked open some plastic eggs. My impending squirrely doom senses are tingling.