Hear Ye, Hear Ye: My Return to Blogging

I always thought my return to blogging would herald some sort of self-actualized breakthrough - holy cow, I'm cured! I don't feel sad anymore! My opinions are once more valid! - but this was an erroneous assumption in two ways. One, there's no such thing as a breakthrough in therapy. And two, it's way, way funnier to scrawl daily observations about life, in and/or outside of New York City, as witnessed by myself and others. (My therapist and psychiatrist would add that my opinions are valid if I think that they are, but that's a different post. Quite possibly a whole series of them.)

So, without further ado, I'm returning to blogging with a series of posts I'm titling "Stuck on Repeat: Greatest Hits from the Dating Profiles of Straight Men in New York City, Circa 2013". I don't want to spend too much time on how I have this information - it's a very new and fragile interpersonal cannonball dive for me, to put up an online dating profile, and to acknowledge that I too, am human and have needs - but I have definitely noticed a pattern/horrifying similarities among the tastes and activities of straight men within five square miles of Manhattan County.

Observations starting June 17, at which point I'd been on Dating-Site-Which-Shall-Remain-Unnamed for a week:
1. Selfies - of you unsmiling and/or shirtless - do not inspire confidence.

Selfies: a non-good reflection of yourself.

2. In the "About Me" section, please do not list any of the following: "I just had my heart broken" or "I'm just looking for fun." If you feel that either/both reflect your state in life, I recommend pets for the former, Craigslist for the latter.

3. The pendulum swing between normal profile photographs, and head shots which make you look like a prospective UFC contestant, is massive. I don't want to date a morbidly obese person with a heart condition, but come on!

By the numbers, at the end of Week 1:
1. Attractive men who've written me back: 0.
2. Messages I've received which I can neither see nor respond to, because I refuse to pay for communication: 2.
3. Messages I've received which I can neither see nor respond to, because I refuse to pay for communication, from attractive men: 0.
4. Average age of (allegedly) single men: 28.
5. Number of men who have children: 3.
6. Number of men whose children live with them: 1.
7. Number of men who have children and are attractive: 0.

That's all for today, folks, but I enjoyed doing this enough that I think I'll write tomorrow too. Till then, thanks for reading, and I hope these adventures in non-dating are as funny to you as they are to me.

A Not-So-Triumphant Return

Oy.
It's been a long time since this blog was updated. I could make any load of excuses - the insane, unpredictable nature of college life, medical issues, and so on - but the truth is, for the longest time, I felt like I had nothing to say. Things reached a fever pitch last summer, but I was so busy dealing with it all that I never could write anything out. If you'd care to read on, I'd like to explain the last few months of my life.

After my last post, sometime toward the end of May 2011, I moved out of my apartment and into a dorm in downtown Manhattan. The move was traumatic - I'd never packed up my belongings alone, and to remember the pile of bags, suitcases and boxes piled in my old living room is like having a bad dream slide down my throat.

The summer was interesting. I worked at the university TV station and took classes; I loved Film Noir and the Robert Altman class. And I did well in both, which was a self-confidence booster. Didn't go home at all, which was helpful - it kept me focused on the work and school, both of which were imminent.

At the end of August, with the aid of good friends C. and I., I moved in to what I didn't realize was going to be - well, absence speaks volumes, and since there are already too many blogs ranting about roommate issues, I'll leave it at that.

So I returned to school. Academics were difficult. I'd changed majors - to cinema studies - and fit in well to my Early American Film and 1950's American TV classes (the latter topping out as a semester favorite). Children & Media was another matter. I took the class so I could minor in Child and Adolescent Mental Health, a subject that's become crucial to me since I was diagnosed 2 years ago. The class was extremely challenging - I learned loads but couldn't quite muster a good grade; I scraped a C and was disappointed. As it turns out, the way my schedule is structured for the next 1 1/2 years, I can't minor in CAMH. That was probably the biggest let-down of all. As you can see, last semester wasn't the most positive of experiences. I did make it out alive, though, which, as both my therapist and psycho-pharm pointed out, was something to be proud of.

Therapy continued; I'm still seeing Dr. H and Dr. L, both of whom are massive supports in my occasionally fragile day-to-day life. The bad days are still there; this past week I lay still in bed for what seemed like hours, unaware of life around me. The medicines definitely help with this. Maybe not all the time, so I learn to put up with the awful feelings. But I made it to class, and to work, and to my internship (I'm working at the BBC, you guys! It's so exciting!).

Often, at therapy, we talk about what can help me in the moment. That is, when I'm feeling unbalanced, upset or destructive, what could step into place and aid me? I always say "writing," because that's what I've learned is a good answer. The stupidity of that response is that I never do it. The whole thing becomes idiotic because I have this blog, as a ready resource. That's not to say I created this corner for ranting, but it can definitely serve as a starting point to analyze what's happening.

So, while I make no promises, I'm going to try and write more here. It'll help, I think. And now that I'm a blogging intern at the BBC, my writing skills definitely need some punching up as well. Till then, reader(s) (?), stay tuned.