Spending a morning at the DMV...

Dear Saturday morning,

You came much to soon, and brought with you the unhappy errand of going to the DMV (pardon me, Maryland, the MVA as you call it) to get a Maryland license.  There is a long back story as to why I'm getting one that I'm not going to go into here, but I am not pleased.  For one, Maryland licenses are ugly as anything.  There's a crab on them.  Now, I understand you all really enjoy crabs (insert STD joke here) but why do you need to deface a drivers license with a crab?  And you want me to list my weight?  Does Maryland hate all women?  I put my real weight on it, too, because I feel like lying to make myself look thinner would depress me on a fat day when I open my wallet to buy a gallon of ice cream or some cookie dough and see some ridiculous weight I will never be listed on the license.  Also I hate Maryland.

This is a blog about reading, so I promise there will be some literature connection, but for now, I get my 5 minutes of bitching.  Mom, if you're reading, please skip the next line.

Fuck you, MVA.

Firstly, I've tried before to get my license switched and they've told me I didn't have 'proof of residency.'  NO ONE WANTS TO LIVE IN MARYLAND, JUST LET ME IN ALREADY.  So when I went today, I thought I had all my bases covered.  Wrong.  Dead freaking wrong.  Apparently my pay stub didn't count as my social security option, so I checked with the counter man that I had everything else, and went home to look for my W2.  I found it, went back, waited in line ALL OVER AGAIN, got to the counter, he approved everything and I got a number.  I waited FOREVER again, finally got called up, and the woman tells me I DON'T HAVE PROOF OF RESIDENCY.  Are you out of your goddamn mind, lady???  I told her in my most polite but powerful voice that I had specifically asked and had been told all of my documents were fine.  Long story short, I finally got everything approved but it took forever.  The MVA likes to make your life as miserable as possible.

I did bring my kindle with me to continue reading The Handmaid's Tale while I waited.  This is a good plan, yes?  Waiting forever, have something to read, it's travel friendly... until it FROZE as soon as I got in line the first time.  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my reading froze.  Again, mom, don't read the next line. Fuck you, ebooks.  This is why I like paper copies.

I brought back The Tipping Point for my 2nd trip to the DM-- excuse me, MVA, so I did get about 60 pages of reading in.  That will be an update for another post.  I just wanted to write hate mail to Saturday morning and the DMV.  MVA.  What-the-eff-ever.

So thanks, Saturday morning.  Thank you, state of Maryland.  I hate you both.

Love,
Leah

ps - I'm seeing A Charlie Brown Christmas later today, then having dinner with Shank and Ryan, then going up to Jimmy's to see his new house, then going out, then having a sleepover with Colin, so you don't completely fail.  But before noon?  We are not friends anymore.

E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES!

I was going to get in bed and read before going to sleep, but we do in fact get the Eagles game, so I'm going to watch football until I pass out instead.  Priorities, people.

My professor emailed me back this afternoon about my memoir draft, and she had this to say:  

I will send you specific feedback in the next few days, but for now I want to register these impressions: This work is at turns funny and heartbreaking, and it is always brave, both personally and artistically. It represents a substantial achievement, and I hope you recognize it as such. I'm honored to have been part of the process.

I'm sharing it with you, wonderful blog readers, because I don't have my one person to tell these things to anymore.  I'm okay with that.  I have my outlet here, and although today was rough, I'm still truckin'.  In other news, I have done many adult things in the past 24 hours, life decision-wise.  And I'm feeling pretty good about all of it.  Life goes on, and I'm going to be there for the ride.  I'm pretty proud of myself, at the moment.

And remember, ladies and gentlemen, you are never alone when you have literature.

Happy December!

Nothing much to say about books, other than I need to start reading again.  I've been sleeping a lot since I got home, and this is the LATEST I've been awake.  It's almost 10pm, but I was working on my grad school homework.  My memoir is currently 41 pages, and there are still edits to be made, and about 3-4 more stories to flesh out over the weekend.

41 pages!  I didn't even realize my life was that interesting, and it's only about a small portion of my life.  Crazy how at 23, I have enough to fill that.

My memoirs class has been wonderful.  I am in LOVE with the professor (really, I adore her) and she's brilliant, so when she stopped me in the middle of a rant one evening, I listened to her.  I was saying how I was hoping for more feedback from a small group discussion -- I was not paired up with the best people to get actual opinions and suggestions -- because I am not a writer, so I'm always looking for advice.  And I meant it; I don't write creative prose.  Sometimes I write poetry, but it's never very good.  Although Danny has read a few and liked them -- or so he said.  He might just have been trying to get in my pants.

Just kidding, mom.

But I digress.  So I'm saying to her that I'm not a writer, and she interrupts me and says "No, Leah, you are a writer."  She then went on to tell me what I do really well.

I almost died of happiness.  I've never considered being a writer as a career, nor am I naive enough to think I could become a writer at this point in my life, with no real experience or skills, but to have someone as intelligent as her compliment me?  Man, it felt good.

What does this have to do with my experiment?  Nothing, except that I appreciate the writing process so much more after this class.  The final draft will probably end up somewhere between 60 and 70 pages, maybe more if I have some ideas this weekend.  And I have to pick pieces to share with the class on Monday, about 20 minutes worth of material.

Being a writer is hard.  And scary.  So thank you, to all the writers out there who make reading wonderful.  Thank you for being braver than I could ever be.