I’m Amanda. I’ve got wide eyes, a smart mouth, and a MetroCard. And I’m not afraid to use them.
Christmas time in NYC is daunting. The weather has become cold fairly early, so everyone walks around slowly rustling under layers of down and wool. Dirty ice scabs the sidewalks and roads. Salvation Army workers ring bells. This sound mingles with sirens, horns, Christmas Muzak emanating from stores, children throwing tantrums, and street vendors’ yells to create the most cacophonous Christmas carol.
I was talking to my mom tonight about my writing, or lack thereof. “Look at the great writers - they’re all depressed alcoholics,” I said. It can be difficult to write when you are content. My mom still mildly nagged and reminded me that I’m in New York City, the home of most major publishers, and I’m not really trying to sell my writing. Mind you, I would need time to write a book I’d even consider trying to send out, but I could at least submit an article or five.
If recollecting were forgetting,
Then I remember not;
And if forgetting, recollecting,
How near I had forgot!
And if to miss were merry,
And if to mourn were gay,
How very blithe the fingers
That gathered these to-day!
The cold weather appears to be making students at I.S. 666 explore alternative heating methods. Today I had to ask a boy who was straddling a girl from behind (and whose last name not so coincidentally sounds like “jizm”) to find his own chair TWICE.
Q: Why haven’t you been blogging much lately?
A: I’ve been busy with work six days a week, as well as after-school meetings and such. My social life has also become more active. I’ve been Christmas shopping, etc. In addition, I received many books from my NYPL reading list that I’ve frantically tried to finish before their due dates.
“I feel drunk but I’m sober
I’m young and I’m underpaid
I’m tired but I’m working, yeah
I care but I’m restless
I’m here but I’m really gone
I’m wrong and I’m sorry baby…”
- Alanis Morissette “Hand In My Pocket”
I want to remember how hard
you were crying the day I left -
it surprised me.
I’d always thought of you
as so composed with your
happy go lucky nature
tinged with some jealousy,
resentment of me.
I live to spoil; and tonight I intend to possibly spoil the remake of King Kong. If you’re all that concerned about that, do not read anymore. This is the last time I’ll warn you.
Abby’s a Dasher, a Dancer, a Prancer, and most obviously, a Vixen.
