THE GOOD DISTRICT

The apartment is a mess. My glasses are sliding down the greasy brim of my nose, and I know that in just a few moments inspiration will strike and words will come pouring out of me.  Until then, I am nervous.  Closed.  Afraid to write for fear that it will not be good enough. 

But in these moments, there is space for one glorious thing.  Silence.  After eight months of mice, there is finally evidence that we are rodent free.  And with the freeing of our pest problem, comes the space to actually live in the moment.  To turn the television off.  To write and just be silent in our condo.  So with one dream fulfilled, I am taking it as a sign that we have now entered the real writing phase of this show.

Incredibly, it is not a momentous time of year.  Not the dawn of spring, or the emerging of fall.  Just the middle of the summer.  A summer where nearly one year ago I left my job in politics with no plan other than to write a book, and make more a better life for myself than I believed possible under the thumb of the political “man.” 

I had an unsubstantiated belief in my own talent.  Why give away all this time, only to deal with the trials the workplace?  Disrespectful bosses.  Lackluster peers.  Long commutes.  At the dawn of age thirty, I could not bring myself to face a life based on survival.  And I truly believe it is at this moment, when you begin to see the years of struggle ahead of you, until death or retirement, it is at this moment that you become an adult.  And you feel anger.  Followed by exhaustion.  Followed by defeat.  So in my attempt to resist what is the American inevitable – a slow death and taxes, I quit my job in the hapless pursuit of freedom.  Forging my own pioneer trail, here in Washington, D.C.

With more to come, I remain truly yours, Milagros

Given the fact that my brain has officially turned to mush thanks to my "monthly gift," I am happy to take one from the request line.  Earlier this week, I mentioned I have been itching to write about the "Smart Girl Dilemma," so here it is!

The Smart Girl Dilemma.  

Otherwise known as "looks versus books."  I would venture to say that every nerdy girl I know has spent a significant amount of time in her life battling with her own idea of femininity.  To this end, I wish I could dig up old pictures of me from middle school for you to see. (Conveniently, they are currently in storage.)  Let me just put it this way - I wasn't a looker, if you know what I mean.  For some reason my frizzy bob, thick plastic rimmed glasses, and teenage acne, did not cause the boys to come a runnin'.  My insistence on being competitive at everything, from algebra, to natural science, to my totally excellent skills on the clarinet, created a massive gulf between my life and the teenage romances that Disney movies are made of.  And despite my addiction to Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley High, my life tended to play out more like one of the awkward characters from a Judy Blume novel.  

So there I was, a thirteen year old girl, masked by bad skin and plastic frames, using humor to win friends and gain influence in the complicated world of middle school politics, and all I really wanted was to be pretty.  Yup. What girl doesn't want that?  As shallow and simple as that may sound to us educated folks, it is true.  Girls like to be thought of as pretty.  And here is where it gets complicated.  

Smart girls generally receive reinforcing messages about their appearance.  Speaking for myself, my mother sent subliminal messages about the value of being judged for your brain and not your beauty. Obviously, the former being the preference in our household.  I was a late bloomer; flat as a board, and carried "baby weight" though my early teenage years, so there were no obvious reasons for me to pitch a fight for fashion.  But sometimes, at night, I would imagine what it would be like to be a popular girl, wearing make up, tying my sweatshirt around my waist (that was what the cool girls did), and gossiping in the bathroom.  So cliché, but so tragically true.  

Flash to 17 years later, and here I am, mid life career shift.  Living out this very dichotomy between looks and smarts.  I left a "nerd" career defined by the intersection of current events, empirical data, political pundits, and academics.  Very serious stuff (at least to the people in DC).  And despite all of those infamous DC sex scandals, I would venture to say that politics and beauty can be, at times, strange bedfellows.  While the relationship between politics and fashion is not absent, let's just say, you have to walk a fine line to be fashionable, feminine, and well respected.  Even the FLOTUS knows what I am talking about.

So what is a smart girl to do?  Take a serious career, wear serious clothes, and only let her inner girl out on nights and weekends?  Or be like me, throw CNN out of the window, put on hooker heels, and sell tight clothes day in and day out?  There has to be some balance, some middle ground that ultimately every woman has to determine for herself. With total devotion to appearance, you run the risk of being judged by superficialities and not substance.  But denying your inner girly girl takes some of the fun out of being a woman.  Speaking for myself, I know I am enjoying my time working retail.  It allows me to wear dark make-up and party clothes before most people have their breakfast, and I am relishing every moment of it.  So for right now, I consider my own smart girl dilemma partially solved.

I remain truly yours, Milagros

204 Days Down, 161 to go.

A day of work.  A cluttered mind.  TV on.  Bowl of cereal for dinner.  A somewhat typical Wednesday.  And it all starts again tomorrow.  

I simply want to put a "Closed for Business" sign on the blog today, succumb to my writer's block, and tell myself I will try again tomorrow. But if I leave for tomorrow what I need to accomplish today, the rest of the year will fly by and meeting my goal of writing a book in a year just won't happen.

But hey, I am an American.  Isn't exhaustion inherently a part of the working class experience?  And, in all honesty, it should act as the motivator for more aggressive action on my book.  My book, which is obviously guaranteed to be a bestseller, and free me from the shop girl grind.  Not that I am putting all my eggs in one basket or anything.  

That being said, it is 3:15AM, I am on my second round of watching the same programs on HGTV, and all of my artistic inspiration may be buried under hours of repeated commercials for TBS programs.  As a writer I have abandoned my craft for the boob tube.  So with another day down and 162 days to go, I am signing off.

I remain truly yours, Milagros

Incredibly and without intention, the blog entry on Monday actually landed on Day 200.  Which I must take as a sign.  A positive sign.

To validate my superstitious thinking, I have discovered that the number 200 is also an HTTP status code used to indicate a successful connection on my favorite writing venue:  the internet.

However, according to "thejournal.com," the number 200 is biblically stamped with references of insufficiency.  Also strangely appropriate given my blogging track record recently, which, in fairness, has been insufficient.  

But now that we have moved past my summertime writing doldrums, I can get back to the business at hand:  Giving you, dear reader, my opinion on everything. Particularly as it may or may not relate to writing a Great American Novel.  

There are so many topics I have been dying to tackle.  The Smart Girl Dilemma: The battle between beauty and brains, when attempting to be taken seriously in the workplace, in a bar, or even at a cook out. Walking into the Light: Discerning the difference between real and hollow saviors when trying to survive your twenties and thirties... That job that sounds too good to be true?  Probably is... That guy who matches every item on your list?  He may have some shortcomings (I will leave it that).... and other notes on the subject.

The one thing I would like to stop writing about?  Mice.  While this blog may have originated from dreams written down on my bucket list, it now serves the practical purpose of housing my short term goals.  The primary one being ridding my apartment of mice.  I have no aims to become Walt Disney and create an entire fortune off of the backs of rodents, so I ask that they go away.  Forever.

As you can tell, I am ripe with things to say, so I look forward to sharing them with you.

I remain ever truly yours, Milagros

202 Days Down, 163 to go.

One day turned into two days, and then there were three.  Three days away from the blog nearly turned to thirty, but seeing the impending doom of that dreadful milestone has compelled me to action.  

Contrary to popular belief, it was not artistic discouragement that led me astray, but rather an overwhelming sense of peace.  Writing brings me joy, and I finally convinced myself that it's shameless pursuit is not ridiculous.  Despite my long pause from the craft, I am even more resolved to say what I need to say, and write what I have to write. What had happened was, after "the meeting," on Day 174, I no longer carried a sense of guilt or anxiety in regards to my writing.  And with the sweeping away of these emotions, so went my drive to answer to the blogging gods, and publish on this here internet everyday.  And, as I have based most of the productivity in my life (age 30) on these two emotions, I simply didn't know how to 'get er done' without 'em.  

Fortunately, what never left me was the sense that I will write my book, and it will be good.  I would even venture to say it will be a "good thing," (as all endevours should be judged in the context of Martha Stewart catch phrases.)  So here is to starting back up again.  To day one, and day 200, to the rest of the year that remains for me to write, and to change.  Good Times in the Good District will be shared.  On the internet.

I remain truly yours, Milagros

Day... I lost count.

Photo Credit: We Heart It