Surrender, Dorothy

The other night I watched Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle, and while it was not a very good movie, I am more convinced than ever that Dorothy Parker is my patron saint. From now on, I will refer to all the objects of my obsessive lustings after close platonic friends as "Benchleys."

I'm very frustrated at my lack of cleaning initiative. I had expected today to be my post-migraine manic energy rush and left my schedule clear so that I could clean and do laundry. I did pay some bills and do a necessary Target run, but otherwise I sat on my fat ass and then hung out with NBF for longer than intended. He's very much my Benchley Du Jour. I annoy the living hell out of myself when it comes to boys and Boys and such.

Into love, and out again,
Thus I went, and thus I go.
Spare your voice, and hold your pen -
Well and bitterly I know
All the songs were ever sung,
All the words were ever said;
Could it be, when I was young,
Some one dropped me on my head?

(Dorothy Parker)

I'm somewhat terrified to start school. I've been trying very hard to get my schedule straightened out (let's just say Nameless College isn't very organized or good at communication). It doesn't help that with classes starting the 22nd it feels very soon but far enough away for me to worry and stew. I want to get my hair cut and have my apartment be extremely clean and organized before then, too, but I'm doing that great thing where I freeze up and just want to play stupid computer games and sleep and poke my dog because I'm too overwhelmed by the task at hand. If you saw my apartment, you too would be overwhelmed. I just have to remember that this is so I can write. I have a purpose this time - a stated goal. Take classes to write. Get the degree to write. Clean my apartment to create a more productive atmosphere in which to write. I need a motivational poster with a sunset or a cat or something. Or maybe a picture of my mother with the caption "Fuck her, this one's for ME." Dorothy Parker also kept a messy apartment and never graduated from a fancy college and loved dogs. She also tried to kill herself a number of times and was an alcoholic. So perhaps she isn't the best role model, but I like what she produced.

Here's a thought: maybe if I really do "do it all for the writing," that's why I'm drawn to the pained pining sort of "love" instead of anything more practical or obtainable. No one wants to hear about your non-dramatic content relationship. Boooring. But "Ay, me!" is the birth of so much poetry.

If I ever have a daughter, her middle name may have to be Dorothy. My grandma is Dorothy, as is Ms. Parker. I'd make it a first name, but it's too ugly.