My friend recently posted on her blog that she is too low energy even for blogging. She wondered "how can one run out of energy for narcissism?" I am here to say that narcissism is EXHAUSTING. It requires way more energy than almost anything else. And, of course, it is pretty tiring for others to deal with as well.

Case in point: my birthday. The adequate celebration of my birthday has been an ongoing struggle for about 10 years now. Clearly, the needs and feelings that center on my birthday are larger than life can handle. I have good years and bad years, but it is always some sort of struggle in which I try to be honest about my needs without being demanding and those around me try to fulfill my needs without being resentful. Yeesh. This year was a mixed bag. I felt very satisfied about my birthday before and after the day itself. However, on the actual day, I was beset by melancholy and loneliness. I suspect those latter feelings were exacerbated by my current state of unemployed limbo. Also, the internet doesn't help. The first thing I did upon awaking on my birthday was to open up several tabs in Firefox so I could flip fruitlessly back and forth between GMail, Facebook, MySpace, and my other email accounts, looking for signs of birthday love. Of course, I was doomed to disappointment by both my strategy and my expectations. Nevermind that two days before, I was feted and pampered by my boyfriend in a fancy hotel room in Boston. Nevermind that the day after, my parents drove for over an hour through nasty weekend traffic to bring me a cake my mom had prepared early that morning. Nevermind that most of my friends and family don't even know where in the world to find me, let alone remember my birthday and commemorate it. Nevermind that I rarely remember any birthday but my own. The old feelings of inadequacy, anger, insecurity, and fear rose up in me and spread along my limbs and skin like a particularly virulent virus.

Today, July 24th, I am sufficiently relieved from my own narcissism. The world is a brighter place! I will call my dad later to wish him a Happy Birthday and, what is better, I will mean it.

On another note, I finished the latest, and final, Harry Potter at 3am this morning. It was an odd feeling. I had devoured the book, sometimes almost skipping words and sentences in my hunger to find out WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. I was completely panicked the whole time, certain that either Ron or Hermione would be killed at any moment. I couldn't even tell if I liked the book, because I was trembling with the knowledge that it was the last one. Going on some message boards helped - people expressed many of the same feelings and thoughts I'd had and I had the nice, arrogant feeling that I'd understood some things others had not. I was amazed to see that some people were planning to reread the entire novel immediately upon finishing it! I definitely need a break, though I think I'll eventually reread the entire series. It is especially satisfying to think back on the arc of the books and see that the main excitement and concerns of the first book are so different from the last, and yet connected. One of the cool things about the series is the way that the author understands the shifting of concerns from age 11 to age 17 and how she mirrors that shifting in the events of her plot. She also does very well with metaphors made manifest, symbolism brought into the literal world. I have really enjoyed these books and I can't quite believe that there won't be more.

This is the first post minted on my brand new MacBook. I look forward to improved clarity and functionality, though perhaps these will translate only to the aesthetics of my posts, not the content. The new laptop is one result of a wonderful long weekend spent with my parents. The weekend was the graduation present I requested and the hardware was the graduation present my parents' suggested. So, both parties are satisfied with the weekend, and I have received two incredibly generous presents.

The weekend began on Friday with a trip to New York City to see the Richard Serra exhibit at MoMA. We rode in on the train, chortling quietly as we sped past the stalled traffic on 95. We grabbed coffee and pastry at Grand Central, then walked over to 53rd and 5th. We began our viewing with Serra's more recent pieces, commissioned especially for this exhibit. They were shown in the large installation rooms on the 2nd floor. I haven't been to MoMA since junior year of high school (1993) when Mr. Cobbett took our Modernism class to view "Les Demoiselles d'Avignon," "The Starry Night," Mondrian, Cezanne, Braque, and all the other stars of the movement. I scarcely remember the old layout and am very impressed with the new building. The space is appealing and well-designed. There are several stunning vistas and precipitous views. Best of all, they have created a space equal to the power and scale of Serra's massive steel sculptures. As someone who loves works of art but struggles with the inanity of museum-going and museum-goers, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself alone for several minutes in one of the folds of "Band".

The large-scale sculptures readily accomplish one of Serra's stated aims: namely, to make the viewer feel like she is interacting with the works in a visceral, physical sense. As the curving sheets of steel fold in, lean over, and lean back, the human body responds to the space that is either created or withdrawn. The response is not intellectual or even purely emotional, but rather a complex interplay of psychological and biological stimuli. Perhaps Serra has hit upon the conclusive answer to the question of biology vs philosophy: in space, no one can hear you cogitate. The body and the mind, matter and spirit, blend seamlessly into one wholly experiential creature whose thoughts and feelings stream through her physical being. There is no separation and a feeling of extreme well-being permeates.

My fancy has taken flight, so I will hold off on the description of our further adventures until it has landed again.

I've landed in another safe haven. Perhaps I should liken myself to a beautiful species of migratory bird, possessed of rare stamina and a plangent appreciation for distance. Instead, I am too self-absorbed to liken myself to anything but myself. I, me, my self, brain, body, ego, chemical makeup, whatever we want to call this collection of feelings and impulses; whatever we call it, it's flooded its banks and taken over. I realized yesterday that I have been so focused on not overstaying my welcome, not asking too much, not taking up too much space, that I've overlooked the feelings of those around me. In other words, I've been so hypersensitive to what people might be thinking that I've missed what they are actually thinking. This is not the first time I've encountered this problem. I suspect that my monomania, which masquerades as sensitivity, empathy, and just plain "nice"-ness, often leads me into this paradox. My narcissism manifests itself as social paranoia, which results in me acting in a way that gets coded as kind. I am nice to others because I fear for myself.
Update from the tangible world: I am enjoying blueberries and toast. This is my first breakfast toast in many weeks. Today's heat is predicted to be oppressive. Inside the house, with all the windows closed, it is still cool and I am glad for my morning coffee. The bed lies in disarray on the floor, waiting for me to gather the wherewithal to lift it back onto its frame. The dense heaviness of a futon mattress reminds me of a limp body, always more weighty and unwieldy to lift than I would suspect.
I had nightmares last night - the kind that involve not only terror but the threat of physical harm and death. I don't remember what was happening in them, only how relieved I was to wake up. I forced myself to stay awake a few extra minutes before going back to sleep, hoping to sweep the final traces of the previous dream from my unconscious. Those moments are always particularly poignant for me, as my conscious, waking, limited mind tries to predict what my unconscious, sleeping, unlimited mind needs. Somewhat like ruling a vast kingdom from a tiny castle, I would imagine.

What's that tired old saying about family: they're the ones who, if no one else will take you in, have to take you in? Or something slightly less clumsy? Anyway, I bring this up because I have observed over the last few weeks that, besides having a wonderful family that does want to help me, I have formed a new family that functions the same way. My friends, from Mount Holyoke and beyond, have formed a safety net for me. I hate being in the position to ask for or accept help, but I have been humbled by the willingness my friends show in this area. My semi-permanent summer housing plans fell through yesterday, an occurrence which, at other times in my life, might have dealt a mighty blow. However, I did not feel completely felled by it because I knew I had people I could stay with who would care for me and, even better, appreciate my company until I figured out a Plan F (or G, H, whatever letter I might be up to now). I think it is rare to have such support, but for me it is even rarer to recognize it. When I got the news about my housing, I could feel the support of my friends cradling me and it kept me afloat. How amazing to count on that without having to even speak a word!

I have been busy adding to my list of temporary homes. Last week was spent in Hamden, CT, "taking care" of my parents' house while they were on vacation. I put that description in quotes because I suspect that rather than me taking care of the house, it was taking care of me. I had a very relaxing week - the only anxiety was introduced by plant-watering and ipod-crushing. Luckily, the latter happened the first day I was there, so I had several days to get over it. I have been extremely careful with my nano for the past year, but all it takes is one not-so-careful moment to blow the whole streak. I stepped on the very corner of the case that was holding the nano and managed to break the inside of my display. So, the music still plays, if I can blindly press the right combination of buttons to make it do so. I miss the damn thing very much, but felt too ashamed to call Apple to see if they'd replace it before the year warranty ended on June 30th. I think part of me never felt like I "should" have an ipod, so at least that part is satisfied.

Now I am house/cat sitting for a former professor. I feel like I'm in permanent limbo - I float from house to house, bringing along my books, my clothes, and my neuroses. This is a pleasant place to land for a bit, if not completely comfortable. I may have to go rent the next installments of Freaks and Geeks to soothe myself. Only I am pretty near broke, so purchases are dodgy at this point. I keep joking with people about it being time for me to recover my work ethic - the humor covers up my fear that I have lost that ethic, or never had it. Prolonged periods of idleness always provoke this fear. I begin to suspect that my current ennui will never end. Of course, it will, if only because I don't have a permanent place to live, a status which requires constant vigilance.