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By Jess, August 29, 2010 12:19 am

I was poised to write a thoughtful reflection on my current feelings of anxiety. But then, I saw that The Time Traveler’s Wife was on HBO. Having read the book, I knew exactly what it had to offer. I watched it, I cried, and now my inspiration has evaporated.

This is not an unusual situation for me, and I’m not altogether sure how common (or uncommon) it is. Approximately every two weeks, the faintest traces of worry manifest in my gut: worries about life in general, work, writing, not writing, family, the future, the mounting pile of dishes in the sink, everything. I brush off the feeling as it builds until, at some point, I can’t stand it. Then I seek relief — not in the more obvious choices of booze or drugs but in movies (and occasionally books and music). These are what I refer to as my “triggers,” the stimuli that coax the worry out of my system.

My ultimate go-to’s are inspiring dramas and romantic comedies, mostly movies starring Meg Ryan or Julia Roberts. I’ve watched my You’ve Got Mail DVD more times than I can count. (For me, romanticizing email correspondence is the equivalent of shirtless George Clooney or Robert Pattison).  When I moved to London for a year, I watched one of three movies virtually every week: Notting Hill, Something’s Gotta Give, and You’ve Got Mail. Most recently, I’ve discovered that Gran Torino, a dark horse of my triggers, can inspire tears as long as I tune in at least 15 minutes before the end. Impressive or terrifying? Perhaps both.

My triggers are my comfort food, and for the purpose of reading and writing more, I suppose it’s time I went on a diet of sorts. The ultimate goal would be to need no trigger at all, of course — to just react to life as it happens. But for now, I’ll settle with more books, more movies, more music and maybe a little less You’ve Got Mail. For the record, You’ve Got Mail is fantastic and the clip below captures everything I love about it.

My progress so far? This week, I subscribed to Harper’s Magazine and started reading Nora Ephron’s (coincidentally, writer/director/producer of You’ve Got Mail) 2006 memoir I Feel Bad About My Neck.

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By Jess, August 4, 2010 11:32 pm

Tonight, I find myself with an unexpected guest. Meet Thurman the dog, named (I think) after famous Yankees catcher Thurman Munson.

When your bed sits on the ground, it’s pretty hard to convince a dog to lie elsewhere but oh well. For the sake of hospitality, I will allow it.

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By Jess,

Although the movie starring Diane Keaton and Jack Nicholson is one of my favorites, it’s unfortunately not the topic of this brief post.

In the past two months, I’ve cooked more often and eaten better food than I have in quite some time. I’ve seen more of my friends, D.C. residents and visitors alike. I spent two glorious weeks sharing my apartment with Alex. I finally squeezed in an appointment for both the dentist and the doctor. And after a year of feeling haunted by what I read in Suze Orman’s Young, Fabulous & Broke, I finally took the time to apply for a credit card of my very own.

What I haven’t been doing is writing. Trust me, I’m feeling guilty and regretful: guilty that I’m not carrying my weight over at Autostraddle, and regretful that I’m not seizing this opportunity to write at my job and not documenting my feelings in this crazy post-college period. I don’t have time! This is what I tell myself. But I must! I must have time! If a CEO or talk show host can do a million things at once, then I must have time to write a blog post. So I have decided: Something’s gotta give.

The first thing that comes to mind to go on the chopping block is sleep. As much as I love it, I truly believe that I can never be successful until my wake-up call arrives by 6:30AM. I secretly fantasize about drinking coffee and reading the newspaper before work each morning. This is my recipe for success — only I have no idea what the other ingredients are. (Also, I haven’t actually taken real steps to wake up earlier, aside from pressing snooze on my alarm with more frequency, nor have I subscribed to a newspaper).

Regardless of these recent failures, I’ve managed to live to be 23 years old and I’m feeling pretty positive about the years that are behind me. For now, I will focus on the small stuff. I will floss and wear sunscreen daily. I will write.. maybe daily (?) but certainly more than I have been in recent weeks. And hopefully, I will sleep less. I hope it all adds up to something good.