Habitual

It's t - 2 weeks before I take off for Northern Ireland, and I am sitting in my twin bed in California, trying to crochet a scarf while under the influence of alcohol.

My friends' recent blogs convinced me that I should probably give up the fictional Joycean act and have a "real" blog for once--"real" meaning a blog in which I confess where I am, what I am doing, what color hair I have. I considered starting over, the way I thought I was by moving to Belfast, but a recent conversation with a high school friend about habits has convinced me to give this blog a second go, changing the tone and style this time around.

For once, I will accept the advice of nearly every male college writing professor I've had in the last 4 years--I am going to try to stop hiding behind the facades I create so well. (The men always manage to say it with the gruff, soul-smacking way.)

I've hidden behind the mask of one Maura Barnacle for the past few years, proposing theses, asking questions, making jokes with layers of half-truths and truths. Having recently graduated from college, I felt the need to start anew, thinking that all decisions that I made this summer would somehow set me on one path, without room for change. This mentality nearly drove me to a new blog that helped ease my transition into this new world. But in the same way that a few close friends of mine, those ones with the quiet intensity, have slowly convinced me of the error of my thinking, I have recently accepted that post-grad me is merely a continuation of all the previous mes. Thus, I am going to accept these past blitherings as rough drafts of my present writing self.

And right now, that self is thinking about habits, and the first habit might be trying to write more about the concrete world around her, whatever that world may be, whether or not she wants to be there. I'm working at it, so forgive me the transitional moments.

Tonight, I frequented the local haunt in town. Fortunately, doing so is not a habit of mine, but the friend whom I met--a friend from high school, and in some ways, a good writing friend now--casually mentioned how she was trying to break certain emotional habits. Having spent the last year breaking a few habits--smoking, falling back on certain men, hiding behind sarcasm, busting balls not for feminism but to protect myself--I took her casual comment to heart. Faced with the paradoxical enormity and smallness of this next year, I've become convinced that the only way to wade through it is to change my habits.

For example, I have committed myself not only to running as much as possible, but I have also reintroduced flossing into my life. Mundane change, no? Well, perhaps. If I were yet Wallace Stegner I could convinced you that the slowness with which I tug plaque from my teeth is akin to the way in which I tug truths from a lover, but I'm not quite at his writing level yet.

The morning after I arrived back in Novato, I had to go to the dentist for a routine cleaning. Since I was neither hungover nor jetlagged (a first for dental visits in the past few years), I expected an easy, encouraging cleaning that would only renew my newfound tan, fresh-faced beauty. Alas, I instead got a mouthful of blood from the intensity with which the military-wife-turned-dental-assistant went at my teeth and gums. She told me that 60% of germs are taken care of through brushing...but that leaves 40%....and given that I'm known to have a dirty mouth, I figure it might be more 70 / 30....now....I may be a recent graduate with dual degrees in English Literature & Philosophy, but I took enough AP Calc to realize that I needed to start flossing.

So...flossing down. Wearing hair curly pretty much there. Running....fairly good. Now if only I could stop biting my nails, drinking so much whiskey, and hiding in dark corners at social events. Habits--those slowly developed actions that come to dictate a mental state. Habits--perhaps the only things I can change, slowly, right now.

In order to incorporate my previous writing selves into something more cohesive, I have decided to tack on a previous blog I wrote. This other blog was more a place to think about social issues, to write like the journalist I am trained to be. So from here on out, this blog will be more confessional, perhaps more creative, and the other will be more necessary updates on my life abroad in Belfast next year.

Maybe if I force together these two blogs--evidence of my past selves, and perhaps indicators of future selves--I can develop the "right" writing habit. Everything about my now more sober state tells me to start fresh! Have a new blog! But I think I am going to go against that habit of mine--the habit of escaping, "starting over." (See: http://echolt.wordpress.com/about/

Instead, I am going to leave you with the song I have been replaying while teaching myself to crochet:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBzA76QGgz8&feature=av2e