In my various Internet travels, I have come across a site which showcases letters and diaries from the turn of the century. Awfully fascinating read, especially if you’re nosy like me and obsessively read the blogs of complete strangers. This is sort of like reading a way-back-blog! A lot of things were certainly different back in the day, but some things remain constant: people, then and now, like hanging out, gossip and romance. Check it out.

No matter how early I wake up, regardless of whether I sleep in, hit the snooze button, or spring out of bed as fresh as a laundry daisy (a rare occurence), I only have time for exactly one cup of tea. I would love to have more. Some of my favorite experiences in Britain last year were when I got up with the sun, which rose quite early, and sat and idly sipped my morning tea, until the rest of the world came alive.

These days it seems to be the opposite: the rest of the world is out buzzing around, doing things, while I am still groggy and asleep. A good deal of the people I know are either gone or going places. My boyfriend is across the pond and then some. I’m kind of bummed out whenever I check Facebook (the rock-bottom of Lame Valley, I know!), and I see all the things the people I knew back in high school are up to: Harvard law school, Rhodes scholar in Oxford, Peace Corps in Ghana, even countries my geography-deficient brain has never even heard of (Tajikistan? Sure that isn’t made up?). I sometimes wonder what would happen if I ever met up with some of these people, what would I say?

Hot shot scholar: “And what have you been up to, karenology?”

Me: “Uh…I made a cat bed last week? And actually got my cat to sit in it?”

It’s not that I mind the quietness of my own life. I’d much rather be knitting for my less-than-grateful feline than, say, getting my ass shot at in the West Bank. Or being entrenched in research and papers, with no time for tea or yarn. I am lucky that I have a comfortable life, a job that pays well and is easy on the duties, and people who love me despite my unremarkable dullness.

Yet, I am shallow, and care about what others think of me. I don’t want them merely to like me (though I do most definitely care, I do), I want them to envy me, a little bit, and brag to others about having known me. Ideally, I would be a rock star, though it would require me to pick up my guitar that has mostly been used as a door stopper and set prop for cat photos. Not to mention the cultivating blisters part, which would seriously interfere with the knitting, as well as the actual life of a rock star: the constant touring, the road trips, the shitty bars, the playing in front of a crowd and getting over that whole stage-fright thing, the mysterious bathrooms. Well, all right, maybe ‘rock star’ isn’t exactly the ideal career for a mousy germ freak. But, the adulation! The celebrity, the excitement! The…effort.

I’d much rather have my cup of tea in the morning, sit outside and watch the people who are making things happen. I’m more of an observer than a doer; perhaps that is why I am drawn to writing. I’m not sure if I’ll ever make it big in the writing world, at least enough to achieve the equivalent of rock star status, especially given my indolence (guess how many stories I’ve written since the end of school? Hint: you can’t divide by this number!). I don’t really mind if I am never in the running for a Pulitzer, but maybe it would lend some sort of legitimacy to the direction in which I am heading. Or lack thereof.