What Goes Around Comes Around (If You're a Martha Craft)

So yesterday, when I set out to include Martha's craft of the day, I had a funny feeling of deja vu. Perhaps this is because the terry cloth inflatable pillow covers that are easy to tuck into a tote were a craft of the day last year. This is what I wrote last year:

"Neither Fernando nor I had slept very well last night. Part of it was the thoughts that just wouldn’t disappear no matter how many times I willed them to, and part of it was Fernando’s tossing and turning. It was like some kind of masochistic chain reaction, where our worries were constantly building up on each other’s. I noted that our inflatable terry cloth pillows that make lounging at the beach even more relaxing, and are simultaneously easy to tuck into a tote, are also good at soaking up tears."

Pathetic.

Anyway, I didn't write on Tuesday because it was the semi-final of World Cup featuring the Netherlands, and I was way too nervous. I did write yesterday on the train, so here it is. It's weird, I'm sorry. Don't worry everyone (Jill); I will comment on your blogs soon. I haven't had the time yet. Also, for your information, I am at 12,000 words. And if David Villa isn't holding a pink jock strap, than I don't know anything.

Oh yeah, and it is important to know that Sadie visited the Hall's summer home, and saw firsthand that the Halls are a bunch of WASPs who never discuss their problems, and that Brett's father is very distant and doesn't seem to care that much about his son.


Paul and Sadie are seated in a booth in Woody’s Grill and Tap, waiting for their large pepperoni pizza to arrive. Sadie is starting to feel nervous; this is definitely a date-ish situation, and as any loyal reader will know, Sadie is far from ready to date. If she were to meet the perfect guy right now it would be completely lost on her.

Some people are so bland that when people are trying to come up with adjectives to describe them, the only thing that they can really say is that they are “nice.” Sadie is not this way, and she prefers it. A lot of people may not like Sadie, but there are just as many people that are passionate about how awesome she is. She has a high standard for the people that she spends time with; she would rather be with someone who is interesting but snarky rather than someone who is nice but dull. Lucky for her, Paul meets her expectations. If he were an ice cream flavour, he would be anything but vanilla. Probably something with chunks.

When Sadie first met Paul, she knew that he was interesting; however, she didn’t know exactly how interesting he would be. He moved around a lot as a child, and has lived in Madrid, London, and San Francisco. Every summer he writes a 50,000 word novel in one month, which indicates to Sadie that he is obviously very creative, intelligent, and sexy. He met Bono once. He said that he was kind of an asshole.

Even though they get along great, and Paul is interesting to talk to and listens to her at the same time, she knows that she can’t do this. It would be fair to her, and it wouldn’t be fair to Paul. She can’t be anything for anyone right now; getting through each day is enough of a challenge these days.

“Do you want to get together again sometime?” Paul asks nervously.

“I’m not sure,” Sadie says sadly. It makes her feel miserable to say this. “I sort of just got out of a relationship, and I don’t know if I can really date right now.”

“How long ago did you guys break up?”

“About four months ago.”

“And how long were you together?”

“A little over a year.”

“Well, they say that you can grieve a relationship for half of the time that you were together. Maybe I will see you in two months,” Paul tries to smile to hide his disappointment.

“It isn’t really that simple. I don’t think that I will be ready anytime soon.”

“Are you still mad at him?”

“Still?” Sadie asks. “I never was.”

“Well maybe you should be.”

“You can’t be angry with someone for not loving you the way that you need them to.”

“Yeah, but you can be mad at them for wasting your time. You can be mad at them for not being honest. You can be mad at them for making you feel this way.”

And to that, Sadie had nothing to say.

Sadie had been spending so much time making excuses for Brett, and hastily forgiving him for tearing out her heart. It’s okay that he didn’t love me, she had always said; he didn’t have to. Loving somebody doesn’t mean that they have to love you. He didn’t owe me anything. He made me happy.

No, she finally said to herself. Sadie was done making excuses for him. He hadn’t treated her right in the end, in the beginning, or ever. What was she waiting for? Waiting for him to realize how perfect they were together, and beg her to take him back? He’s gone. He isn’t coming back. He left her, and he is probably doing fine right now. He doesn’t have to feel this way. But why? Why is she wasting her time like this? Turning away guys that she really likes because she feels like dying is probably exactly what Brett thought that she would do. He was right; she is pathetic.

She thanks Paul for the lovely time at dinner, and heads to the T station. She’s angry, and she definitely doesn’t want Paul to see this. It won’t be pretty.

That night, she is going to a club. She meets her friends and has several shots of something strong, it doesn’t matter what. She is hardly in the club for five minutes before she finds someone who upon first glance looks like Brett, but when she looks a little closer, there really is no resemblance. He’s good enough.

She used to do this all of the time, and it comes back to her with ease. She approaches him, looks him straight in the eye, and soon they are dancing. Soon they are leaving.

Sadie would have never claimed that she had a lot of pride in herself; after Brett left, she stopped feeling like herself at all. She wanted to stop him from taking things from her any way that she could.

She has sex with this person whose name she probably never knew, let alone could ever remember. It isn’t the same, it isn’t what she wants, but she has succeeded in robbing Brett of being the last person to have ever done that. She wants him out of her system, out of her mind, and out of her heart.

When she leaves his apartment at 3 am, and the whole city seems to know what she has just done, she can’t decide if she feels better or worse. Even though Brett would never really know what had happened, she felt like she had hurt him in some way. She felt like she had taken something from him; she wanted to stop him from taking things from her, but she couldn’t. The chains around her had broken, but she still didn’t feel free. She just felt even lonelier.

Even though her and Brett were no longer together, she was continuing to do stupid things for love. Without even knowing it, or even trying, Brett had gotten the best of her. Again.

More Heavy-Handed Metaphors

I was agonizing over what to do with Sadie's present since it mostly involved a man with Viking Horns (don't ask) and a Guido named Vibe Time. Things were bleak, to say the least. But then I called Jill (one of the only Esmonde family members that actually answers the phone) and she helped me with this. What do you guys think?

I'm at 9,743, it's 2:30 in the morning, and I need to sleep. If sleep is at all possible in this goddamned heat. Fuck.

Paul blew into Sadie’s life like a clever North wind; unexpected, but immediately making its presence known. No, the effect isn’t earth-shaking, nor would Sadie have ever described him as heaven-sent. In fact, the first words that Sadie might have used to explain exactly who Paul is would be “not Brett.” Sadly, that is how she would have described everyone.

Whenever sizing up any potential mate, Sadie compares them to Brett. And as far as comparisons go, Sadie could not have found anyone who was further from him. Brett is tall. Paul is just average. Brett has brown eyes. Paul’s are a somber gray. Brett relies on his attractiveness to feel accepted. If Paul followed a similar pattern, well, let’s just say that he would be about as well-received as a fart in a jar, but more well-received than a fart that it out of a jar.

For those of us who aren’t varsity jocks with abs that you could grate cheese on to make a nice lasagna, winning people over with our personalities is the only way to win people over at all. Appearance-wise, Paul is mostly unremarkable: he doesn’t dress especially well (though not especially bad that you would notice, laugh, and point), his hair is the same style that any barber at any corner barber shop would cut, and his average build means that no one stares at his biceps-with-the-sleeves-rolled-up while sitting behind him in English class. But if most people would have to compare, they would take an unremarkable-looking individual over Brett’s completely unremarkable personality.

Sadie had to work to win Brett over. But this time, it is the other way around. This is the only way that it could have ever worked.

Paul approaches Sadie as she reads quietly while eating her lunch at Au Bon Pain. He isn’t sure exactly what made him do it; men usually have more confidence than women think that they should, which is probably what drove him to talk to Sadie in the first place. Maybe it was the fact that she was reading The Cider House Rules and seemed legitimately engaged, playing into his love of sexy and intelligent women. Maybe it’s because he can sense her insecurity and vulnerability and it makes him feel comfortable because it sort of matches his own. Or maybe it’s just because there aren’t any tables available during the lunch rush and his tray is heavy and she looks like the friendliest person in the room. Whatever.

To paraphrase, their conversation goes something like this:

“Hi, can I sit here?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I see that you’re reading The Cider House Rules. I love the book, hate the movie.”

“Yeah, don’t you hate movie adaptations of books?” You could also sub in either “Yeah, I really like the Beatles too” or “I also love pizza!”

“I’m an English major at Boston College! Go Eagles!”

“I am a political science major at Wellesley!”

“Hillary or Barack?”

“Hillary!”

“I like Barack!” Could also have been substituted with, “I’m in College!”

“I’m Canadian.”

“You must be from Toronto.”

“There are more cities in Canada than Toronto.”

“Are they important?”

“Not really.”

“I love these flowery oilcloth coasters. They're really blossoming under my favourite chilled drink!”

“These colourful, floral designs sure make a cheerful background for summer cocktails!” This could have been replaced with, "I'm a person with eyes! I enjoy these!"

“It’s dinner time! Let’s take the appropriate action!”

“Ok.”

But then, imagine that this conversation went on for about three hours.

What Sadie notices first about Paul is that he is easy to talk to. She also notices that he managed to not say anything completely moronic during their entire conversation. He didn’t refer to Wellesley as “a bunch of hairy lesbians making out with each other in class.” He didn’t call Canada “America’s hat.” He isn’t a Republican, and as we all know, everything that comes out of a Republican’s mouth is ridiculously stupid. This impresses Sadie, since men like this seem disappointingly rare.

Upon further reflection, Sadie then that she isn’t intimidated at all by Paul. This isn’t really something you notice until you are in a relationship where you constantly worry that one day your partner will realize how good they look in a child’s Speedo (for example…) and run away with some girl who is so interesting and pretty that even you would consider making out with her. It’s so simple, but something that Sadie hasn’t known in a long time: what it means to feel equal. Paul is non-threatening and nice and patient and interesting, all qualities that Brett notably lacked. He isn’t Brett, and that bothers Sadie. The butterflies are not flying away, nor is she nodding her head like yeah. Don’t even get me started on her hips. She doesn’t know how she ended up at this party in the USA, but she figures, she’ll stay for the free meal.

If Paul were an element he would be water, because eighty percent of your body is composed of Paul. Wait, that can’t be right. Nor did Jesus ever turn him into wine, but this thought is pleasing to Sadie; she loves a good red. No, Paul is water because he can wash away all of Sadie’s pain and make her as good as new. He is the water that will try to wash away Brett's earth.

THIS Is a New Low, and a New Haircut

If Indigo thinks that quoting herself is a new low, I would like to introduce her to my 800 words of Jersey Shore-like Guidos. Yes, Sadie goes on a blind date with Mike "Vibe Time" Giardelli. A lot of Jersey Shore quotes were thrown in. I don't know why.

I'm having a lot of trouble writing the present. Does anybody have any advice? It's getting bleek.

Also, Sam and Scott: going MIA is unacceptable. Get the fuck back here.

This part isn't nearly as crap-tastic. Jill, please note that I am at 8,029 words.

Falling in love doesn’t really happen suddenly like it always seems to in movies. It is more of a process, with increasing stages. The first stage is when you start to suspect it: this happens for Sadie when Brett agrees to go with Sadie on opening night to see “The Stars Were Bright, Fernando”, a film based on a best-selling novel about a Dutch girl named Olga Vennegoor of Hesselink who meets, falls in love with, and ultimately marries Spanish footballer Fernando Torres. Despite his repeated denials to his friends, he somewhat enjoyed the movie, and even went so far as to applaud Olga’s feminist choices. This was extremely uncharacteristic of Brett, as he rarely holds an opinion—let alone a feminist one—and Sadie could see a few too many similarities between Fernando and Brett than she would have liked. It seems to Sadie that Brett is trying to please her, which is several steps up from their previous relationship of him simply accepting her presence. Sadie is changing him, or so she thinks. For now, at least, Sadie is open, and Brett is closed.

The next step is when you are pretty sure that you love them, but you still won't fully admit it to yourself. This happens for Sadie when Brett invites her to the Harvard soccer pre-season banquet as his date. She spends the evening listening to stories of younger Brett, hearing of his achievements on the pitch, and once again feeling so lucky to be the girl on his arm. Sitting at a table with all of Brett’s friends is like sitting with the cool kids in the high school cafeteria. She longs to be one of them. Further, this is the first time that Brett introduces her as his girlfriend. It wasn’t really something that they had discussed; Sadie isn’t sure if he took this from their discussion to be exclusive. The words, “this is my girlfriend,” sound like a song to Sadie. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” some of them say. This surprises Sadie even more; “You girls talk about me?” she inexplicably wonders. “You know, just girl stuff,” Brett answers, further defying explanation. Brett may be made of stone, but slowly but surely, she is carving a place for herself in his life.

Finally, there is the time when you know that you love someone, and every second that you can’t tell them is a struggle. These words may carry a lot of weight, but sometimes they feel as light as air, willing themselves to leave your mouth. The words themselves don’t know what they mean, they don’t know how big of a deal they really are. It’s not something that you can just say to anyone. Every night that Sadie and Brett lie in bed, Sadie wants to tell him. As he sleeps innocently beside her, and she is inevitably awake, since she still can’t sleep when there is someone else in her bed, she mouths the words to him; it all that she can do to keep herself from screaming them.

Sadie tries to distract herself from this newfound love, so that she can try to maintain some semblance of sanity. Unfortunately, like an over-hydrated and aggressive dog, Brett seems to have marked his territory all over her life. She can hardly listen to a single song without thinking of him; why does every song have to be about finding, having, and losing love? She tries to take up knitting, but in that especially pathetic way that Sadie has patented, each stitch looks like a heart. Love is all around, she knows, and so the feeling grows. This is the part that Joni Mitchell described as moons and Junes and Ferris wheels, that dizzy, dancing way that you feel as every fairy tale comes real. It is one of the best feelings in the world, that affects all other aspects of your life to make them that much better.

But alas, we all know that that isn’t all of it, and that isn’t the end of the song. Now it’s just another show, you leave ‘em laughing when you go, and if you care, don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away.

Sadie feels too much. She has never been sure whether this is a gift or a curse. After Brett, it will take her years before she realizes that it is a gift. Even more, she can never feel just one thing at once. Admiring the beautiful colours of the autumn leaves is always accompanied by the sad knowledge that they will soon yield to the long season of winter, where all of the colour seems drained from the world. The joy she feels when watching a child grow is burdened by the awareness of the pain that they will inevitably encounter as they age, and the feeling that they hopes that she never has to see it because it will be too much for her to bear. In this case, Sadie is in love, and has never been happier. But at the same time, the happiness cannot remain unrestrained. Brett does not love her back, of this she is sure. She isn’t sure if he ever will; a seemingly impenetrable bubble of distance surrounds him, keeping anyone that could love him away, but also preventing him from feeling too much, which is his biggest fear.

Keeping secrets has never been one of Sadie’s strong suits, but she knows that this is something that Brett just can’t know. She isn’t sure when he will be able to handle her love, if ever. For now, she will have to content herself with thinking those three words. She was never one to take risks, either, and putting her heart on the table is much too much of a gamble for Sadie Desman.

Already Bored

Before I begin, I feel like I need to share with you all some news that I received mere hours ago that shook me to my very core: Cristiano Ronaldo is now a father. He tweeted about it today. I guess that he got some woman pregnant and he is going to raise the lucky kid. That should totally be my novel for next year.

So today, Sadie finally goes out for the first time to meet guys since her and Brett broke up. It does not go well. A hilarious outfit was described. But I thought that I would share this, since it's better. I'm not feeling very funny today, I got in a fight with a co-worker and am still kind of fuming. Also, Spain have advanced to the semi-finals against Germany. Hurray!


The thing with getting over someone that you once loved is that no one really knows how to do it. We all know what we shouldn’t do, which, sadly enough, are the very things that come most naturally. Without Sadie’s friends, she probably would have done every single post-break-up faux pas: calling him, trying to get back together, obsessing over the past and trying to figure out “where it went wrong”—a pointless exercise if there ever was one, since in this case, everything went wrong. To say that Sadie leaned on her friends would be generous; they carried her.

Julia, who had an odd penchant for wearing a hideous housecoat that was pink with frogs on it, listened every time Sadie felt the need to re-dissect the relationship. Much like Cosmopolitan’s “TEN WILD WAYS TO PLEASE YOUR MAN” that seem to come out every month, there are only so many variations of the same thing. At least Sadie didn’t suggest to Julia that she “sprinkle a little pepper under his nose right before he climaxes. Sneezing can feel similar to an orgasm and amplify the feel-good effects” like Cindy, 32. Thinking about your past relationship, and continuing to talk about it, can feel like you’re keeping it alive. It’s hard to give up. But ultimately, would you consider Bill Murray alive in “Groundhog Day”? Living the same thing over and over again may seem worthwhile at first, but eventually, there is nothing left to say. Events from the past don’t change; analyzing and re-analyzing doesn’t make things in the present any better. Sucking memories dry of any meaning or importance they once had empties you, instead of filling you up in the way that you think that it will. But despite the futility of the exercise, Sadie took to it with all of the fervour usually reserved for a physiotherapist to a pile of jock straps.

Fiona, her roommate from Chicago, was never really much of a listener; she was a talker. Everything that had happened to Sadie had probably once happened to Fiona, and she would then go on to describe it. If you need any advice, or even if you don’t, Fiona is your gal. But Fiona is smart and her input is invaluable; she wouldn’t let Sadie remember things the way that Sadie wanted to remember them. Fiona doesn’t see the world through Sadie’s rose-coloured glasses; she sees the world through her own glasses. Keeping Sadie in the real world was the best thing that she could have done for her.

We need both listeners and talkers in our lives: listeners seem to take on some of your burden, while talkers can give you the outside perspective that could be lost when all that of those thoughts in your head seem to do is swirl around endlessly until they are stale, like a fart in a jar. Fiona and Julia’s patience was endless, and without it, Sadie couldn’t envision how she could have gotten through this period that seemed to have lasted much longer than it should have.

Over time, Sadie began to regard Brett as a thief; it felt as if he had stolen too much of her. Every place that they had gone served as a reminder of him, even if it was somewhere that she had known long before him and would know it for long after. Even her own apartment didn’t feel like it was hers anymore; suddenly, she could remember everything that had ever happened there, and it was haunting her. Brett became a ghost that appeared far too often, and unlike Casper, he was not a friendly ghost. He claimed things for his own that he had no business to. Things that she had loved before, like watching and playing football, watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and going to her favourite sports bar, Brett seemed to have gotten in the break-up. Everyone tells you to be strong, to take back what’s yours and to not let him do this to you! It’s useless. You’re not yourself, you’re not strong anymore, and they will continue to take from you because you are just too tired to stop them.

Life just doesn’t feel the same; you seem to lose the ability to enjoy anything. For the first time in her life, Sadie just wanted to be alone. Her smile had faded and become an awkward stretching of the face that was never genuine. Time spent with friends was more tiring, if anything. She cried a little harder when watching sad movies; she laughed a little less at everyone else’s jokes. Life seemed distant—just out of reach—and Sadie just didn’t have the strength to grab it and pull it back again. No, she was not fun to be around in this time, which made her even more distressed. Sadie never had very much pride—no one would have let her get away with that—but she had always prided herself on being fun.

Sadie was like this for a while, but can’t we just let her be? This book is about Sadie, and if we were to write about this time in her life, it wouldn’t be. Eventually, Sadie did move on. Let’s not dwell on exactly how long it took. It took time, support, and a lot of ice cream. Let’s applaud her for it, and move to the part of her journey where Sadie becomes Sadie again. It’s a lot more interesting, anyway.

ORANJE CRUSH

So basically, today was the awesomest day ever. Holland beat Brazil in the quarter final of world cup, and are advancing to the semi-final against a big bunch of cheaters (Uruguay). Assholes.

Anyway, I barely had any time to write today. I don't know how I'm caught up, at 4,101 words. Here is an excerpt. It is something of an ode to Jackie.


Sadie and Brett have been meeting like this for several weeks; it has become a routine that Sadie knows that she enjoys far, far too much. She depends on his presence in her life more than she would outwardly admit, but come on, even she knows it herself. They don’t call it ‘falling in love’ for nothing; once you start falling, you can’t stop half way. It’s all or nothing.

She knows that she shouldn’t feel this much for him so soon, but then again, telling Sadie not to feel as much as she does would be like trying to tell Bon Jovi not to rock. It just can’t be done—and particularly in the case of Bon Jovi, why would you even want it to be?

She has to do this, she knows, but it will be about as pleasant as getting drunk when Jon Bon Jovi is not the wine. Here it goes, she thinks to herself, just do it. Breathe.

“What are we?” she asks Brett seemingly out of the blue. But since we have access to Sadie’s every thought, we know that she has been working up to this question for about fifteen minutes.

Brett is silent for several seconds, which seemed like much longer for poor Sadie. Hopefully it’s because he’s seriously considering the question. Hopefully it is not because he is freaking the fuck out, and trying to find the best way to get out of this. Finally, he says something after what felt like an eternity.

“I don’t know. Do we have to be something?” he asks her in response. Not what Sadie wanted to hear, of course, but it wasn’t the worst thing that he could have said either.

“I guess not,” she falters. “But, you know, do you want to see other people?”

He considers this question for a long time. How dare he?

“Probably not.”

“So,” Sadie begins awkwardly, “Should we be exclusive?”

Sadie is trying to phrase her questions in a neutral way, in a way that doesn’t give everything away. In her mind, she is coming across as nonchalant, curious, maybe, but definitely not needy or exactly like a girl. The last thing that Sadie wants to be like right now is a girl.

Sadie is a lot of things, but nonchalant is not one of them. Nor is she a particularly good actress when it comes to hiding parts of herself that others may not want to see. She isn’t fooling anyone; Brett knows that she cares, no matter how much she tries to convince him otherwise. Like anything else, it isn’t necessarily what she says. And let’s be honest, she isn’t exactly the master of deception with her words, either. No, it’s all in the eyes; her eyes convey more of her emotion to him than anything else ever could. It’s the way that she looks into his eyes, seemingly into his soul, as if desperately searching for something.

“I guess,” Brett finally says.

Brett is a lot of things, but his true talent is his ability to not commit to anything. Sure, he will try not to cheat on Sadie for however long this lasts, and he doesn’t really see it lasting for very long. But if it makes her happy right now, he will do it. ‘Being upset’ is mostly something that Brett doesn’t understand, and it’s just easier for him to do what everyone else wants than to face the consequences of others’ unhappiness. Not committing to anything means that you never really know what you want for yourself, and when it comes to this, Brett is one of the best. It’s just easier to go along with everyone else’s expectations for you than to do anything for yourself. His mother wanted him to go to Harvard, his father wanted him to go into finance to follow in his footsteps, and his older brother led by example as a soccer player. Brett had a long history of never really wanting anything. Wanting is complicated, and he likes to keep it simple. Right now, being with Sadie is simple, since he doesn’t have to go out looking for anyone and isn’t it kind of nice to have someone to care about you?

Sadie wishes that she could feel happy; she got what she wanted, didn’t she? But of course, she doesn’t. Brett’s response would have been more appropriate for answering questions like “Can you clean out your moldy vegetables from the fridge?” Definitely not the way one should answer a relationship question. Despite how much she will internally deny it, she knows that this isn’t really what he wanted. But to be fair, Brett doesn’t know what he wants either.

Metaphorical Martha

Jill, you will be pleased about this: my tentative title for my novel is "Brett Hall is a Meatball Sandwich." I also want to add that a lot of this novel isn't really biographical, so don't worry too much about it.

I've decided to stop for the day, I'm at 2,178 words and trying to pace myself this time around. I have incorporated 3 Martha Stewart crafts so far, and am pleased to report that my latest addition is close to as symbolic as that shell-covered pot from last year. Here is what I have added this morning:


Fortunately for Sadie, neither of her roommates are at home when she enters her quiet apartment. Her body feels heavy and immovable; her mind and her mouth seem disconnected, incapable of coming together to explain exactly what has just happened. All that she wants is her bed, but when she gets under her blankets, she feels suffocated. This is the bed where her and Brett had spent so many nights together, including the night in which they met. On her wall hung a Fourth of July clip-art streamer that she had taken from the party in what felt like the greatest of drunken ideas. The blue medallion-centered pendant that topped off the trio of red and white honeycomb garlands had faded with time, changing from a bright royal blue to a sad and lonely periwinkle. This, Sadie thinks, is exactly what happens when you depend on something to last even though it was never meant to.

Despite the fact that her clothes are wet and the humid, dead air makes her feel like she is on fire, she has no choice but to hide from the world underneath the covers. Her room is a place where he was, a place that is bursting with memories and longing. Under the covers, nothing can touch her. Nothing has any expectation of her; she is free to simply exist.

* * *

For many, Brett’s gentle snoring that is punctuated by unintelligible words would have prevented any possibility of sleep. But for Sadie, she knows that she would not sleep even if the room were completely silent. She has never been able to sleep when another person is in her bed, but with this one, she can hardly believe that he is in her bed at all.

By all accounts, Brett Hall is superior to her. He is more attractive, he attends a better school, and he has more money. He is the starting striker for the Harvard soccer team, and majors in finance. But it isn’t just how he presents himself on paper that makes him out of her league; it’s the way that he carries himself. That easy confidence that borders on cockiness, that sure-of-himself attitude, makes everyone around him automatically believe in his authority. He is smart—not overly smart, not eager smart, not trying-too-hard smart—smart enough to get into Harvard with the help of his athletic abilities, and smart enough to likely hold a job on Wall Street when you consider how attractive and confident he is. He is funny—not too funny, since people that are that good-looking don’t have to be—but funny enough. He isn’t a particularly nice guy, but he isn’t mean either. People usually remember him as being smarter and funnier and nicer than he actually is.

Brett Hall is the kind of guy where when women meet him, most can hardly help themselves in envisioning their married lives together. He would look pretty in the lavish and well-attended wedding photographs, your children would be adorable, and seeing him holding your children would induce an ovary explosion. The two of you could attend fancy dinners with his investment banking colleagues, and summer in Nantucket in a rustic cottage where you sip sangria on the dock while discussing your children’s private school politics and the latest Alexander McQueen collection with his co-workers’ wives. It isn’t necessarily the life that Hillary-supporting, political science-majoring Sadie had ever imagined for herself, but all of a sudden, it seems nice.

Brett is a nine. Sadie is a seven, a seven-point-five on a good day. She feels lucky as she looks over at Brett’s bare chest. She’s not exactly sure how she managed to swing this one, but man, is she proud that she did.

Feeling Your Pain

Like the other intrepid EsNoWriMo-ers, I too began my quest at midnight. I left it off at 1,655 words, and like the others, it was hard. I had to write some dialogue, which is always embarrassing, terrible, and completely unnatural. However, I did manage to work in two Martha Stewart crafts. Some excerpts, for your reading displeasure:

"Sadie feels out of place. Not only is she a Wellesley scholar amongst a sea of Harvard students, a brunette surrounded by blondes, but she also seems to be the only Canadian at a Fourth of July barbecue. She takes in the carefully laid out decorations with some irony, recalling all of the half-assed parties and fireworks displays that she had attended back at home. The buffet table is adorned with a fiery flowers display, with what appears to be spider mums that were tinted to look like lively fireworks. ‘What a good choice,’ she thinks to herself, recalling how inexpensive and readily available those flowers must have been, and mentally congratulating the hostess for grouping the blooms of various colours in assorted vessels for a simply dazzling exhibit. She can’t help but wonder what the point of it all is, since everyone around her seems to be single-handedly attempting to drain Boston of all of its cheap and watery beer. She made a bet with herself that not a single party attendee had noticed the flowers, or any of the myriad decorations that were jauntily displayed around the backyard."



"The summer rain began to fall, forcing revelers in Boston’s North End to seek shelter under the many awnings scattered along the busy, bustling street. Rain is rarely welcome on hot summer evenings such as these, but on this particular occasion, many felt an odd sense of relief. It had been cloudy for days, inviting the inevitable rainstorm that always accompanied such somber skies. Everyone had seen it coming, and had been dreading it. The rain that had finally come had felt like a release, freeing them from the burden that they all knew was unavoidable.

One girl stood out amongst those huddling together in an effort to avoid the downpour; she seemed completely oblivious, in fact. The trudged along the now-empty street, mindlessly staring forward, as if in a dream. Her brown hair was soaked, and hanging limply at the sides of her hollow-looking face. The t-shirt that she wore clung to her body like a second skin, emphasizing every slow movement that she made as she moved forward. While the rain obscured her tears, the aura of tragedy that surrounded her was visible to all. The kind of pain that emanated off of her drenched and cold body could not be overlooked or ignored; it’s the kind of pain that even though those around may not directly feel it, they all know it, and can feel it vicariously.

Theories are tossed around the onlookers’ minds as to what could possibly be the source of such palpable anguish. “Someone must have died,” many postulate. “Perhaps she was fired,” others think to themselves. But some of them, those that have felt it, know exactly what this is. That empty look, that appearance of being completely lost that is as plain on her face as anything, can only come from one thing: unrequited love."