Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

I do this every year, (or, at least, every year since 2003) and it is absolutely compulsory.

As in years past, I must preface this with a warning to not proceed if you have delicate sensibilities. I would say, though, that overall, I've been especially good this year. Read More »

Each year, we at the house take an intimate look at the last 12 months, in a frighteningly frank way. This is to keep things honest, despite anything else that may have been written. This year it seems more important that ever, because we haven't been checking in as much.

As always, if you think you may be offended by cursing, graphic sexuality, talk about death, destructive relationships, or substance abuse, among other topics, turn away now. Have some kittens.

In addition, if you feel that such talk might ruin your holiday, save the read until after the new year.

And now, on with the show. Read More »

We do this every year. Frank, R-rated discussion of friends, drinking, sex, music, money, illness, politics, and many other subjects follow. If you are a sensitive, delicate flower, I suggest you go elsewhere. Particularly if you are over 50 (if you baby boomers proceed anyway, I'll bear no responsibility for possible heart attacks). Read More »

Many people have asked me how the month of sobriety went, or even stranger, “how the not-drinking is going”, present-tense. It made me realize that I never wrapped it up, never gave it a conclusion in the narrative of my life. Someday, I may have a publicist for this sort of thing, but for now, I'll have to make the announcement myself—and ramble out some thoughts on the whole matter. Read More »

Often, it just takes one sharp pain in your gut to snap everything else into focus. That's what recently happened to me. The pain wasn't the worst I had ever felt, in fact, it wasn't distinguished in anyway. It didn't feel awful, it just felt like more of the same. The pain was just one more thing in a long series of events that indicate to me that perhaps I'm sometimes lacking some needed rule of self.

These turns of fortune, quiet murmurs when separated, gathered together at the sore place and had a pow-wow, where suddenly, in a group, they were able to make a lot of noise. The clamor was basically a plea for Jenna Tollerson to stop acting like all rules are there to be uptight and puritanical and for once take responsibility and reign herself in. I pride myself often enough on being easy-going, aiming to party, and always laughing in the faces of those who insist my less-than-wholesome behavior has any sort of destructive quality.

However, I've chosen I need to prove something to myself.

For once in my life, I need to make myself do something that I may not enjoy, for my own damn good. Forcing myself to do unpleasant-but-personal-growth-producing acts has never been my strong suit; an all-but-failed academic career is evidence enough of that. But it's something I need to be able to do if I want to get anywhere in this life. So, starting this weekend and throughout the entire month of February, I'm not going out drinking on weekends. I'm not doing this because I think my drinking is a real problem. I'm doing it to show that I can. I don't just want to say I can quit anytime I want, I want to be able to point and say, “That was a time when I said I was going to abstain and I did.” I want to know that even though that I may never care to again, that I can put down the bottle whenever I damn well please.

This reason, this needing to know, has become doubly important as I mulled over this decision for the last 48 hours. Why? Because once I decided what I needed to do, giving up my weekends at Barcode—even just for a trial period—has started to sound just this side of impossible. Of course, this serves well to underscore how badly I need to do this.

Here's the thing: between getting ready to go out, going out, and then sleeping it off, I usually pretty much manage to use up my entire weekend, every weekend. Sure, sometimes there is some leisure time in the afternoon when, still a bit groggy, I watch DVDs, maybe getting up to check my e-mail. Often though, I'll sleep from sun up to sun down, and when I greet my favorite bartenders on Saturday night, it's less than 12 waking hours since I last saw them.

I'd like to see what will go different this month. I plan to use my weekends to organize, clean, do the laundry that's been piling up for multiple weeks, and read. When the sun's out I could take photographs, walk around the neighborhood, and if it really warms up, use a mid-afternoon to lounge a bit on North Campus. I want to use a little less time being up all night and a little more time digging some sunshine.

If you'd like to engage in good Christian-youth-type activity with me, such as seeing a movie (something I now do maybe twice a year now, when given the amount of leisure time I boast should really be so much more), getting coffee, or, quite frankly, anything that will force me to get up, take a shower and leave my apartment before one in the afternoon, please do be in touch.

I feel like such a major square for doing this, but I just gotta remember, it's not forever. My birthday celebration at Barcode the first weekend in March will feel so much sweeter and more special if I've spent a month and some change getting my life together rather than just having a good time.

A lot has happened and nothing has happened while I've been away, Internet. I did Christmas with the family, Charleston with my friends, said goodbye to the single most influential force in my life thus far, and met a dozen or so new and wonderful people.

Then I came back to Athens. And I've felt completely weird ever since. It's a feeling I always get in Charleston, which, being a city I don't particularly care for, has a tendency to throw me way out of my comfort zone on those extended stays. There is no good way to describe it other than I feel “off”. I expected it to release it's hold on me when I came home, but it's hung around in one way or another. This is only a hollow sinking feeling in my gut though. In reality, I own the motherfuckin Classic City. I have friends, regular haunts, a job where everyone digs my work, a swank apartment, and depression-wise, I'm feeling less episode-dy than I have in years. I get up everyday excited to get some shit done (after a shower and a few big gulps of a caffeinated beverage, anyway). It doesn't take every sheer ounce of will I have to make myself walk out and face the world in the morning. This is progress! Read More »

A House Christmas Eve Tradition. Read More »

• The fact that recently, in my own mind, I've been substituting the word “job” with the word “career” when I think about what it is I do to earn my bread.
• The way working at a corporation makes me feel a part of a team, of something great, while simultaneously reducing me down to a cog in the machine, just one more worker bee.
• The way I'm embarassed to pull out my new iPod on the street, lest I be accused (even if it's only in the minds of passers-by) of actually attempting to be “trendy”.
• The fact that I will be 22 years old in less than a month, and instead of being excited, I'm trying to figure out where the last year went.
• That I now have three different wishlists (try saying “obnoxious materialism” five times fast).
• That anyone actually considers me an adult.

Looking back, and forward. Read More »

Three years ago, when I was standing on Legion Field watching Jump, Little Children, if someone had told me that the next time I would be back there it would be to watch a hip hop show with my frat boy friend who I met at my office job, I would have laughed.

Heartily.

“Me?” I would have remarked. “Hip hop? Frat boys? A desk job?”

And then I would have laughed some more.

Anyone who may claim that college doesn't truly change people is off their rocker.