My response to anonymous

As “anonymous” left me this comment:

“had to read that entire thing to read that lame qoute at the end? Get over yourself huh? You used to write so well. Stop indulging your inadequacies and do something with yourself. You're at the best university in the world and you're writing about the cultural differences between the Brits and Americans? Is it true they spell theater theatre? That's madness!!!
And you've over used "stiff upper lip." Stop using it.”

First of all, I would like to say thank you for the constructive criticism of my writing. For you to take such a keen interest in the evolution of my style is truly touching and warms my heart. But sarcasm aside, it must’ve struck a chord with me if I am devoting a post to it—or maybe I’ve just run out of drunk stories to share. I mean, going to the Purple Turtle at 3am, stops being very interesting for both you and me—and unfortunately that is what ended up happening last night.

I know my writing has “sucked” as of late. The drunk stories aren’t very funny, I’ve stopped fleshing out my completely relatable takes on the world, I’ve become stagnant, the list goes on.

Now let me explain why: there are only twenty-four hours in a day. When I worked at the agency, I went home, didn’t leave my house, and proceeded to watch reruns of Will & Grace while blogging on my sofa. My writing was self-absorbed, sad, and filled with ‘I just want to be loved’, hence, besides my friends nobody read it. We then enter into the glory days of my blog. The Gawker mentions, everyone linking me, people sending me their own writing (uhm, if I could do something for you, I can assure you I would not have worked at the agency)—and the shit I wrote was good, if I may say so myself. I made fun of everyone, said something insightful, and made you laugh the entire time. This period of time was characterized by me saying, “Fuck you” to the agency, my bags had already been mentaly packed so I worked the bare minimum forty-five hour weeks and spent most days playing on the computer, and arranging vendor lunches. Let’s say I had loads of free time on my hands.

Now we enter into this period of my life, being a student at Oxford. Contrary to popular belief you do not go to grad school to hide. Unlike the real world, there are no minions for you to pass off your work to, no system to exploit—either you did the reading or not, and there is no metaphorical office that I can leave by five. There is so much work that it looks like I am going to spend my Christmas holiday revising for my exams. Ok enough of the violins, but this is also my reality. But we have another side of the equation as well. I know this is the last time in my life (unless I get a scholarship for next year) that I will have control over my time. For those nights when ‘the spirit moves me' I can stay up until 4am and keep writing, not worrying about being in the office at 9am. This is also the first time in my life where I really have no distractions and can lock my door and turn off my cell phone and write, without plans hanging over my head, people to call, and all of the other things in NYC that prevented me from getting in touch with myself and writing.

Besides school work, I’m trying to assemble clips and the like for my return to NYC. So, that means I’ve been submitting articles to one of the university’s newspapers, in addition to working on my own novels, and *gasp* writing for class (who would have thought?!). Unlike most bloggers, who brag that it takes them twenty minutes for a post or what ever absurd amount of time—I’m not like them. On average, my posts take me about a few hours, and if it needs extensive editing, then longer. As of late, I just haven’t had that much time to devote.

And on the point that I am at the “best university in the world”, well not quite. But thanks for the ego stroke.

So, the moral of the story: yes I know that some of the shit I post is not very good, especially at 4am. I know that it is my duty to write for you and only you, but this blog has another function: it allows me to keep in touch with my friends. And if you’ve ever hung out with me, I thrive off of race/ethnicity jokes, and the Brits are fucking funny. Especially when juxtaposed with the epitome of a neurotic NYC gal. To take you down a peg, sometimes I write thinking of my friends in mind, and since they already love me, I don’t need to impress them, just make them laugh with allusions to terrible inside jokes.

But, since I do love you all, each and every one of you, and my self-esteem is contingent upon my site meter numbers, I promise to be more attune to your needs and desires. As I am feeling pretty stretched with all of this writing and work, they may not be the longest and epic stories, but I will at least, provide fun little quips to make you chuckle and think.

Thank you anonymous, I am sure all of my readers wish to extend the same gratitude as I am right now.