It has taken me ten minutes to type this sentence. Why? HEAD COLD. Let’s not even talk about the fact that despite hours in front of my computer, I’ve written nothing for Samantha Irby and Keith Eckard’s awesome live lit event, Guts and Glory next Wednesday. Let’s not talk about the three separate snow storms I’ve wandered through in search of soup and Sudafed and sorbet and other things that start with S, like Sonic Youth. I know they’re out there somewhere. I definitely don’t want to discuss the canker sore that just popped up on my tongue or the fact that randomly I appear to have pulled my back and now I can’t sit or stand without yelping like I’m starring in a Chewbacca porno.
Groundhog Day meets Doctor Zhivago meets The New Girl meets The Shining would be how I'd pitch a memoir about the last week of my life. I’m including The New Girl because of my stupid winter hat, a hat that only Zooey Deschanel could love. In fact, in terms of winter-wear I’m serving J Crew Ski Lodge meets Clown College.
The texts I’m sending my boyfriend are growing more and more desperate:
"Don’t worry" I wrote yesterday, "I’m just going to jump off the Hancock building, that’s all."
"Nothing dramatic," he wrote. "Good."
"Just headed to Jewel to buy rat poison. I’m keeping it all in perspective."
"That’s simpler. Writing going well?"
When he called, he said I sounded like I was trying to clean up after committing a mass murder. I asked him why a MASS murder, he said “You sounded way too disturbed. There had to be more than one body.”
Basically, you know you're in good shape when you’re reduced to cobbling together an intro to your Holiday Gift Guide from text messages and Facebook updates, which is what I just did. Not only that but rather than synopsize each gift myself, I've asked their creators to personally vouch for their products. Because HEAD COLD.
Happy Menorah/Christ, Chicago. You take a look at these Chicago-made gift options and I’ll lie down on the floor and moan about how the walls are closing in.
Assorted Gift Box of 6 Alfies
What better gift than candy?
"Lucila's Alfajores, increasingly known as "Alfies", consist of two soft and crumbly cookies filled with a layer of Dulce de Leche. A box of these utterly delicious treats will make the perfect holiday gift for friends, family and clients. Handcrafted with love in Chicago."
Wait, what better gift than a session with Melissa diLeonardo, award-winning personal trainer?
"Working with a personal trainer can help kick start your New Year’s resolution and keep you motivated throughout the year."
But seriously, what better gift than Priceless Deception, a romance novel by Jennifer Ann Coffeen?
"Let's face it, your holiday could use a ripped bodice or two."
No, what better gift than French songstress Julie Meckler’s debut album, Queenshead?
"[It's] the perfect gift for any music lover this holiday season; Julie's warm, delicate voice effortlessly floats from upbeat melodies to head-banging rock, from cool jazz to heartbreaking ballads."
I've got it, what better gift than Chicago author Ben Tanzer's dystopian novel, Orphans.
"Because The Martian Chronicles, Glengarry Glen Ross, and robot hand jobs are your jam."
For real now, what better gift than the gorgeous and talented Victoria Blade's album, Awake and Dreaming?
"These heart warming songs will keep you company through the long winter months; a unique and heartfelt gift for kids from one to ninety-two."
Happy Head cold, Chicago. And to all a dark, dark night.
A writer with an MFA in Creative Writing from The School of the Art Institute of Chicago, Sarah Terez Rosenblum freelances for sites like Pop Matters and
afterellen.com Her debut novel, “Herself When She’s Missing," was called “poetic and heartrending” by ALA Booklist. Sarah is also a figure model, Spinning instructor and teacher at Chicago’s StoryStudio. Inevitably one day she will find herself lecturing naked on a spinning bike. She's kind of looking forward to it actually.
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