So I've decided that overwrought extended metaphors is actually my writing preference, and that history does matter, and three blogs is impossible unless you're extremely lonely and/or a writer of Nancy Drew proportions. Goodbye Xanga, goodbye Blogspot, and all those bits of audience-friendly ramblings plastered with photos, deceptively lighted. I prefer the prozac heavy and anonymous diarrhealand - diaryland, I mean diaryland.
So, how've I been?
From an acquaintance, its an irritating poke of a question. Oh fine fine. About to graduate, can't wait. I'll start work at at ----- in June. Not my major, but you know, student loans.
From a friend, I would answer that straightening out has been an uphill battle. I've been eating 29 cent collared greens and ramen since the stack of bills in my desk drawer ran out. I miss the sense of entitlement and superiority. It's worth it though - being in China last summer gave me a new perspective, and besides, the years of sheltered fake-adulthood will soon be over. I look forward to diving into a bigger pond with a splash.
I haven't talked to Turd; I truly quit all of my vices. Actually, I am with someone now. We were reading literature aloud in the Grant Park sunshine yesterday. Very Notting Hill. It scares me.
To you, Diaryland, I can only use metaphors: the world has returned. Today I walked down Clark Street, buzzing off caffeine/sunshine, my ipod thumped on my eardrums, and I realized that after two years hazed by grey self-denial and myopia, I once again want to write and to love and to dive off of catalysmic ledges.
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