What is wrong with me? You don’t have to answer that question, even though it’s only partially rhetorical. Lately I’ve been listening (almost exclusively) to The Clash (even Sandinista!) and the Royal Tenenbaums OST, so maybe that will give you a clue.
I used to revel in obscurity. Being slightly crazy is also slightly charming, right? Isn't it everyone's dream that someday someone will come along and instantly pick up on all her irrelevant quiddities?
Sorry for being vague. That’s part of why I haven’t updated my blog in a while. I didn’t want to descend into half-formulated angst-splattered quarter-life crisis droppings, but I knew that the flavor of my life right now is making that unavoidable. Every other conversation I have involves that question (you know the one).
I had a good talk with one of my favorite professors yesterday and he told me that two weeks before she died, his eighty-year-old mother had a dream that she was in grade school and had forgotten to study for a test. It’s both heartening and disconcerting that in some ways anxiety about the future never goes away.
All right, I’m not finished, but I need to go. Something more thrilling next time.