I just spent fifteen minutes searching Facebook for one particular post I received over a year ago because I needed to jumper-cable some emotion. It worked. I am currently fine being ten pounds overweight except for the fear of ruining Zach and Kelsea's wedding photos with a double chin. At least twice a day I go on the Virgin America website and price out trips. I am only obsessed with Virgin America because flying them makes me feel fancy. I feel tremendous guilt for not exercising, not capitalizing on a creative outlet, and not going home enough. I am more torn up by realizing I control all of these choices. At twenty-five years old I'm still very much learning how to let go. I'm not sure I'll ever learn. For the first time ever I'm choosing to repeatedly see the same individual in social settings and it has nothing to do with sex. This terrifies me. I maybe lied about it being the first time. The terrified though, that's true. I want to try Zumba. I do not understand Excel spreadsheets, Youtube sensations, or anything regarding political unrest in the Middle East. I finally make enough money to fuck around, and it feels awesome. San Francisco may not be the greatest city on earth, but I'm convinced it's the greatest city for me. I want a dog but fear the commitment. See also: tattoo. I don't have insomnia but have a subconscious resistance to sleeping at night, leading to hours fruitless internet usage much like this. And porn. I am consistently reminded of how wonderful my life is, now more than ever. I miss a lot of people. I'm not sure what compels me to start, and alternately to stop, writing in any capacity.
And that is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Or as close as anyone realistically gets anymore.
How's THAT for an entrance back into the game?
Lovingly serving up slop since 2003,