Move in day. (Taken with instagram)
It’s a good day. Walden Pond. Concord, MA. (Taken with instagram)
Best things in the world: iPhone edition (Taken with instagram)
This. (Taken with instagram)
This week in Boston was overwhelming. Everyone is on the brink of being done, and in a lot of ways so am I. Boston, Emerson, was a perfect fit for me. I can leave saying that I have nothing but love for it. What a four years it has been. Cheers to the night dancing in the reflective pool of the Christian Science Center the night Obama was elected President of the United States. Cheers to PRow, Colonial, maybe even LB, and Aberdeen. To Allston. To you. I owe a huge part of who I am to what I’ve learned here. On that note, it’s time to move on.
The group has shrunk. We are no longer a crowd of twenty or thirty, there are people who I run into and I am happy to see them and that is that. It’s standard, it’s not a bad thing, I have been blessed by the people I know I will keep with me when I leave here. When I sign that Brooklyn lease, when life begins in a new city. To say they are more than enough doesn’t begin to do them justice.
One of my previous posts mentioned the presence of pain in my life, my own and others. I got lost in it. When that happens, everything else falls away from you. You forget every other part of yourself. You begin to identify with your pain. You exist to feel it.
Last night, I talked to Taylor about Milos. The boy. The first loss of a good friend. I told her about the way we loved each other, its electricity, the way we would wake each other up in the middle of the night with some new idea of how to change the world. The way nights blurred into mornings, the awareness of our breath. Our beating fucking hearts. It put everything back into focus. With those memories, others came back too. I was back in context, proud of what I am, what I’ve done, and where I’m going. Does this matter to you? Maybe it should. Claim your story. Sure, get lost, make a point of it, but return to yourself. Don’t go too far.
PS, sorry for the recent influx of selfies.
Also, I really want to go back to Sleep No More.
“So I tried to make dinner tonight and obviously failed. I was trying to open a sweet potato and it dug into my nail and it started bleeding. And then I started crying.” — Taylor Templeton
It happened. (Taken with instagram)
“Don’t quit. There will be times you want to, but if you stay, you’ll find that you can fall in love with the same person many, many times over.” — A stranger I met on the red line yesterday, explaining the secret to 30 years of marriage.
Hi.
So in order to cleanse myself of my most recent reading patterns coughHungerGamescoughFiftyShadesGETOVERITIWILLNOTAPOLOGIZE, I’ve decided to read at least 10 legitimate pieces of literature before I indulge in another trashy book. But when I do, it will be White Girl Problems, unless Betches Love This comes out with a novel by then.
So I go for Brave New World. Safe bet. No one can scoff at Aldous Huxley, amirite? No, apparently I’m not. I’m being made fun of for reading a book that was meant to be read in High School. In the wise words of my snotty friend Vincent, I might as well read To Kill a Mockingbird next, or Catcher in the Rye. I mean, I probably will but SORRY I DIDN’T READ EVERY DYSTOPIAN PIECE OF LITERATURE EVER. I mean honestly what is it with High School reading lists full of totalitarian post-apoaolytpic societies? I get it, books are good. Farenheit 451 was good. Animal Farm was good. 1984 was good. Here are all of the two zillion papers I’ve written on them.
But actually, a few years too late, I’m really enjoying Brave New World.
Next in line:
War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning- Chris Hedges
Slouching Towards Bethlehem- Joan Didion
The Art of Fielding- Chad Harbach
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love- Raymond Carver
The Road- Cormac McCarthy
The Sense of an Ending- Julian Barnes
No One Belongs Here More Than You- Miranda July
Running with Scissors- Augusten Burroughs
Middlesex- Jeffrey Eugenides
AND THEN more trashy chick lit.