(no subject)
Oh, self.
Don't settle.
Don't be dull.
Don't stay home.
Don't eat too much, don't drink too much (except sometimes).
Leave the bagel at the library and let the skirts fit again.
Make friends, make enemies.
Listen to music on the way to work. Fuck the iPod, with its too many choices; get the discman out of the car and listen to all the things you forgot you loved.
It used to be all the subject lines were lyrics.
It used to be you loved so many people and still went on adventures.
Don't forget to be playful.
Befriend the neighbors.
Don't get so old so soon.
This entry is brought to you by the thought of New Year's Eves leading to looking up how previous years - those previous to 2003 - were spent, and then the re-reading of Diaryland, which really must be all saved - some of it is nowhere backed up, which is nervewracking - and the reminders of the girls I used to be. I am homesick and sentimental; I miss myself, I miss that time. I don't want it back and yet I want it to overlap more, all those strangers, such smaller numbers than we have now, no friendslists, just stat trackers, and the times spent and missed and the tears and laughter. I miss parkboy and writerboy and artboy and filmboy and take-home boy and the swede and the best friend and yoyoboy and scully and everyone, everyone else.
I am homesick and I have agreed to wait 18 months before I take seriously this need to go home.
I want something to come sooner.
"if i live in a small town in oregon no one will ever come to visit."
It's true. But I didn't know I would so rarely leave.
(I meant it I did I had to go I had to move and travel and I had to go south, I wouldn't give that up for anything, but how will I get back to somewhere near where I started?)
(I'm supposed to be reviewing The Golden Compass right now and I don't know how, anymore.)
Don't settle.
Don't be dull.
Don't stay home.
Don't eat too much, don't drink too much (except sometimes).
Leave the bagel at the library and let the skirts fit again.
Make friends, make enemies.
Listen to music on the way to work. Fuck the iPod, with its too many choices; get the discman out of the car and listen to all the things you forgot you loved.
It used to be all the subject lines were lyrics.
It used to be you loved so many people and still went on adventures.
Don't forget to be playful.
Befriend the neighbors.
Don't get so old so soon.
This entry is brought to you by the thought of New Year's Eves leading to looking up how previous years - those previous to 2003 - were spent, and then the re-reading of Diaryland, which really must be all saved - some of it is nowhere backed up, which is nervewracking - and the reminders of the girls I used to be. I am homesick and sentimental; I miss myself, I miss that time. I don't want it back and yet I want it to overlap more, all those strangers, such smaller numbers than we have now, no friendslists, just stat trackers, and the times spent and missed and the tears and laughter. I miss parkboy and writerboy and artboy and filmboy and take-home boy and the swede and the best friend and yoyoboy and scully and everyone, everyone else.
I am homesick and I have agreed to wait 18 months before I take seriously this need to go home.
I want something to come sooner.
"if i live in a small town in oregon no one will ever come to visit."
It's true. But I didn't know I would so rarely leave.
(I meant it I did I had to go I had to move and travel and I had to go south, I wouldn't give that up for anything, but how will I get back to somewhere near where I started?)
(I'm supposed to be reviewing The Golden Compass right now and I don't know how, anymore.)