the minutes
spent ten hours at work today to make a grand total of fifty bucks. work these days is a restaurant called Shilling's, which was once upon a time a Marietta mainstay but now resembles something more like a cockroach and club sandwich cocktail most of the time. people warned me about working there, but such are the breaks of being broke. I need to find a new place of employment immediately. I'm allowed my period of post-Bachelor's ennui, but it must be more profitable or less time consuming, and preferrably both. Today has been a barrage of cheap tippers, terse conversations signifying nothing, conversations at that tenuous boiling point of proximal misplaced anger, and a Stepford Wife behind the bar claiming my lemons aren't full. We'll see about that!
it's been a while since I've written here. My last two entries were devoured by the data Galactus, so I've taken it as a sign. Besides, things have been breakneck, if not physically then spiritually, sometimes both at once, always interesting. Yet when you're doing the most living is when you're doing the least writing, which is a strange paradox for someone claiming to want to be a writer.
I've got a head full of ideas and half a heart to courageously start executing them. I'm still afraid to fail.
Elizabeth and I have a dynamic so simple and complicated, so contentious and yet so easy, so natural, so smooth and beautiful.
I moved into my two-bedroom apartment, for which I'm paying less than I paid for a room in Santa Barbara. I never seem to be there, but my stuff seems to like it. I've used the shower more than anything else, and have only slept there one night thus far. It's so nice to have a space all to yourself. Walking around the house naked? I'm a big fan. As much as Elizabeth and I spend all our time together and seem to exhibit living together tendencies, I need and want and must have my own space and I must use it if I am to feel comfortable. I don't want to live with a significant other right now. I'm in a paradoxical place of wanting to give completely and wanting to hoard it all and hide out in my nook with a pad and a pen and the creature comforts of home.
My mom was getting married on my birthday. She's not anymore. It's complex, and even I don't know the whole story. Suffice to say, travel plans to San Diego are on the shelf at the moment.
My birthday is next Friday, the 29th. I'll be 25. On the 27th I begin a new 12 year astrological cycle which is supposed to bring good fortune as the cosmos align in a way that's more likely to jive with my rhythms.
I feel like I'm at a heavy crossroads right now. I forgot my glasses, I'm all out of contacts, the fog is thick and all I have to follow is my gut feelings and a two dollar flashlight. It's a mysterious time in this mysterious world.
it's been a while since I've written here. My last two entries were devoured by the data Galactus, so I've taken it as a sign. Besides, things have been breakneck, if not physically then spiritually, sometimes both at once, always interesting. Yet when you're doing the most living is when you're doing the least writing, which is a strange paradox for someone claiming to want to be a writer.
I've got a head full of ideas and half a heart to courageously start executing them. I'm still afraid to fail.
Elizabeth and I have a dynamic so simple and complicated, so contentious and yet so easy, so natural, so smooth and beautiful.
I moved into my two-bedroom apartment, for which I'm paying less than I paid for a room in Santa Barbara. I never seem to be there, but my stuff seems to like it. I've used the shower more than anything else, and have only slept there one night thus far. It's so nice to have a space all to yourself. Walking around the house naked? I'm a big fan. As much as Elizabeth and I spend all our time together and seem to exhibit living together tendencies, I need and want and must have my own space and I must use it if I am to feel comfortable. I don't want to live with a significant other right now. I'm in a paradoxical place of wanting to give completely and wanting to hoard it all and hide out in my nook with a pad and a pen and the creature comforts of home.
My mom was getting married on my birthday. She's not anymore. It's complex, and even I don't know the whole story. Suffice to say, travel plans to San Diego are on the shelf at the moment.
My birthday is next Friday, the 29th. I'll be 25. On the 27th I begin a new 12 year astrological cycle which is supposed to bring good fortune as the cosmos align in a way that's more likely to jive with my rhythms.
I feel like I'm at a heavy crossroads right now. I forgot my glasses, I'm all out of contacts, the fog is thick and all I have to follow is my gut feelings and a two dollar flashlight. It's a mysterious time in this mysterious world.