You will always have a part of me nobody else is ever gonna see
Reading over past records of my and friends' LJs is an interesting experience. I can remember almost perfectly clearly being back in my senior year of high school--my god have I been kneeling at this altar for that long?--wondering what this Live-whatsit thing that Micah had/has was/is all about. Remember when you could only get an LJ if you were invited by someone who already had one? Dear christ, how times have changed. My language is different. So is everyone else's. The subject lines are nowhere near the same, and the subjects themselves have evolved from dutifully recording rants (I guess some things never change) and narrating events to people who were there for them, not to mention posting godalmighytoomany test results into abstract recollections and psuedo-philosophical observations about family, relationships, and--gasp--working. And in between were college classes, moves, drama, and maybe even some maturity. I could go down the list of all the things that have changed on my friends list, but really, would there be much point? I miss you all enough as it is. I'm nostalgic and I'm even a bit lonely.
The question on the table is, to what ends will I go to find some decent coffee out here? Well, apparently, I'll sign away my life to a five-year car loan. Yeah, I have a car as of Monday. It's nothing exceptionally fancy, but it's got chutzpah, and it's blue, and it's got good pick-up and really good gas mileage. It's a 2005 Mitsubishi Lancer, and I have yet to name it. But anyway, with said car in hand, I drove nine miles away (and to think that it used to be only ninety feet) to Stevens Creek Blvd. Actually, first I drove right past Stevens Creek Blvd. Twice. I got really lost. Then I landed at Barefoot Espresso, stepped inside, and immediately felt so relieved. It's the first independent coffee roaster I've yet come across down here, and they're even Friends of Zoka. Kickass. I cracked open my laptop and started working on some work stuff, and it felt like being back in Trabant, hunkered down with my stacks and stacks of books and notes and theses and xeroxes of original documents, hammering out yet another draft of that damn thesis*. It's strange how much I kind of miss having some *thing* weighing in the back of my mind that I should be working on. My workdays can be long, and they can be exceptionally stressful, but when they're over, they're over, and it's just me in this apartment or wherever else I happen to set myself for the evening. Nothing to really occupy my thoughts, at least nothing that I have to work on. It's liberating and terrifying at the same time that my education will only continue if I teach myself.
I've just noticed how much I tend to think in terms of dichotomies and paradigms. Weird.
Let me introduce a non sequitor and say that if I had a daughter, this is the kind of song I'd write for her. Don't know why I think about this stuff.
*With the notable exception that there's virtually no chance whatsoever of running into someone I know. I miss you all, of course.
The question on the table is, to what ends will I go to find some decent coffee out here? Well, apparently, I'll sign away my life to a five-year car loan. Yeah, I have a car as of Monday. It's nothing exceptionally fancy, but it's got chutzpah, and it's blue, and it's got good pick-up and really good gas mileage. It's a 2005 Mitsubishi Lancer, and I have yet to name it. But anyway, with said car in hand, I drove nine miles away (and to think that it used to be only ninety feet) to Stevens Creek Blvd. Actually, first I drove right past Stevens Creek Blvd. Twice. I got really lost. Then I landed at Barefoot Espresso, stepped inside, and immediately felt so relieved. It's the first independent coffee roaster I've yet come across down here, and they're even Friends of Zoka. Kickass. I cracked open my laptop and started working on some work stuff, and it felt like being back in Trabant, hunkered down with my stacks and stacks of books and notes and theses and xeroxes of original documents, hammering out yet another draft of that damn thesis*. It's strange how much I kind of miss having some *thing* weighing in the back of my mind that I should be working on. My workdays can be long, and they can be exceptionally stressful, but when they're over, they're over, and it's just me in this apartment or wherever else I happen to set myself for the evening. Nothing to really occupy my thoughts, at least nothing that I have to work on. It's liberating and terrifying at the same time that my education will only continue if I teach myself.
I've just noticed how much I tend to think in terms of dichotomies and paradigms. Weird.
Let me introduce a non sequitor and say that if I had a daughter, this is the kind of song I'd write for her. Don't know why I think about this stuff.
*With the notable exception that there's virtually no chance whatsoever of running into someone I know. I miss you all, of course.