(no subject)
i just arguably wasted 2 hours of my life logged into brad's facebook account (he was showing me distorted pictures taken during finals week) looking up people i certainly shouldn't be dredging up (especially this close to graduation and the effective end of my continuous life here).
some rather shocking (but not unexpected) revelations.
i keep reminding myself that i'm going to europe in a month!
paris, lyon, nice, rome, florence, zurich, geneva, prague, berlin (where we're currently homeless for 2 nights as the world cup is going on), munich, brussels, amsterdam. that's all i remember for now.
today was a day like any other except i went to ihop with brad and reminensced and doesn't that last word look like it's spelled incorrectly?
the book of laughter and forgetting (by milan kundera) is undoubtedly my favorite right now.
borders: between cognition and the self-reflexive awareness of it, meaning and meaninglessness, event and memory, relativism and indulgent despair.
my writing on here seldom melds together in tone or subject matter.
and here i am (again, again), writing about writing.
i hope above everything else that i'm less delusional about myself than i was and more inclined to acknowledge my less desirable (but entirely essential) attributes: the growth of vanity through boredom, a pet ego, excessive fondness for parentheses, complacency now that i've gotten into college, and so on, and so on.
some rather shocking (but not unexpected) revelations.
i keep reminding myself that i'm going to europe in a month!
paris, lyon, nice, rome, florence, zurich, geneva, prague, berlin (where we're currently homeless for 2 nights as the world cup is going on), munich, brussels, amsterdam. that's all i remember for now.
today was a day like any other except i went to ihop with brad and reminensced and doesn't that last word look like it's spelled incorrectly?
the book of laughter and forgetting (by milan kundera) is undoubtedly my favorite right now.
borders: between cognition and the self-reflexive awareness of it, meaning and meaninglessness, event and memory, relativism and indulgent despair.
my writing on here seldom melds together in tone or subject matter.
and here i am (again, again), writing about writing.
i hope above everything else that i'm less delusional about myself than i was and more inclined to acknowledge my less desirable (but entirely essential) attributes: the growth of vanity through boredom, a pet ego, excessive fondness for parentheses, complacency now that i've gotten into college, and so on, and so on.