Hello, wanderers!
I'd say readers, but they've all moved on, so, if you're here, you're a wanderer. A reader who's doubled back, maybe, or a web surfer looking for a place to take a breather. If you're a newbie, I'd hate to shoo you away like a stray cat on my porch (actually, I don't have a porch, and if I did, I wouldn't shoo stray cats off of it because I love stray cats, but, alas, there is a point and this is all beside it), but this isn't gonna be the start of a brand new tradition and I wouldn't recommend getting too cozy here or calling it home. I just felt like writing, especially since I don't have time for it, so here, for the sake of posterity, is what a teacher of mine from ages past would call putting a finger on the pulse of my current life.
I am twenty-years-old, an age that never seemed younger than when it became assigned to me. An alarming amount of my friends are engaged. I live in a thin-walled box of an apartment with Hannah (known as Orphie in a couple of my entries), who is delightful, and another girl and her boyfriend, who are rude and frequently have vocal sex on her squeaky bed. They've stolen my nice tupperware, two loaves of my bread, a half pound of cheese and some silverware. Enough about them.
I was raised by the patron deity of punctuality. I have evolved into something lesser but arguably more interesting. I am not late, but I'm not early. I am where I need to be the second I'm supposed to be there, usually after ten minutes spent sprinting or speeding. I am the acolyte of on-timery.
I write better when I am reading something--bet you can tell that I'm not, look at this drivel. I live better when I am acting in something. I see better when I am wearing contacts. Speaking of which, I need to get glasses. Rectangular glasses with thin frames, maybe frameless (or is that soooo 2003)?
I like integrating the word "f*ck" into phrases. To f*cking split infinitives is the most articulate brand of swearing I can think of. I know it's not a very pretty word, I understand how much it appears to limit my vocabulary, but it provides a great vernacular punch when the moment's right.
My fatal flaw is inconsistency. Check it, one moment I'm sick of the world of acting, never want to hear the voice of an actor again, cannot stand to watch television because all I can see are assholes giving line-readings. OH MY GOSH CAN I BE MERYL STREEP? I SHOULD TOTALLY FIND A MONOLOGUE FOR THE AUDITIONS ON DECEMBER 1ST! I don't live up to my promises.
I'm lonely. Very lonely. People tell me to come over and hang sometime at their place. Wonderful people. I don't understand the protocol for this behavior and hide in my living room, typing short stories or long stories or facebook statii on my laptop. I think people assume I have a ton of friends, which is comforting when you think of it but not so useful at the end of the day when you sit down to the third in a series of meals eaten alone. I would be going insane without Hannah. I like being alone too much, which makes me wonder if I will eventually lapse into bitchy hermit-dom.
Lately I have been hypersensitive and petty and needy and insecure and _.
When I write and I can't think of a word, I either sit there for twenty minutes staring into space trying to think of it or I just leave a _ and move on. Usually two or three minutes later, I think of the word. Paranoid.
I am content today, though running almost late, as usual. I'd better cut this short, or I won't make it to my dad's birthday party.
