I am off, for ten days, and hopefully, nowhere near a computer.
It may be less censor-worthy and more café dwelling this time around; my uncle has arranged a tour of one of our favorite wineries, my parents have rented a house in the south of France with too many bedrooms and a very small pool, and this will be the first vacation since I was a teenager where I don’t have the company of someone my own age.
I guess this is what it means to be an adult, though how adult is it really to be going on vacation with your family? Especially when I sneak off to moodily pout in an effort to meet temporary euro-friends far cooler than I?
Of course everything seems that way, the struggle to understand how to operate autonomously, singular, or just harmoniously with the forces that surround us. For me, but I always think too much anyhow. There is too much waiting in this world I occupy and I have too little capacity for it. It’s hard to keep rock-steady without such breaks. It seems you can’t get one until you have one. So to have the opportunity to come back with a fresh perspective and the latest motivation for the rest of the book is a lucky one. And possibly a tan and spandex jeans, if it comes to that.
Since it worked well last time, let me let you open the hood and poke around inside.
The format here is oftentimes none too conducive for showcasing what started as a story warm-up and degenerated, lately at least, into random musings interspersed with one liners. There was a purpose, I promise. Though I can’t remember, at this moment, what it is.
I think it had something to do with Trader Joe’s…
Wait, that wasn’t it. Oh right, the search for selfish self.
Navel-gazing at its best.
While I’m away pretending to write more of the novel but more than likely getting an avant-garde haircut, smoking unfiltered cigarettes and wearing incredibly high heels, please stop in from time to time and check out some of my so-called greatest hits.
My lists, those streams of words which catapult me from cube to cabana in an instant…
My blatant attempts to be semi-famous that were semi-noticed…
How no love can match mine for a perfect tomato.
Who I am, where I’ve been and where I might be going, how I plan on getting there, what may or may not come to pass.
Even how much time is spent in my own confusion.
And I will be back, with semi-florid prose, deeper descriptions, sunburnt shoulders, and a newfound appreciation for all that I know. Plus, a little missing only serves to bolster.
Isn’t it always the case that you don’t know what you got until it’s gone?
It may be less censor-worthy and more café dwelling this time around; my uncle has arranged a tour of one of our favorite wineries, my parents have rented a house in the south of France with too many bedrooms and a very small pool, and this will be the first vacation since I was a teenager where I don’t have the company of someone my own age.
I guess this is what it means to be an adult, though how adult is it really to be going on vacation with your family? Especially when I sneak off to moodily pout in an effort to meet temporary euro-friends far cooler than I?
Of course everything seems that way, the struggle to understand how to operate autonomously, singular, or just harmoniously with the forces that surround us. For me, but I always think too much anyhow. There is too much waiting in this world I occupy and I have too little capacity for it. It’s hard to keep rock-steady without such breaks. It seems you can’t get one until you have one. So to have the opportunity to come back with a fresh perspective and the latest motivation for the rest of the book is a lucky one. And possibly a tan and spandex jeans, if it comes to that.
Since it worked well last time, let me let you open the hood and poke around inside.
The format here is oftentimes none too conducive for showcasing what started as a story warm-up and degenerated, lately at least, into random musings interspersed with one liners. There was a purpose, I promise. Though I can’t remember, at this moment, what it is.
I think it had something to do with Trader Joe’s…
Wait, that wasn’t it. Oh right, the search for selfish self.
Navel-gazing at its best.
While I’m away pretending to write more of the novel but more than likely getting an avant-garde haircut, smoking unfiltered cigarettes and wearing incredibly high heels, please stop in from time to time and check out some of my so-called greatest hits.
My lists, those streams of words which catapult me from cube to cabana in an instant…
My blatant attempts to be semi-famous that were semi-noticed…
How no love can match mine for a perfect tomato.
Who I am, where I’ve been and where I might be going, how I plan on getting there, what may or may not come to pass.
Even how much time is spent in my own confusion.
And I will be back, with semi-florid prose, deeper descriptions, sunburnt shoulders, and a newfound appreciation for all that I know. Plus, a little missing only serves to bolster.
Isn’t it always the case that you don’t know what you got until it’s gone?
2 comments:
Have a good trip!
We'll miss you.
And thanks for the year's worth of reading (rolling eyes).
Welcome back!
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