I feel like I should write… but I haven’t got much to write about. I feel like I am hanging in this scary limbo, waiting another month and a half for the letters that are going to, in part, determine my future. A lot of my friends already know where they’re going to college, and I just really want to have that security. RAWR.
I also have the strange predicament of an overflowing closet, yet boredom with a lot of my clothes. I like all my clothes, but I feel like I only wear 1/3 of them on a regular basis. A lot of stuff I keep because I know I’m going to need it at some point, like for job interviews or something, but I just don’t wear it all the time. Other stuff I just get self-conscious about, and end up wearing the same old stuff that I feel good is. ‘Tis tres annoying.
Books, books, books. So many to read. Currently: A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man. Good so far but tough to keep up with. Here’s something that sucks: I spent a lot of time last week editing pieces for my school literary journal, and then with my incessant working, forgot to submit them by deadline. Spiffy. FAIL.