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.
My thoughts will be secluded elations. 