maren badeau once told me I was of a certain disposition that was abnormally excited by "seasonal treats". as it turns out, not much has changed. right now I'd enjoy a nice, seasonal xanax: spice packet gravy flavored, and time released to last until the new year. maybe with a side of benzo candied yams and leftover quaalude pot pie?
I've not been blogging or writing, really. a month has whipped by in a series of stop motion blinks, and I've been alternately hyper-tuned to and then frightfully disconnected from the unpredictable intricacies of mi vida brooklyn. I can't seem to find a sanctuary or an even-keeled routine, and I feel exposed and maddeningly lost. this particular phase I'm in currently is reminiscent of puberty, except that now my boobs are enormous, I don't have homework, and everything is inevitably ruined with or without the help of sex: the ultimate complicator.
october was manic. I had the time of my life on vacation in san francisco, reveling in my freedom from it and marveling at its ability to gloss anything over with impermanence, burritos and sunshine, and I returned to new york unexpectedly jobless and at the onset of seasonal affective disorder (my least favorite treat of all). things haven't all been bleak, and I've spent a ton of time kicking it with my lovely friends from both coasts, who are supportive and kind to me no matter what luck I've been dealt, and that's most heartening of all. I am just tired of my bank account being overdrawn and my fridge being empty and having to ration dimes to ride the subway. I'm tired of being a mooch. I need to manifest a more pleasant destiny to get me through the winter...
and I'll figure it out. I always do.
to be continued...
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