Awww, yeah! Baby Mama is finally playing at the dollar theater!
I need to buy clean underwear because I can’t keep up with the dirty laundry.
Plus, I have one of those horrible summer colds.
After about a month and a half of not wanting to go to graduate school, I am starting to feel like I could face it again. This feeling has came on slowly and I hope it lasts. I’ve had a few fleeting moments similar to this feeling before, but they haven’t lasted. I’m hoping this one can last and build. I mailed my lease agreement today. I truly, truly like my job, and I want to teach English at a college somewhere. I need to keep that in mind. I also find myself thinking, “Hey, maybe I’ll make a friend. Maybe the faculty will be nice and free of hostility. Maybe it will be a pleasant time, where I learn, grow and never feel too burdened or stressed.” These fantasies help keep me going. It.could.be.great.
It is also hard to leave because I kind of like my life right now in SLC. I know some people. I know where things are. I am comfortable. I know how much my car insurance is going to cost. I know that I can afford my bills. Now I have to give that all up…yet again.
I also want to note that if I die in the next few weeks, please disregard the stack of books they will find by my bedside. They are not what I typically read. I mean, typically, I don’t read.
This weekend is pride weekend, and it’s official, SLC has a great big pride parade. It was an hour and a half long. I laughed. I cried. I woke up late and walked down from my house on what was a very beautiful June morning. The temperature was perfect. I hated standing there by myself. I tried to get beyond that.
I’ve been writing again. I doubt it will last since I will be starting school again soon. I’ve tapped into the same mode of writing I had when I wrote stories as a child. It is strangely conversational, uninhibited, commercial–just me telling stories about things that don’t have a point or a moral or a critique. Although, I know enough to know that some sort of moral or point or critique may emerge. It is a kind of writing that is just about me telling stories to myself so that I can better make sense of something or so that I can entertain myself or so that I can experience something that I want to experience, even if only (*only*) through writing.