I am going to Vanderbilt next year. With someone like four or five past family members as alumni, I want to make it my own.
I walk around campus seeing all these young, hot women, and all I see is the future rotund women who cut their hair shorter, flip out the ends, and speak inconsequentially in order to preserve their sanity. I feel sorry for them, because I wish they could have a more fulfilling life. I know, though, that that is what really makes them happy. They want to be the wise mother, the wiser grandmother, kind wife and sister. They want to make the best casseroles and walk barefoot on tile flooring. We have that much in common, I suppose, but I want more than that. So much more.
I am listening to very pretty, melodic instrumental music but I feel my brain rotting. I think I need constant intellectual stimulation. Now, seriously, I feel like my insides are rotting. I would lick conversation off the floor if I could.
As soon as I escape my past it bumps into me in the supermarket.
Reality died sometime ago. Whether it was with tragedy or just losing my home state-of-mind, I cannot decide. I can't stop thinking that these next three years will just be me turning around until I get dizzy enough to stop, sit down, and wait out the rest of my life.
I drive sixty miles to another world. The idea is to pursue happiness. Just the opposite of the "known evil" idea, I know disappointment. If disappointment's on the other side, then I would not have lost anything. But it promises much more than that, so I'm taking the chance.
I have a terrible, terrible ego. I have a balancing act for that ego, but it has yet to subdue my indigestion. I don't need a balance, I need an example. I need to befriend someone worse than me, who can take that part of my identity with him.
I have an unnatural affinity for sweets.
