Friendster’s becoming a bit unbearable. A Wes person is always only a friend of a friend away. Still, I have run into people I actually like and are in NYC, adding to my offline hanging out list. Nothing wrong with that.
I woke up this morning suffocating and feeling like I was being burned alive, but more importantly thinking that I need more friends my age. 22 is a strange age to be, mostly because it’s BLOWN so far. In retrospect, I enjoyed the hell out 21 because that age gives you license and an excuse to go stupid wild — though the freedom cliche had the least do with why that year was a very good one. At 22, I’m finally out of school (for the time being) for the first time in like 18 years, kicking this independence thing up a notch, and trying (but failing miserably so far) to be a genuine Adult. The last thing I need is to be patronized or be viewed like that bouncy little puppy because I don’t do puppy. Kittenish perhaps but only in moderation. 22 is “you better be marching towards responsibility, punk, and liking it.” I don’t know if that has anything to do with hanging out with “older” folks really, but the inevitable “just wait a few years and you’ll understand” shit even from folks who have me by a year or two boils my freaking blood. I’m insecure about being young party favor as strange as that sounds. I dunno. There is no real conclusion or points to this argument. That was just on my mind.
In other news, it’s time to start weaning myself away from blogging. I’m feeling anxious that my Boys Superpost is getting pushed onto the next page because I want comments on it but it hasn’t really happened yet like I want. I’ve got just a teeny bit of an obsessive personality. If you couldn’t tell already.
I need a digital camera (or at least a way to post my semester’s worth of cool pics from this pesky Mac). I’m seriously considering housing the yearbook camera. She and I were inseperable for a while there. I can work her like a pro. We have a deep bond and she’s made it clear that she feels she belongs in NYC with me and not hanging out in a drawer in Middletown. And that the thought of me palming some other spanking new bitch isn’t something that makes her happy. We’re in negotiation.
ETA: A little sad (for him) but hilarious.