I really want to write a blog entry, but my brain is a giant void. I can't think of a damn thing to write about except how excited I am to go see Fahrenheit 9/11, and --please. Is there a more played-out topic at the moment?
Pithy childhood anecdotes? None that seem particularly relevant.
Neighborhood drama? Yeah, but it's boring; we saw some kids get arrested for stealing a car and crashing it into someone's yard last night. It was actually a bit sad, because the cops were right up in one kid's face, screaming at him. On the one hand, the officer had a point: someone was killed in the District by a kid driving a stolen car last week. On the other hand, that poor kid's future likely just took a sharp turn in the wrong direction. He won't make a lot of nice new friends in the juvenile detention center.
Family scoop? Eh, I'm over them. I'm spending almost a week back in the homeland soon, and I'm just dreading it. For a long time, I felt at least a little homesick all the time, but that has changed in the last year. I still miss my family, but I prefer to see them elsewhere than my hometown. Being there just depresses me. I hope this is a passing phase. I was going to write a funny blog entry about escaping the midwest, but it was making me really bitter and I had to stop. Maybe later.
Ohio? I've been thinking a lot about how Michael Moore can't seem to avoid mentioning Flint, MI every. single. time he speaks in public. Yet I doubt that he would live there again; I'm sure he feels relieved every time his West Village neighborhood comes back into view after a trip to the heartland. I know the feeling, as I used to get misty-eyed every time I came across the Memorial Bridge from National Airport. And yet, reading back through this blog, I noticed that I mention Ohio constantly. I'm considering the reason why "home" has such a strong hold on some people, like me and Mike. Stay tuned for my torturous musings on this topic.
Smoking? Yes, it's time once again for the yearly torture ritual I like to call "No this time I swear to fucking God I am really going to quit". This time, the presure will be intense: I'll be thirty in less than a year, four of my relatives have died of smoking-related diseases in the last twelve months, and the social tide is against me. Plus, my parents all need to quit smoking as soon as possible and it's really hard to nag them about it effectively when I keep having to interrupt myself to borrow a lighter.
The last time I tried to quit, I became the kind of person who burst into tears at every provocation. And I don't just mean that I became weepy, I would actually erupt in tears at least once a day. My sister asking me to turn off the kitchen light on my way to bed once engendered a storm of weeping that lasted for two hours. This time, I'm planning to use the patch, so we'll see if that makes a difference. Quit smoking start date: July 12.
Books? I know you don't care (except maybe Melissa and Kelly). It's all on the book blog anyway.
Blogging? Why, thank you so much for asking. Since you did, I'll admit that it's much harder to come up with blog entries when no one comments or emails me for a few days. And as you can see, the humor level goes down appreciably when I think no one is paying attention. You guys better be a lot more supportive when I quit smoking, or I will fill this blog with reprints of poetry I wrote when I was thirteen (sample line: I love you, I hate you/ I listen, I ignore/I scream at you to stop/Why won't you talk to me more?). Don't think I won't do it.
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