It seems everyone I know is blogging. Even myself in the past. I was innocently preparing my dinner (yes, of course it was cheese!) when it occurred to me that my blogger blog wasn’t my first one. Before that I had a ***** account. I tracked myself down as diligently as I have my exes and high school mistakes, even had to re-register a lapsed email address just to get my password back. I think I stopped writing it about the time I started visiting Nell in NY (c. 2005?) but it chronicles my whole relationship with Drew.
Fittingly enough reading those entries feels like being trapped in a soft-black construction paper room, walls shodily scotch taped together at the translucent seams. I remember other things about Drew now: being papered into his dorm room in the middle of a fight, lying on the lawn at Tufts, the red carpet of my room during the summer I was so completely alone with one album (Thought for Food) and rice, sitting at Radcliffe once we were really over, the beach with Gregnon. Once we spent hours wedged between a coffee table and a low bench in the campus center and now the whole thing’s been remodeled out of existence. He was telling me about the possibility of going to London for the summer. His roommate would never let me sleep over because he thought it would be disrespectful to his own girlfriend and Jesus Christ. I would wait until 2 and then sleep on my friend’s futon instead. I never anticipated what memory would feel like (heartbreak, but lower.)
I need to stop writing this. Reading old me has begun to degrade my new me writing. I’ll leave you with an age-old joke courtesy Ken Kitchin.
|my friend is so funny:The hypothetical title “Britain’s colonial aspirations: South America to India” is Colonial.
The Hypothetical title “Britain’s colonial aspirations; South America to India” is semicolonial.