all of my excitement (and it’s genuine) aside, the prospect of going to one of the biggest companies in the country is, to put it mildly, terrifying.
and yesterday, I really spaced. my head was full and I fell into pure focus mode and I lost touch with, well, reality. it took a jarring realization that I had ignored Jake all day to snap me out of it.
but thank god for him. or thank the stars, or whatever. I’m so grateful my gut is tight. I need his grounding presence. I need his sensibility and his reassurance and the sheer warmth of his aliveness. I need his love, his needs, his hope and his homeness. I need him.
If anyone wants my drunken thoughts on why The Great Gatsby can never be A Great Movie: It’s because it’s really all about the writer/reader isn’t it? The things that are good about The Great Gatsby are things that can never be transferred to screen, it’s the suggestion and the shit that Fitzgerald leaves you to figure out on your own. No one can tell you what you’re supposed to think about that orange juicer.
On punk fashion: I tried to wear a garbage bag as a dress once. It was hot as fuck. Not in the sexy way.
I did this too. but I was 5 and it was for a play and I was Princess Smelly.