sophomore

a and I likened our twenties to high school. 20-22 is freshman year. 23 and 24 is sophomore, 25-27 junior, 28 and 29 senior. As a freshman you try and flail. I flailed up right center. We were babies, learning how to walk, and still we feel like crying. I tried a lot on and most nothing fit, but that which did: delicious, really [New York, writing fiction]. Now we’re rising sophomores. 

Summers have always been hard for me. I am and have always been with Lana. Summertime sadness is the greatest one. I reread blog entries from last year; it’s all there. [I can get so tired of reading writing. Voice, style, it can all be so embarrassing. Clarice stands above all in her deployment of style, but it’s the absence of Voice in her work that makes it great. She writes automatically (a method I am partial to), one can tell. Can someone send me My first book. I’m curious.] 

All I want to do is take a roadtrip, though not now.

Sometimes I think I’m running in circles, sometimes in an upside down cone and that's terrifying: the thought of running in circles, lap after lap after lap after lap, at a downward tilt. Not spiraling, I must make that clear. My fear is that it’s gradual. It's far harder to correct that way.

I’m not sure yet what sophomore year is about. Digging your heals in? Realizing the path? My prediction:

filtration

Clarity

Greater quality (minor but meaningful)

Probably more flailing

 

Ah, another year. I’m pretty tired, excited for my birthday to be over, but desperate to be loved on it in all the familiar ways. I will cook a leg of lamb in celebration. Renewal, redemption!!!!!!!!!!!!