PickledCherub

Once again the mailbox turns out to be the enemy. This time: Princeton. One flimsy little piece of paper regretted to inform me that I was not up to snuff. Now a litany of reasons why I don't want to go to Princeton, after all, runs through my head. Number one on the list: It's in New Jersey. In all fairness, it was the last school I decided to apply to. On the bright side, I'll have the distinction of being rejected from only the best graduate schools in the country. Har dee har har.

The cold lingers on. I keep smoking. I keep feeling like poop. I keep thinking: Emphysema. Emphysema is better than lung cancer, isn't it? Cancer is such a nasty word. Chemo, Cancer. The Hard Cs. Emphysema sounds like it could be an Italian delicacy.

Who am I kidding?

I have an Airport Extreme Card now, so I'm blogging from Tiny's on Hawthorne and 12th. I know all these people I see around.

Lindsay and I had this intense conversation at the Basement Pub last night after seeing "Buddy." Ryan has a new lady friend, so now Lindsay is facing the future. That is, she's facing Noah, head-on, without any distractions. I wondered about my insistence on remaining self-sufficient. I lie in bed in the mornings and wonder about my inability to shake this crush like the piece of toilet paper stuck to my shoe that it is. What I need is for someone to come up behind me and step on the toilet paper so that it's no longer stuck to my shoe.