flappers drink bootleg alcohol in unison
i’ve recently discovered i can only hang out with groups of peripheral acquaintances i don’t know very well (or care about very much) for roughly 1-2 hours before i desperately want to stop small talking and run away to be by myself for a while. when i first moved to new york, i used to rock the fuck out of these kind of bright awkward social situations by finding my way to the boistrous weirdos who liked to laugh and dance till we made the walls sweat.


i just don’t have the patience for that kind of crap right now. for any kind of crap, really. i mean, not to be that marble-less crayyyzay lady who reads her horoscope everyday and thinks it makes a pretty good point, but … like … all my shit’s in retrograde. basically, i’m not supposed to call, email, text, or broker any business deals until july and one or more of my electronic devices is going to have a tech tantrum and corrupt itself (hashtag … fantastic).


despite impending smartphone fails and the fact that all the things i want the most feel like fuzzy faraways in someone else’s near future, i’ve been trying to convince myself that so long as i keep searching and writing and asking and fighting, there’s probably, mayyyyybe, sorta definitely a good chance everything will work out just fine. you know, like that one show i still haven’t started watching yet says:

clear eyes.
full hearts.
can’t lose.