I think I've never wanted anything more in my life than to be genuinely, unabashedly in love. I think it ought to be the paramount priority in everyone's lives. There's quite a bit of shite involved with the enterprise, but there's not a person alive that could convince me that it's not worth it.
anyways, I'm skipping town for England next month to become a writer and an adult. I'll be dead in the heart of Zoobiedom with thirty-odd art majors and an english major here and there. I've made myself a promise to explore every inch of London that I can fit into four months, because I may not be going back for several decades.
Going back to London, for me, is kind of like going to visit a poetic uncle who has no reigns on his alcoholism. Sometimes he's fun, sometimes he's outlandish, sometimes in a drunken babble he lets slip something that makes you reconsider what direction you ought to be taking in life. London is indescribably awesome, and yet sometimes it can be a complete nightmare. I'm hoping to catch a little of both while I'm there, because without a bout of hard times, you couldn't recognize good times if they punched you in the mouth.
Everybody, find someone to love already, you insufferable time wasters.