i kind of assumed citi-fying would make me cool, in that id really have to know who i was to even sort of survive all the choices, every day, about everything, where nothings just a given, the default pattern is minimized, even laziness must be justified as A Thing, all avenues open, all ambition fair game, all solicitude voluntary, all bitchiness both incredibly justified and totally uncalled-for, all tastes and preferences accounted for and support-grouped, where all liking and disliking is fabulous as long as the object is in common, and all objects are accessible. pouf.

instead im just tired. i have hangers, and a new plant. my computer doesnt have enough memory, and i havent written down important numbers anywhere so im fucked when i lose my phone, by hook or by crook to misuse (an appropriate misuse though, i feel) an idiom, the bagel for tomorrows lunch is still frozen, i yelled at my roommate the other day (justifiably or not, who knows; i dont like it when i feel that people make me yell, mostly), and - i cant even believe it - theres another carton of eggs in the fridge thats older than the one from june i just tossed. cool? this is cool, this is awesome? man, seriously.

and, though not full of regrets, full of question marks about the idea of "deserving," the realism of loyalty, the variance in the degree of cause-and-effect connections were able to make. im despondent about connecting with new people, whimsical about reconnecting with old ones, and too selfish, in the meantime, to be worthwhile for the ones i have around. this isnt the beautiful sufficiency i envisioned. its just expensive in too many ways to count.