You start seriously cleaning again because work is getting ridic busy again. You clean because you need to know exactly where everything belongs and whether or not if they serve a purpose in your life. You clean so you know you have two white tank tops and two black tank tops and five long sleeve undershirts from the zoo from shopping with Banning last year (was it? Last year?) You're so fake posh now that you think you need to get better undershirts because shirts from the zoo might not just cut it, because even though you can't see it they don't bloody well keep you warm. This is how you start buying expensive suitcases and coats. You wonder if this is how it all starts. Part of it might just be getting old being respectable from head to toe, inside out. You want to optimize your pieces of wardrobe like you want to optimize every part of you. This striving only comes hardest when you're busiest, because when you're busy, your personal time become precious, and you spend it reading, writing, running, cooking. You love studying more than you ever have. You love reading more than you ever have. You love working more than you ever have. You love talking more than you ever have. You love listening to music more than you ever have.
When you heard Lou Reed died, the first person you think of is Sasha, and how you guys watched Velvet Goldmine. You started it backwards because you were going through a teenage rebel phase against everything that was western, so you were into Japanese J-Rock and Indie, good shit, ok? Still good shit. You got Sasha into it too, and you thought you were so cool that your best friend who was a white girl got into weird Japanese music with you and here you were two weird girls in Ohio. Then Sasha got in Bowie, and Lou Reed, music that her mom liked (you think), and you knew it was cool. You knew it was cool but you still couldn't dig deep into it.
All in due time. There's always a right time for everything, like the same guy he bumped into in the elevator on arrival and leaving and you both said, "缘分." Maybe one day you'll all meet again, but at the right time and place, and the conversation will extend.
You're really thankful for his space heater. It's a little log of warmth that lights up the universe inside you. You really wished there was more time to read, write, study, work, learn, and just lying there shooting the shit with him, and with friends.
It's funny how when you're young you write in blogs when you're chewing on something melancholy, and these days you write when you want to rave about organization and having an virtual excel sheet of everything in your mind. A matrix to make sense of the world, if you will. I will do my best to organize and make sense of things despite how they might not make sense here, and I will try not to complain because I will remember it is precisely those obstacles that bred opportunities.
In other words, this girl's gone cray.