Talking to him is like talking to myself, by which I mean it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s like a sentient, awesome-mouthed diary that I never actually wrote. So either the dawn has just risen on the fact that I’ve been talking to myself since birth, or I have the hugest crush since the emergence of the trash compactor.

Being insane would be so much more convenient.  

Happy birthday to me. Okay, so it was a couple days ago, but if you look at the amount of candy wrappers and discarded chocolatey items strewn all over the house, you would assume I’m still celebrating. You’d be right.

In fit of nostalgia turned curiosity turned morbid curiosity, I started pawing through the Sent Folder of my email box. I don’t actually know why, because reading what I’ve written in the past usually leaves me wondering how many times a week I’m possessed, and what the Demon of Convolution wants with my mortal shell.  

Posted from: Beijing

As I clicked on the “Place Your Order” button, having once again spent more money than I make in a week on Amazon, I realized I didn’t care. Because I am getting books. Deliciously bad books, the reviews say. If I end up destitute, selling potatoes roasted in a rusty barrel, it will not matter, because I will be the most obnoxiously well-read roasted potato(e) vendor in Beijing, and all anyone wants out of life anyway is a little originality.  

Posted from: Beijing

I don’t really understand what’s happening.

Russel pointed out once – and yeah, ok, this has probably been widely circulated in some chain email and has lost all its novelty to everyone else but me – but Russel pointed out that Keanu Reeves has exactly two facial expressions: confused and determined. In which case my hair just got shorter, my eyes got beadier, and my chin just got more feminine, ‘cause it’s been one or the other all day.  

Posted from: Beijing

Everything is strange. I have been wondering if the fact that I don’t like reading mothers’ blogs makes me less of a feminist.

I tried to call you a couple times. I presume you’re not using that phone number anymore. We’re both notoriously and matter-of-factly hard to reach, do you know that?

I found myself tonight down at some bar alone, looking for someone I barely know, not even sure I was in the right place. He said something about “Brown’s”, which conveniently doesn’t exist. I tried the next worst thing.