9/17/05

I like to think that I am a somewhat interesting person with occasionally interesting thoughts. Like I have all this political indignation now, and I have all sorts of fascinating things to say about the mechanics of language, and you will not meet a girl who knows more about getting the black death from prairie dogs (entirely possible). And I am such a feminist lately, god, such a feminist, like to the point where I think that marriage is sort of colonial, and that selective castration could probably effect some really positive social change. I am so full of potential conversation.

And yet, somehow, the only time I want to write in my online diary is when I’m down and lonely and listening to that one Queen song and thinking, oh god, Freddie Mercury, I know, I know. I guess I only need Open Diary still because Freddie Mercury is too dead to talk to.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how college has changed me, and what I want to do after it, and which parts of the system I believe in and don’t, and whether, if given the chance, I would move to Sweden and never look back. This is because I am an intelligent and ambitious and frequently complicated person. But somehow, because Freddie Mercury is dead, the only thing I want to tell you, online diary, is that I met this boy two weeks ago who is twenty three years old and from Nebraska. And we have similar senses of humor, and he is also interested in the plague, and he picked me up and spun me around when I said exactly what I meant, and I really, really hope he comes back around sometime.

But he’s probably gone. So it goes.

Ask me something about the library catalog because I know it all.