From the Vault: I Thought About It

Call me naive, call me stupid, call me an obtuse, self-deluding narcissist (actually, please keep your negative criticism to yourselves), but I find it both uncanny and more-than-slightly troubling that after thirteen+ years of life in New York I continue to feel the way I described in the rudely scrawled narrative below, dated May, 1993. The only thing that has definitively changed since then is the view from the window (as pictured). And I have traded in certain portions of my tired, ill-fitting, frumpy wardrobe for strangely-cut awkward styles unsuitable to my age and station. True, I also wear more black than I did back then, but this never stops me from feeling alienated at parties. However, instead of contemplating suicide, now I just drink more. It's easier, usually less messy, and either way I'll go home alone. Which is probably a good thing, since I still seem to attract especially weird men in inappropriate party attire.

For those without the latest maxi-widescreen LCD flat-panel monitors, click on the image to see it in magnum. I make no promises re: legibility. Also: handwriting - still bad. Also: no longer a "young person."