After heavily drowning my sorrows in chili cheese fries from the somewhat passing of Proposition 8, I researched universities in Boston. I'm pretty much convinced at this point that I want to go to grad school in Boston or NYC, or anywhere in the New England states, really. I blame my romanticism of the city, where I'll spend nights walking home from bars (or the library, because this is grad school and apparently, they do heavy duty reading) along the quiet slumber of streets awashed in snow. Like I said, it's a very romanticized version of the hell I'm unleashing onto myself come fall of 2010. Assuming I get into grad school, that is.
And of all things to get me started on this wondrous academic trek: a boy. I bought my first GREs book this past weekend so when I'm studying at the local library, nice Library Boy will not think I'm 17. Proud of the fact that it took a random boy I haven't even met to get me studying? Hardly. But one has to start somewhere, so if I get into Boston U, I will send Library Boy a singing telegram, a happy gift card, or whatever passes for gratitude these days.
Looping back to my earlier sorrows, I'm disheartened by the conservative nature of so many Californians. I take that back, I'm stymied by their selfishness, that they would dare keep two people from marriage. I can marry a jerk of a man but never wed some lovely girl? Why should it really matter so much when the only difference is biological? If we were all born asexual, this wouldn't be such a big deal. It's frustrating, utterly so but tears can only get you so far before it's time to join the social revolution. So away with the crying, because everything will be okay in the end, they always are.
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