maybe i'll go completely first-person and be really honest about my lack of knowledge and general anxieties. nah.
maybe i'll only post about the day before and tomorrow (see how plans match up)
maybe i should have blogged under a pseudonym or something equally distant
maybe i will feel compelled to measure up to all the man wits
maybe i'll describe my realization tonight that my room is set up to appear as if a very specific kind of person lived here

probably no current events commentary
not a lot of time to read for fun; probably not a lot of literature commentary--feel insecure about critical ability in something i know relatively little about (but plenty of time to play hand-held tetris if tonight is any example)
some time for art shows but no real time/interest right now in own art; probably some commentary on shows though
might not share blog address with parents (don't want to appear self-indulgent)
will probably decide, "who cares?" and delete blog; will probably wonder if this manifests a problem with commitment or a problem with ubiquitous insignificance; will then feel bad about it and wonder if i did the right thing.
(see top of post.)


but, tonight, from susan howe's singularities,

This is my birthday
These are the old home trees

and from rob halpern's rumored place,

No infinities--more like endless links.

and from a card from my grandmom,


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