Mon
Jun
9
I went to the library today to find that the author I was searching for had no shelf space in our little town. I mused the shelves and picked up some Sylvia Plath, “The Bell Jar, Dostoevsky’s, “The Adolescent”, and Dave Eggers, “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius”. I started with the Eggers a few hours ago. I’m almost done. I wonder what this summer is for. For pursuing acting? I’m stuck on an Island, Long Island to be exact, serving faux seafood to patronizing patrons who’se popped collars make me want to vomit. I skipped an audition today. Fear, laziness, who knows. I want to write a book. A novel? A collection of poems? I’m 21, but I think I’ve lived some.
