“A Fat Girl’s Rhapsody” is a fucking beautiful piece of writing. I wish I could write like this. One thing that struck me was the balance between blatant confession and a desire to protect oneself, and maybe even to make the telling a little easier. When talking of difficult things, people often switch to second person to make the story easier; it switches from being about me to being about you, in the general, plural sense of the word. It’s so much harder to talk directly about yourself. And yet the story is quite bald. I love it.

This is going to be random. Consider yourself warned. I spent Sunday and Monday with my buddies Michael and Chris (and Mia, for a little while), from morning to the wee hours of the night. We introduced Michael to some of the delights of Diablo II, and taught Mia to play Starcraft. Time with the friends was all good. Particularly given Chris’ maniacal laughter. And despite his propensity to pass gas in enclosed areas and laugh about it. Ew. I have an interview Thursday at a nearby bookstore. It would quite make my summer to work there. But I hate to even get my own hopes up. I just found…

I have had absolutely nothing to say for two weeks straight. To anyone. I spend my days working out, trying to find a place in Charlotte’s dry unskilled labor force, reading, and watching television. Only the reading and the working out are making me feel any better about myself. You know you need something to do when “Knight Rider” starts to seem like a fascinating show. In addition, my father has decided to treat me like a grown-up and charge me rent–$50 a week. But he’s still hiding the movie Deliverance from me. I haven’t been on my computer much, nor have I talked to many (read: any) friends over…

I can officially say, as my friend Hannah put it, that I used to go to Harding. It’s a heady feeling. Graduation went well, although my second middle name was butchered when called. I didn’t trip, I didn’t stumble, nothing of the sort. When I get my pictures back that my mother took, I may actually break my rule of not posting pictures of myself on the Internet and slip one in here somewhere… I don’t know. I didn’t really get to hang out after graduation like I wanted to. My father had to go to work and we only drove a single car, so when he left, we all…

Last night, I attended the graduation of the Northwest School of the Arts in order to see a few of my friends–Micah, Ayana, and Eddie–graduate. Sonny was also present, as Junior Marshal, one of those who leads in and out the graduating seniors in spiffy little circles to try to give the ceremony a degree of pomp and circumstance, while folks in the back are hollering “oh-two!” and “oh-three!” Anyway, it was the first graduation I’ve attended and was not a part of the ceremony, as I attended Harding University High School’s (my school) last year as a Junior Marshal. It was interesting, all in all. The seniors were well-behaved;…