My life was very different three years ago. I was living with my parents. I was set on going to graduate school and earning a master’s degree in social work. I wrestled with my demons silently. My personal relationships suffered as a result. I put most of my energy into making another person happy. I was not content, but I was hopeful that things would work out in my favor…. eventually.
[A quick aside: I’m having a difficult time with today’s blog post simply because my stress level is pretty high and I’m goddamn irritated. I’d love to vent my frustrations, but venting has only made me angrier today, oddly enough, and I’d like to retain the last sliver of emotive control that I have. Coming to a personal resolution is seeming less and less possible.
There. I’ve acknowledged my mental roadblock. On with today’s post!]
As a teenager, I was very, err, passionate about things. My high school on-again-off-again sweetheart (because he “didn’t believe in titles”) resumed contact with me towards the end of my senior year after nearly an entire school year of silence. There had been a falling out, but that’s another story for another time.
Instead of going through all of the sweet nothings exchanged and declarations of love made, I’ll cut to the chase: I drove to Boston and back in 25 hours in the name of love, only to have my heart broken 4 hours after my arrival.
This is me on August 6, 2004 (let’s pretend I don’t have that drink in my hand). My friends and I had lawn seats to see The Cure at Merriweather Post Pavilion (Curiosa Festival). So many amazing bands performed. Mogwai, Muse, Interpol, Cursive. The night ended with The Cure and it was magical. We danced in the grass and sang along. They did two encores. Again, magical.
Japan. 2009. Icebar Tokyo. This was the Japanese vacation I briefly mentioned in yesterday’s post. My ex unfortunately has most of the pictures from that trip, as my camera had issues prior to arriving in Tokyo.