I am a freelance art historian in my twenties. I live in a historic townhouse filled with everything from antiques to religious statues from around the world to advertisements I pulled off chain link fences. I have a wonderful assortment of some of the most unusual friends you will ever meet. I am currently trying to discover the secrets of the universe and determine if they are related to the noises the metro escalators make.
I can summarize six years of my life's musings with a single paragraph that appeared within on the 14th of June 2007:
So, I guess what I am saying is that life is a lot more complicated then I ever realized. I used to think of my life as a novel in which I was the protagonist moving through. Everything that happened in some way or another affected or was related to me. After all, my life--from my point of view--only allows me to view things that are in some way (if nothing else, just as an observer) related to me. Now, I am not so sure. I am starting to think it is one of those million page novels with about 40 protagonists, many of whom are each other's antagonists. Even better--I am feeling like it is a deconstructionist play--the audience mostly doesn't get it, the actors don't understand it, no one sees all of the important bits, and afterwards, when mulled over standing in the grass by the brick wall, waiting to re-enter, and a little cold, none of it makes any more sense, even though you pretend it does.
Yes, this is friends only. Give me a reason to add you and tell me why one of my interests interests you.