Scent, Memory

The rancid scent of marijuana drifts over to my haven on the hill, I know not from where. The smell carries memories of Ben, of social gatherings in crowded rooms, of concerts in sweat- and smoke-filled theaters where jam music plays for hours, of late nights wandering past End of the World, of friends giggling in the Leigh common room (but not of Jess's apartment; that was a forced memory that came only when I compiled this list). An unexpected flood from the past at the close of this long, blissful day.

Frequency

I would hate to give the handful of people who actually read my random musings the impression that I've abandoned this blog, because I still plan on continuing it. It's been difficult to make weekly updates during the summer because I'm in the middle of several other projects right now; chiefly preparing for my interview to teach English in Japan. (Since I know nothing about teaching English as a second language, this takes up quite a bit of my time.) My other main focus has been a collaborative effort that I will write about fully at a later date, but let's just say it involves a lot of Larper jokes.

Until things calm down, I'll try to update more often by stealing things I've written for other outlets and pasting them in here as if they were fresh ideas. It's not that I'm short on material; I could easily write about the Island Party with Chris and Jessalyn up in Wolfeboro, my inability to light an old gas stove, how great a writer Anthony Powell is, or other entries making fun of various people I know and meet. There are simply too many projects, and not enough hours in the day. Look for more misadventures after my job at Sunapee fizzles out with the last gasps of summer, and the moment of truth is decided at my interview.