Look What the MySpace Dragged In...

Upon returning from my second weekend of Cabin de Wise fixin' uppin', I failed to muster up enough brain power to be truly productive. Tomorrow. So instead I decided tonight is the night to cancel my MySpace membership. Why? Because I haven't used it in years, and it just seems silly to leave it out there, floating online. But before I laid to rest that impressive profile I'd spent so many hours perfecting, finding the perfect layout and most relevant song for that time in my life, I had to backup all of my photos. And then I decided I had to read all of Hudson and I's conversations, since our relationship began on MySpace (special thanks to Mortek). I giggled at our early stages of courting one another, sometimes sounding like we do currently, though sometimes sounding like completely different people. After 4.5 years, we both are very different people. But we're still together. We do not, however, flirt with each other via social networks any longer. What a shame. We should resume. As I backed up those earlier chapters of my life, I couldn't help but read through my MySpace blog posts, minimal in their content and number. One of them really hit me, effective in its honesty and sense of self-actualization. My skin grew cool, and I shivered, remembering that feeling of true independence and happiness.

Dated December 9, 2006...

"Capacity Perceptions"

So I've discovered a way to gauge if I'm ready for a move, for a new city, for a green land. One day in Philly I was driving along the Schuylkill, and I looked over at the skyline and suddenly felt bigger than the city. Its capacity no longer overwhelmed me, no longer left me curious about its inhabitants, its contents. I could map it out in my head, picture the streets, any mystery had been replaced by familiarity and almost a warm sense of boredom. It's nice to feel comfortable in a place, to know every corner and crack. But the feeling that encompasses me as I drive to work every morning and stare to my left at the Downtown LA skyline is thrilling. I feel small and overwhelmed, almost minute, and I fucking love it. I have no clue what lies in between those buildings. I have some clue of the surrounding LA/Hollywood/Beverly Hills land, but not enough. That feeling rushes back to me when I drive home from work and the Long Beach skyline appears. It's refreshing. It's awakening. It has made me feel alive again, young but more mature, affected, affecting, genuinely ecstatic about my life in California. And the best part is, I'm never bored. There's just too much that remains unknown, could keep me occupied for years...