I Realize.
Dear Friend,
I realize that I don't seem to have a lot to write about lately. It's probably just the fact that there are things happening, but I don't think they'd be very important to you... but they are important.
Like the Fifty-Two Projects list, that Brendan and I have been perusing. I think Project Twenty-Nine is my favorite. If anybody wants to do it, let me know.
Or that I've been sort of organising a book club, one that will have an online community at Tribe.net so anyone... even if you live in Canada (oh, you ALL know who you are) can join up. Once I get off my lazy bum and actually do something about it.
Or that Sean called last night, and I told him I hated him, but in a joking way. And then I reassured him I didn't really, I was just trying to be funny, and he acted disappointed. So I told him I was sure I could oblige, but he said we'd tried that once already and it hadn't worked very well. I told him, all cheeky, that it had worked fine for me... and he hung up on me. He called me back crowing that he'd won, and I hung up on him. Then we got online and laughed about it.
Or that he was the fourth guy to phone yesterday, and the second one I was glad to hear from. (The other was Easton, who I went out with a couple weeks ago and who is extremely nice.) Brandon, a thirty-five year old man from church who tells me I have beautiful eyes, phoned... luckily I was at school. Hey, slugger. I'm twenty. Get a grip.
Nate called as well. He's twenty-six. I went on a date with Nate almost two weeks ago, and he's called at least six times since. Nate seems to like me. I don't return the sentiments... he's perfectly nice, but I can't think about him in a romantic way. There are several reasons why, and there is a rant forthcoming about one of them. (I'll put it up when I get back onto my own computer and find it.) This rant is not directed right at him, per se, but he happened to pinch on a very sensitive nerve; to tweak a pet peeve of mine.
Above all, I'm well. You should know that. Everything lately is The Perks of Being a Wallflower and people from Britain on the Internet and the end of my school term and somewhat enjoyable insomnia and crazy dreams and my brother learning to play the bass guitar in the room next door. Everything is Brendan's e-mails and Kyle's artwork and my longing for a city at night-time, longing to learn to play the guitar myself, longing to have That Guy notice me before he vanishes off to college for his final year (only two towns away, but it may as well be two galaxies). Everything is my creative brain waking up and old X-Files reruns and my singing voice suddenly remembering all its old vocal lessons and sounding like me for once instead of someone else.
So everything is good. I just wanted you to know I realize that.
Love,
Chelsey
I realize that I don't seem to have a lot to write about lately. It's probably just the fact that there are things happening, but I don't think they'd be very important to you... but they are important.
Like the Fifty-Two Projects list, that Brendan and I have been perusing. I think Project Twenty-Nine is my favorite. If anybody wants to do it, let me know.
Or that I've been sort of organising a book club, one that will have an online community at Tribe.net so anyone... even if you live in Canada (oh, you ALL know who you are) can join up. Once I get off my lazy bum and actually do something about it.
Or that Sean called last night, and I told him I hated him, but in a joking way. And then I reassured him I didn't really, I was just trying to be funny, and he acted disappointed. So I told him I was sure I could oblige, but he said we'd tried that once already and it hadn't worked very well. I told him, all cheeky, that it had worked fine for me... and he hung up on me. He called me back crowing that he'd won, and I hung up on him. Then we got online and laughed about it.
Or that he was the fourth guy to phone yesterday, and the second one I was glad to hear from. (The other was Easton, who I went out with a couple weeks ago and who is extremely nice.) Brandon, a thirty-five year old man from church who tells me I have beautiful eyes, phoned... luckily I was at school. Hey, slugger. I'm twenty. Get a grip.
Nate called as well. He's twenty-six. I went on a date with Nate almost two weeks ago, and he's called at least six times since. Nate seems to like me. I don't return the sentiments... he's perfectly nice, but I can't think about him in a romantic way. There are several reasons why, and there is a rant forthcoming about one of them. (I'll put it up when I get back onto my own computer and find it.) This rant is not directed right at him, per se, but he happened to pinch on a very sensitive nerve; to tweak a pet peeve of mine.
Above all, I'm well. You should know that. Everything lately is The Perks of Being a Wallflower and people from Britain on the Internet and the end of my school term and somewhat enjoyable insomnia and crazy dreams and my brother learning to play the bass guitar in the room next door. Everything is Brendan's e-mails and Kyle's artwork and my longing for a city at night-time, longing to learn to play the guitar myself, longing to have That Guy notice me before he vanishes off to college for his final year (only two towns away, but it may as well be two galaxies). Everything is my creative brain waking up and old X-Files reruns and my singing voice suddenly remembering all its old vocal lessons and sounding like me for once instead of someone else.
So everything is good. I just wanted you to know I realize that.
Love,
Chelsey
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