the sins of a hermit


I lived without a phone for a few days this week. I killed it early Monday morning and went without it for the rest of that day. I renewed my contract with my cell service provider and they sent out a new phone, but it didn't get here until basically last night. But that's not the point of this story.

I dug up my old orange enV and got it to run enough to look at all the old things I had saved on it from two and a half years ago. All the memories came back with the saved text messages and things I'd written in my notepad. It was like a diary.

I smirked to myself that the most romantic relationship I've had in four years was my imaginary one with MK. I wrote this, when I was 19, and I'm sharing it because it is ridiculous. "I mostly figured that we were both looking at each other, in love, and that one day he would take me in his arms, and I'd be all tan and have long hair, and he'd say "This isn't going to work" but I think that when he is like, 40, and I'm also a middle-aged and famous writer after several marriages, we will bump into each other on the street in Chicago or LA or Cleveland and the age difference won't be so severe. It will be true love then, my darling."

I think I have been living on too steady a diet of Jenny Lewis, since I was sixteen. And now when I see MK smoking a cigarette at the U, or walking with other students, I still think he's a genius, but my heart doesn't stir. And perhaps he will never get interviewed by Doug Fabrizio either.

Tomorrow is my last day of living here and sleeping in all the time, and taking my meals alone and looking out over the beautiful golf course. I will miss this hideout. It would be very easy
to
become
a
recluse.