I've been catching myself in the peripheries today. It hasn't exactly been flattering:
I walked by a mirror and realized that uncombed hair is not fashion forward--despite the interesting shapes it happens to make against one's head.
Mid-Von, it occured to me that my loud and proudly sung 'translations' of Sigur Ros are not clever--just senseless.
In the corners of a conversation this afternoon, I discovered that I mark the passage of time by the bars we've frequented. ("We were at YaYa's--why, who would have guessed that was exactly a year ago?").
I passed by the drawing on the table and found mid-cough, mid-stride, that under dim light it's beginning to resemble a piece from senior year--of high school. The significance behind that has me freaking out a bit.
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