The universe is everything.

The universe is everything and if it’s expanding, someday it will break apart and that would be the end of everything.

I haven’t actually published something worth reading on this thing. And within this month, within this past summer, most of my time has been used jumping back and forth from happy to sad…to depressed, ecstatic, indifferent, fulfilled, drained. And on this emotional roller coaster with the world’s shortest wait time, I’m facing senior year head on. Head on...the ground from impending stress. The impending stress I clearly thrown on myself, but that’s a different story for a different coffee-induced all-nighter.

The last month and a half has been full of soccer games, new UCB shows, an unconventional 21st birthday, a lot of violent, tearful Game of Thrones emotions, a trip to San Francisco for Outside Lands (also known as the best trip of my life in the best city), and indulging my Woody Allen obsession (what a small package of neurotic, funny, strange, honest being of a man that I am simultaneously afraid of and fascinated with and I could go on for hours but to keep it short and sweet, Annie Hall is perfect).

The last month and a half has been full of growing the balls to actually attempt to further a potential friendship/relationship that I am somehow still fixated on. Ball’s in your court, bud.

It also included doing improv, which I can say with no exaggeration scared the fucking life out of me. It’s like Roger Clemens took the past seven years of academic stress, all the hours of the past three years I’ve spent staring at my program evaluation, the self-doubt I engulf myself in, and threw a curveball before I stepped up to bat. The amount of times I physically felt my heart emerging from my body and dropping to the ground causing a sweaty mess is more than I care to re-live. But I did it and I’m alive, surprise, surprise.

Summer started with an Arrested Development marathon. The summer’s ending with The Newsroom, Woody Allen: A Documentary, Capote, and a look at Harper Lee’s success with Hey, Boo, hoping that drinking tea will further the sophisticated Netflix binge watching. But then again, when I’m drinking from a Dunder Mifflin cup with Andy Bernard’s face staring back at me, the imbalance is inevitable.


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