I've recently noticed that a person's quality of writing seems to have an inverse relationship to that person's quality of life. Last week was hellish. But I didn't make creative use of my misfortune at the time, and things are better now, so I have no great expectations for this entry.
I lately have a little more money than I'm used to having... and the effect on my life is uncanny. I've been living a pretty simple life for the last two years; I've never had a particular interest in the things that money can buy--admittedly because all my necessities (and most of my whims) have always been provided for free--and as recently as a few months ago, I honestly couldn't think of anything I would buy even if I had money.
But now that it's there, and it's "mine", I am suddenly aware of innumerable opportunities to rid myself of it. If you saw my last bank statement, you would think someone had stolen my debit card. I've never thought of myself as a materialistic or profligate spender, but I'm having to re-evaluate some things.
In other news, I just registered for my first semester of college, and I only signed up for classes that interested me. English, Great Books, Western Civ, and Beginning Chinese. Soon I will be able to communicate with over half the world's population in their native tongue--assuming I get my Spanish back up to snuff. I am so excited it hurts.
--Kevin
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