There are 7 hours left before the emergence of 2008, and the year begs for some single serving reflections before its departure…
In brief, I would grade 2007 with a cumulative B average, given that I forced myself to tear apart the upholstery from the last five years and, with some resistance, exertion and upheaval, make some relatively monumental changes that didn’t relate to my wardrobe. Namely, I moved back to the city I love; the city where I plan to spend the rest of my life, and didn’t run even when I was forced out of my soaring loft space in Bushwick and left homeless for nearly a month. I bashed the doors open from relatively complete isolation to invite enough exploits and strange, fascinating people for a six volume novel. I laughed a lot. I started running again. I cleared up my skin. I rediscovered Buddhist meditation without drinking through the disparities. I fell in love. I asked a lot of really dumb questions. I had my picture taken a lot by people I didn't know. I caught myself lying. I wore messenger hats and fingerless black gloves. I burned incense and listened to Eartha Kitt while drinking Ceylon and throwing darts at the ceiling. I got over Adam. I sat in cathedrals during my lunch break and wrote dirty haikus. I worked a lot. I stopped sleeping with strangers. I made my bed (almost) every morning. I smoked Salvia in a park at San Francisco. I went out dancing. I arrived overdressed.
I got back my fucking nerve.
And I am going to own the shit out of 2008.
Love & Other Igniting Endorphins,
T.Trazon
