I share embarrassing and personal details about my life at inopportune moments for no reason whatsoever. I think this level of openness is some sort of backwards defense mechanism or maybe self-loathing, but I also think that all the psychological babble is a bunch of hokum. This is because I am a Scorpio, and we don't believe in things except being bastards. All my close friends are bastards as well.
My favorite things to do are to put stacks of objects (books, CDs, clothes, papers) in alphabetical order and to re-read old letters that I have written. My head is a jumble of pop culture knowledge that I have little use for - except for once in a while, and then it usually lets me down by not remembering what I need it to.
I am a film programmer by trade, but at present I am between jobs, having just quit the Coolidge Corner Theatre after many successful years. This is because I am moving to New York City to see what happens next. My big dream is to open my own bookstore where I can happily put things on shelves all day and sit around drinking coffee and reading.
My cat Boogie is the smallest full-grown cat that most people have ever seen, and she's cute as fuck. I don't sleep well and toss and turn a lot - but it may just be because of my desperate loneliness and crippling fear of death. I have experimented with drugs but they really kind of bore me. Boston made me into an alcoholic for a while but I think
I'm over that now. The walls of my heart are a little too big and I can feel my chest pounding quite often. I've been trying to stop eating sugar and biting my nails for most of my 35-ish years.
I only use the MySpace blog to post wacky shit, but I've been using LiveJournal for years. Please, won't you read all the meticulously described minutiae from my personal life . Please?
