General feelings of trepidation about this trip (that I should be excited about) because of last year, but I got asked to prom today so that’s kind of cool.
shoutout to me for still not having my driver’s license
I was rereading The Secret History last night because I couldn’t sleep and I thought it would make me feel better (which it did), but as I was reading there was a passage where the main character has insomnia and checks The Great Gatsby (one of his favorite books) out from the library because he feels terrible and can’t sleep. He thinks it will make him feel better, but instead he just identifies with Gatsby so much that he just feels more miserable. And there were also a lot of T.S. Eliot references that I missed the first time I read it. I love when it seems like the books I read are interacting with my life, even if it sometimes hits a little close to home. Books are so important. Stories are so important.