breaking up with me is the secret of success. no, really: as stanford magazine reports this month, "NR is working at the International Crisis Center in N.Y.C. and playing tennis with supermodels." bad paul (not paul paul) is on his way to a law degree, and The Man With 42 Blue Coats landed a contract with astralwerks weeks after our ships passed in the night. kenton's chasing high school key club girls in denver, but i was the dumper that time. i kind of like this role, actually - i proposed to shana at work today so that she can break my heart tomorrow, leave the spca and find something other than cocktail work. one does what one can with what one has, i say. fly, my cygnets, fly!
i'd like stanford to tell my peers that i've become a gravedigger, but lying is bad. last year i told the alumni site that my 'highlight since stanford' was the birth of my son, and my answering machine jammed up with confused support and promises of stuffed animals. and there was the henry james thing. fun, but no. bad.
living alone, it's alright for now. i devastated the checkout magazine display, snagged a meatless (shut up) salisbury steak TV dinner, and have settled in for an evening with my inner honky. bad, but no. fun.
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