I think I'm getting Swine Flu.

So, I just ran into Matthew Broderick. On West Houston. While alone. At 11:30 pm. Carrying only a single roll of toilet paper. I had one of those, "Hey, you're Matthew Broderick" moments. And after passing him completely, admonished myself for not having yelled out, "Hey, you're Matthew Broderick." Then, I smiled. And was happy, because I realized he already knew he was Matthew Broderick, so really, I would just sound like a shit-head. I was carrying a single roll of toilet paper because I was out at my apartment, and needed to go home and shit my pants. So, my friend gave me her roll. It was an interesting experience walking home along--only a roll of toilet paper as company. I got many interested looks from passers-by, and was reminded, forcibly, of the childhood book, nay fairy tale, "Everybody Poops."

This is my New York.

After I got home I received an email regarding submissions for the NYU in Ghana student guide. We were all asked to submit a paragraph. I haven't decided if I'm going to do it. Mostly because I'm illiterate. (See above). But also, because I find it incredibly painful to try and squeeze an entire experience into a single paragraph. (I can't even squeeze a Matthew Broderick sighting into one sentence. And let's be honest, Mr. Sarah Jessica Parker is cool and all, but...) Whether the experience was good, bad, intense, lame, I can't even begin to choose words that would feel in any way adequate. In any way relevant or coherent. I don't analyze very well in the moment. And afterwards, my analysis is tainted by my own desire for self preservation. I say that happiness is just a synonym for contentment. And if you're content...not constantly striving for something more, something better, you may as well be dead. So, I exclaim in earnest, I do NOT wish to be happy. Or perhaps I do. But I see it as such an unattainable ideal that my mind forces me to dismiss it as bullshit.

I have continual thoughts about someone. One friend tells me that maybe thinking about someone is the universe's way of telling you they're thinking about you too.
Another says that perhaps I need to do ALL the thinking because the other person doesn't give a shit about me. The former is definitely more comforting to my supposed delicate sensibilities. But assuming it were true, I'm not even sure if I'd be happy about it.

Ah, it is late. I have a mini Snickers in my tum, and a phone a-charging next to me. Until later, dear readers. May your lives be filled with dense caloric intake and yellow submarine dreams.