Stuff I've dug up.
Here's an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote on this date 11 years ago. I was 21 and had just graduated from college.
6-23. Home. 5:55 P.M.
Back in Evanston. Billy's gone, and I don't know who I am anymore.
I mean, honestly: what am I? What do I do? Why do I get up in the morning? Yesterday, I was filling out a health insurance form and at "Occupation" I faced an identity crisis. What could I possibly list as my occupation? Man about town? Loaf? Hobo? Writer? Waiter? Guttersnipe?
For so long I was a student, and now I've got nothing.
Which can only mean one thing: I need a new hairdo. I'm even thinking of switching salons. After all, each new era in my life has begun with a change in hair stylists. I jumped from Dave to Ted shortly before coming out. From Ted to Melanie when I chose a major. Now from Melanie to someone else, just in time for the start of my post-undergrad life.
I'm also thinking of joining the Evanston Athletic Club--another sign that I'm in a transition period. During transition periods, I tend to think that everything would be fine if only I were in excellent physical condition. This could in fact very well be true. I wouldn't know--I've never been in excellent physical condition.