Give me a reason to try.

A friend of mine reminded me last night (when I was freaking out [see: ~ing out] for some reason or another) that the familiar is not always better.

The familiar is not always better. I don't know why that resonated so much with me. Maybe because I've based the last three years of my life around the familiar. The familiar can't (or at least, is less likely to) give me a panic attack the size of Maryland. The familiar has already had its chance to hurt me, and hasn't, or has but only in ways I can deal with, so there's no chance of any great disaster. Right? Right.

But... no. Not really. Because you and the familiar are on familiar terms, that buffering politeness is gone. There's nothing keeping you on your best behavior but mutual regard, and if, for some reason, that falls through--the familiar knows a lot more about you, including where you're most vulnerable.

Not that the familiar is a bad thing. I like the familiar. I'm one of those homebody-everything-scheduled-and-planned-out people. But I'm starting to realize why my life has been tasting so stale lately.

It's all... familiar.

It's a new year; I'm an upperclassman now; I've come through a lot. I think I deserve to give myself a chance to appreciate the new.

Question of the day: Is that really necessary?

See: Uggs, Lil Wayne, getting so drunk you cannot enjoy the experience, Microeconomics classes, Paris Hilton, the crazy guy on the Staten Island ferry.

This, however, is utterly necessary:



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For those of you not in the know, I live on Staten Island (the forgotten borough of New York City), and, from my dorm room window, can see the Atlantic Ocean. And I'm not talking just a glimmer on the horizon--the North Shore is basically right at my feet, and the ocean stretches on and on forever.

There is a small island--apparently uninhabited, because I have yet to see a boat or lights there--right off the North Shore.

I desperately want to go there.

Field trip?