Last night, I began my birthday celebration by having snobby cheese with my best friend and running off to a last minute Immortal Technique concert. The concert was great, although I smelled nothing but weed and the funk of what felt like 1,000 unwashed hipsters. A white boy twerked right next to me, deep in his illusion that he’s a breakdancer. The crowd snickered at him but left him to his own devices.
I saw faculty members and students yelling about the police. All the acts were great.
It was, in short, a great night. It was the perfect way for me to begin to say goodbye to this year, which has been full of wonderful and perplexing moments. The next time you hear from me, I will be 29 years old–the very last year of my twenties. I’m not where I thought I would be, but I think what God had planned for me is much better. I am not all that responsible–I had 3 hours of sleep last night, the printer didn’t work, my favorite bag broke, a heel snapped off, and I’m running off to spend time with friends sans umbrella (and of course, it’s raining). I have a suitcase of modest freakum dresses, the contradiction of which perfectly describes my current state of mind.
Y’all, I’m happy.