I officially have my Master of Arts in Art History.
I’m currently living in Italy, for the next 8 weeks, anyway.
When I return to the States I am moving to Texas, because I got a job at the Dallas Museum of Art.
Everything in my life is so close to being perfect. Except for the fact that I had to leave behind the most perfect guy in the world in order to come to Italy. Maybe I’ll see him when I get back but then I’m off to Dallas and he’s off to Denver.
Everything happens for a reason, right?
The Dead depend on the living to preserve their authority, heed their concerns, and keep them going in their afterlives. In return, they help us to know ourselves, give form to our lives, organize our social relations, and restrain our destructive impulses. They provide us with the counsel needed to maintain the institutional order, of which they remain the authors, and prevent it from degenerating into a bestial barbarism. The dead are our guardians. We give them a future so that they may give us a past. We help them live on so that they may help us go forward.
I’m trying to write a final paper and of course ended up on tumblr instead.
This paper is my very last one - I turn it in tomorrow, along with the final draft of my thesis.
And then that’s it, game over, I’m done with grad school.
I absolutely cannot believe that I graduate on Friday, with my Master’s.
I’ve been working towards this for years, and now that it’s finally here, I don’t quite know what to do with myself.
I want to cry, laugh, dance, sleep, and throw up all at once.
I could not be more excited for the next phase in my life, but I don’t want this to end.
I graduate with my Master’s in less than 3 weeks.
I leave for Italy in 45 days.
I’m dating a new boy and he’s pretty damn perfect.
Spring is always the best season.
The people who run our cities don’t understand graffiti because they think nothing has the right to exist unless it makes a profit. The people who truly deface our neighborhoods are the companies that scrawl giant slogans across buildings and buses trying to make us feel inadequate unless we buy their stuff. Any advertisement in public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours, it belongs to you, it’s yours to take, rearrange and re use. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.
I’m sorry to hear about your recent breakup. I know we don’t talk often but when you come home we can get some flatbread pizza!
— My dear brother, Tim