internal monologue made external...aaand...go

In theory, the forty-ish thousand dollars I just spent on a graduate education should have prepared me to write for a living. The thing is, as well as pictures and video tell stories, my newly-earned degree requires me to speak in short sentences. They want short, simple, easy-to-process sentences, because the average television viewer doesn't have a lot of room in their consciousness to process a sentence with a conjunction or any adjectives. They've told us again and again that people will more or less pay attention to my writing only in their periphery as they're busy doing several other things. This kind of disheartens me, because the thing is, I think and type (and write by extension) in more than subject-verb-object kinds of thoughts. Sometimes, I even ramble. It's madness, I tell you, madness. I think my inner monologue is actually quite intriguing, which is also probably why I don't feel the need to speak at every occasion. Sometimes, I just like to observe and process things internally before I go running my mouth. Speaking of people running their mouths...

D.C. is a beautiful city. I never thought I would fall in love with a place as much as I loved New York City, but D.C. is something special. It's accessible and grand at the same time. The weather's lovely so far and my apartment is way bigger than anything I could have expected. Tons of inspiration here. I can feel it.

People are still wrapped up in high school bull-shit drama, though, and that makes me a little frustrated. He likes her because she's unavailble. She flirts with him because she likes the attention - but she'll never leave the boyfriend. He pines.

He likes her because she's there. She feels the same way.

Everyone's trying so hard to be included in the popular group. Girls are bitchy and conniving behind each other's back.

Just like high school, I keep my head down and do my fucking work. Ipod in, world out. Many stories to come.