honey pie, my position is tragiccome and show me the magicof your hollywood song

I'm posting for the fourth time in two days because I feel like it.

I did a lot of shopping today, mostly at Bed Bath & Beyond and at The Container Store. I set out with the purpose of buying bins for Harry to hold his stuff with (his room was a mess last time I saw it... I couldn't see the floor when I walked in). I bought myself a six-dollar shelf system, too, and a few other knick-knacks.

I'm starting to realize that while I've been a disorganized person all of my life, my split-personality alter-ego or something LOVES ORGANIZING. Not just organizing, per se... more like taking care of things and being busy and such. I don't like having nothing to do. I always end up renting a movie or buying groceries or biking up someplace or making cookies. The weird thing is that I don't do it to watch the movie, or eat the food, or get wherever I'm going; I do it because I like having somewhere to go, something to do. I like being busy. I like working, even if it's only knitting a hat while I talk on the phone.

Those are awfully stereotypical housewife-ish things to do, and I do other things as well. Usually I shop for books or clothes or christmas presents, or go downtown and walk around and try to meet people. I've just been doing homier things lately. Maybe it's a winter change.

Anyway, I ended up biking home with my backpack in the basket and three bins and a shelf strapped to my back via bungee-cord, wearing the cable around my neck and getting bruised every time I went over a man-hole cover. I think I actually bruised my back. We'll see when I shower tomorrow.

Anyway, I realized that I'm actually perfectly suited to living alone, provided that I'm busy. I love walking through the streets by myself, whistling or playing the harmonica or just being quiet, and coming home with fresh apples or presents for Renata or my parents or freshly-oiled gears on my bicycle, or even a bit of good news. I like doing things. I like feeding myself independently, taking care of my own things... just generally being busy by myself. I like being busy with other people, too, of course, but when I feel okay about myself it's nice to be alone sometimes.

I'm ready to leave the nest and live in my own dream-apartment up in Harlem somewhere (provided I get into Columbia, which I probably won't) and dream away the days and make new friends and be happy.

My only concern is that I won't be successful at making friends. Harry's done very well at this. Everyone just likes him.

Hrmph.