Because here’s the thing: as often as writers come bundled with bad habits and insecurities, and as maladaptive as these things are in the real world—the bedroom is not the real world. And the compulsions that make writers so miserable on a day-to-day basis are the same ones that make them ideal at last call.
I dropped out of college after three days. 10:00 on a Saturday night, I threw on my backpack, strode to my car, and fled.
I become aware that I’m approaching the end of the U.S. Census’ 18-24 age bracket. This is a milestone worthy of deep reflection, but I can only vividly remember the past 5 ½ years through certain songs I listened to during the bracket’s peaks and valleys, which I guess makes sense.
Give him a break. He’s not that guy you dated two years ago who cheated on you and lied about it. He’s someone different entirely; so don’t tar him with the same brush. Maybe he will cheat on you too. Maybe he won’t.
However sad your barely lived tale is, I write to you–in ways you would have to have lived to understand–with envy.