Hunger cares not where you are, or what you have eaten, especially if it was a four-course meal. You know that as soon as you “finish eating,” you’ll be more than ready for whatever comes next. Someone’s leftovers? You’ll take it! Dessert? Do you even have to ask?
There comes a point when you have to stop looking back.
When it comes to being drunk: when it’s not good it’s BAD.
We live in a world where it matters what others think about you. As a recent college graduate on what feels like a never ending job search for a career that I am not only qualified for, but actually interested in, I have discovered that it really does matter how other people see you.
I had never really given it much thought because there was a big part of me that always knew instinctively. Then, in my early 20s I realized that people are actually probing for specific instances of my raging homosexual tendencies.
However, instead of traveling the globe, creating beautiful works of art, or sharing groundbreaking ideas with society, over the last 5 years I found myself spending months at a time drinking Bourbon out of a plastic bottle while playing Tony Hawk Pro Skater 4 on a PC.
I had always been a bit of a romantic, wanting to sweep a girl off her feet and be that Prince Charming that I thought any girl would want.
Go to every single class. Don’t even skip once.
As long as both parties keep an open line of communication and respect each other, I don’t see a problem with pseudo-dating. And don’t be afraid to let casual mean something, either. Since when did meaning something to someone become a bad thing?
As soon as I realized that what I have, in a third-world country, is something senseless, selfish and superficial, yes, but more so something praised for its self-discipline and commonalities with Mary-Kate Olsen, I stopped talking about it. I refuse to be lauded for this disorder.