Many now view college as, at its essence, only a conduit to a good job, and if you say you’re studying painting or photography, someone is bound to roll their eyes, certain that you’re only biding your time until you’re allowed access to your trust fund.
Writing in a journal versus on your blog or as a Facebook or Twitter update will not only allow you to go deeper and write more, it will permit you to be entirely truthful and open about your thoughts.
Maybe don’t order a drink with your ridiculously large Olive Garden pasta if it’s going to keep you from tipping. Maybe don’t go eat out at all.
Yet, there is no need to feel sorry for the privileged. It was Albert Camus who wrote, “There is only one class of men, the privileged class.” That’s to say, no one else really matters.
We like to think that as much as it felt like love, our first romances were predicated on infatuation and newness — that what we felt wasn’t actually love. Yet, I think it was.
Indeed, if love is one’s end goal of life — if it is what will bring us happiness and banish loneliness — then why must it also be so dreadful?
Post statuses saying you’re “Doing a little writing” or “Not going to let this third act problem get the best of me. Pushing forward!”
When we go to the top floor – really, the only floor worth visiting at MoMA – I spotted a Miró across the room.
It means you’re only one day away from post-Halloween candy discounts. If I’m doing my math right, the day after Halloween you can buy a bag of Reese’s for roughly two and a half shekels.
This is the girl who writes psychoanalysis terms on a nightdress and calls herself “A Freudian Slip” or the guy who Sharpies onto a plain white t-shirt “404 Error. No Costume Found.”