We plot invisible charts on virtual graph paper hoping our dissection of pros and cons will lead to a defensible answer. In the process, we become unkind and careless of our own wants.
This isn’t an activity for the athletically gifted, intellectually blessed or the strategically savvy. There are no props, points, or rules, but there must be at least two people playing and at least one of them has to have a racially ambiguous appearance.
I know what it’s like to leave, come back, and have your body betray your loathing of the present. When presented with a map, your eyes dart to where you’d rather be. Your feet point in the direction you’d rather be walking. Your mouth emits sentences tinged with nostalgia.
I actively daydream about meeting cute boys at libraries. But I’m just too afraid of being that girl. You know, the one that thinks it’s perfectly fine to discuss weekend plans at a high decibel, completely oblivious of the people reading around her.
Yesterday, Amis showed up to my English class unannounced. Here, without commentary, are the remarks he made on the creative process and several suggestions he had for young writers.
It’s Saturday night. You meet a cute girl at a bar. Things are going well and you try to take her home. She turns you down with “Sorry, I have church in the morning.” Wait, what?
The listing didn’t have an exorbitant number of exclamation points or asterisks, which was a pretty good sign. I mean, it wasn’t my first choice. But when you have no choice, last choice starts to look pretty good.
People know they want to connect with other people and they’ve acknowledged, by signing their souls to more and more accounts, that the Internet is the way to reach this goal. This is why, when I opened up my Gmail account yesterday and saw the Google+ invite sitting pretty in my inbox, I signed up, all the while applauding myself for setting myself ahead of the social media curve.