You have one voice message whose retention time is about to expire.
It's been telling me that for months; I'm willing to call its bluff at this point.
If it would delete itself, fine, whatever. I just can't bring myself to push the button.
I know it's 10 types of irrational, but...
what if no one ever says that to me again?
Friday, January 28, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
An Excerpt
from a telephone conversation with my mother.
Marie: "And I didn't spot Prince Charming in my class, which was too bad."
Mom: "I'd been wondering about that, actually."
Marie: "Well, there aren't any cute guys, at least...........well, not that I always go for the cute ones, I guess."
(At this point Ashley nods knowingly. Thanks.)
Marie: "...you there?"
Mom: "Just trying to think of what to say..."
Marie: "Tell me to hold out for a cute one!"
Mom: "Oh, I wouldn't say that. The cute ones are usually cocky. I mean, God rewarded ME, but..."
Marie: "And I didn't spot Prince Charming in my class, which was too bad."
Mom: "I'd been wondering about that, actually."
Marie: "Well, there aren't any cute guys, at least...........well, not that I always go for the cute ones, I guess."
(At this point Ashley nods knowingly. Thanks.)
Marie: "...you there?"
Mom: "Just trying to think of what to say..."
Marie: "Tell me to hold out for a cute one!"
Mom: "Oh, I wouldn't say that. The cute ones are usually cocky. I mean, God rewarded ME, but..."
Vague but emo
(or vaguely emo?)
Words cannot describe what a total mindfuck I am going through.
To follow up on a theme in my recent posts, I've finally gotten last summer out of my head. Like, completely. I know I loved him, but I don't remember liking him. Not like I...
I did something remarkably stupid last night. I read through my journal from a few summers ago.
And for me it's pure deja vu. It's the exact same story. I'm reacting the exact same way.
How could I let that happen?
always turning back to you 'til you never let me down
loving your illusion, staring at a crooked ground
...you always let me down
Words cannot describe what a total mindfuck I am going through.
To follow up on a theme in my recent posts, I've finally gotten last summer out of my head. Like, completely. I know I loved him, but I don't remember liking him. Not like I...
I did something remarkably stupid last night. I read through my journal from a few summers ago.
And for me it's pure deja vu. It's the exact same story. I'm reacting the exact same way.
How could I let that happen?
always turning back to you 'til you never let me down
loving your illusion, staring at a crooked ground
...you always let me down
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Choose your own adventure!
Scene:
Interior small-but-well-decorated apartment, bathroom. A 20-something woman has just gotten out of the shower and is drying herself. The doorbell rings.
Exposition:
That's odd, she thinks to herself. I wasn't expecting company, and I haven't ordered a package. For the first moment she ignores the interruption, but then curiosity overcomes her. She opens the bathroom door and creeps to the peephole in the front door. Outside stands a man with a very large package.
Time to choose your own adventure!
If she hollers "just a minute!" and scrambles for a bathrobe, continue to paragraph A.
If she opens the door dripping wet, partially covered by her towel, continue to paragraph B.
A:
"Just a minute!" she shouts, even though he's two feet away from her and the door is not thick. He acknowledges, and she drops her towel and hurriedly replaces it with her cozy pink bathrobe. She cracks the door and peers out. He is embarrassed to find her in this state and bashfully asks, "Do you know the people who live in this apartment?", gesturing to the door behind him. She's never met the neighbors, but he asks if he can leave the package with her. Either at the prospect of letting a strange man into the apartment while she's only barely clothed, or because she really has no desire to interact with the neighbors, she demurs. "I'm sorry, I'd rather not. Could you take it to the office?" He takes no offense, but looks disappointed...at the prospect of transporting his package back down the stairs, surely.
B:
Securing the knot in her towel, she opens the door. The delivery man gives her a once-over, taking in her bare legs and shoulders, but remains firmly in control of the situation. "Excuse me, miss. I need you to sign for this package." He hands her the tablet and she sizes him up. "What are you going to do with that package?" "Well, miss, I need to move it into your apartment." "It looks pretty large. Do you need some help handling it?" "Don't worry, miss, I am fully capable of handling this package. Just tell me where you want it." She steps back and leads him to her bedroom, feeling her towel loosen around her chest as she takes each step. Barely clutching at the thin fabric, she tells him, "I want your package right here." "Well, miss, I can certainly arrange for that..."
Interior small-but-well-decorated apartment, bathroom. A 20-something woman has just gotten out of the shower and is drying herself. The doorbell rings.
Exposition:
That's odd, she thinks to herself. I wasn't expecting company, and I haven't ordered a package. For the first moment she ignores the interruption, but then curiosity overcomes her. She opens the bathroom door and creeps to the peephole in the front door. Outside stands a man with a very large package.
Time to choose your own adventure!
If she hollers "just a minute!" and scrambles for a bathrobe, continue to paragraph A.
If she opens the door dripping wet, partially covered by her towel, continue to paragraph B.
A:
"Just a minute!" she shouts, even though he's two feet away from her and the door is not thick. He acknowledges, and she drops her towel and hurriedly replaces it with her cozy pink bathrobe. She cracks the door and peers out. He is embarrassed to find her in this state and bashfully asks, "Do you know the people who live in this apartment?", gesturing to the door behind him. She's never met the neighbors, but he asks if he can leave the package with her. Either at the prospect of letting a strange man into the apartment while she's only barely clothed, or because she really has no desire to interact with the neighbors, she demurs. "I'm sorry, I'd rather not. Could you take it to the office?" He takes no offense, but looks disappointed...at the prospect of transporting his package back down the stairs, surely.
B:
Securing the knot in her towel, she opens the door. The delivery man gives her a once-over, taking in her bare legs and shoulders, but remains firmly in control of the situation. "Excuse me, miss. I need you to sign for this package." He hands her the tablet and she sizes him up. "What are you going to do with that package?" "Well, miss, I need to move it into your apartment." "It looks pretty large. Do you need some help handling it?" "Don't worry, miss, I am fully capable of handling this package. Just tell me where you want it." She steps back and leads him to her bedroom, feeling her towel loosen around her chest as she takes each step. Barely clutching at the thin fabric, she tells him, "I want your package right here." "Well, miss, I can certainly arrange for that..."
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