Proving Sylvia Plath Wrong
I left that professor’s office thinking: I am the kind of person who has the potential to do anything but the proclivity to do nothing. I am the kind of person who is paralyzed by choice, instead of empowered by it.
I left that professor’s office thinking: I am the kind of person who has the potential to do anything but the proclivity to do nothing. I am the kind of person who is paralyzed by choice, instead of empowered by it.
Maybe—and this is hard to admit—I care more about the plight of The Poor than about individuals in poverty with names and faces, each with different dreams.
In fifth grade I manually calculated eighteen to the fifty-fourth power because I thought of myself as a “knower” (people thought multiplication was all that back in the day).
Shouldn’t this company have the right to create something from what they paid for? Shouldn’t they have the right to alter, adapt, or even terminate their product as needed?
It’s one thing to order pork or enchiladas, but I’ve reached a level of fluency where I want to take my skills beyond family and friends.
The moral of this parable? Never buy a computer. They never should have been invented. Never buy a computer on a bargain because bargains are a lie. Everyone in the sales world is out to rip you off.
In the middle of a freezing rain, we reached Dick’s Dome, a geodesic dome built to sleep four persons. There were eighteen people there.
I had actually forgotten that I could just go buy a pet.
It has always seemed weird to me that everyone is so cautionary about the permanence of tattoos and so encouraging about the permanence of marriage.
I always tried to do the independent thing first—I’ll call my own tow-truck, I’ll look for my own apartment, I’ll find a job, I’ll pick a grad program.