Use Your Words
I over-share. I talk way too much about exes and bodily functions. I don’t want a world of “Laurens,” because no one would be able to finish their dinners.
I over-share. I talk way too much about exes and bodily functions. I don’t want a world of “Laurens,” because no one would be able to finish their dinners.
Thankfully, over the past five years, my attitude towards my illness has changed from constant worrying and embarrassment to sarcastic apathy about its ridiculousness.
Our conceptions of heaven are the result of accumulated literature and its interpretations. But what if one had to choose a single literary epigraph for this Great Story?
Life no longer is about filing papers or planning for the future or buying groceries; it’s about going on quests and drinking with travelers in taverns and trading stories around a fire.
“Student death” is an e-mail subject line a teacher never wants to read. Yet, this past Friday morning I opened my internet browser to find these words neatly bolded atop my inbox.
What am I doing here, I ask myself in a moment of vulnerability. (I made a deal with myself months ago that I would stop asking that question.)
She asked me on the first date. I wasn’t exactly smart enough to know it was a date. We had agreed to go swing dancing downtown with some of her friends.
Layers of irony form the crux of Dear White People’s satirical message: racism hounds us across generations, cultures, educational levels, socio-economic strata, and skin pigments.
His mental mapping is different. This is why he can tell you that October 26, 1955 was a Wednesday but he can’t tell you the name of his math teacher.
Whenever I was out by the family pool alone, which was often when I grew into the double-digits, I would perch at the end of the diving board, take a deep breath, and step off.