Have you told Jon?
- No.  But I think he knows.
How?
- Mmm... I dunno, well.  He knows about the ski trip.  And he made some comment...

I look at him as he trailed off, waiting for him to tell me the comment.  As for the ski trip, the Rockstar is coming along with one of my first year friends, whom Rockstar very much dislikes.

What?  What comment did ( Read more... )

How long can you stay secretly in love with somebody?  Maybe it isn't a secret how I feel about him.  I flirt with other men when he's in earshot, pointlessly, because I know I won't get a rise out of him.  The rockstar, our anatomy TA; they both mean nothing to me compared to the depth of what I feel for him.  Unrequited, hopeless, secret; I haven ( Read more... )

Why do I still want him?  How can I still think he's perfect for me ( Read more... )

I don't even remember what we were talking about.  I do remember what we were eating.  Fork-full of salad greens and Vons rotisserie chicken halfway to my mouth, I remember that it was a perfectly timed moment for me to blurt out, "My sister had an abortion."  But I don't.  My sister's experience should not be used for shock value.  What would ( Read more... )

I’m in my room, looking for a sketchbook with some empty pages.  I know I have some old sketchbooks up here somewhere, and I grab two hefty spiral-bound books off the shelf.  Curious about what I have sketched in there before, I sit down cross-legged on the floor and open them up one by one.  One is from art class in junior high; the other is from ( Read more... )

"Those Sunday afternoons when you complain that you can't reach me, this is where I am- with a book ( Read more... )

Sometimes I find myself wondering what I believe that wouldn't change because of a guy.  Now that I've been single for a reasonable period of time, I've begun to realize that many of my beliefs and interests have been simply absorbed from all the people I've dated.

Wow, isn't that sad?

There's definitely something to be said about being ( Read more... )

We’re dissecting the extensors of the forearm.  Nate and I have teamed up on the right side of the cadaver; he’s sitting in a swivel chair wielding scalpel and forceps with the hand in front of him, and I’m standing by our dissector reading directions.

“I greatly prefer the pelvis,” I comment.  The extremities section so far is just rote ( Read more... )

Everything is going so well and then some random slip of fate hits you in the back and then there you are again, knocked flat on your face, sinking into the swampy labyrinth of the past, and clicking through Facebook to find pictures of him.

Sometimes I feel more lost than anything else in this world.  I close myself and imagine myself solitary in a boundless desert, holding a blue Nalgene in one hand and a broken compass in the other hand (because there's nothing that signifies "lost" more than cliche and use of cheesy symbolism), as emo guitar-driven rock music plays and the camera ( Read more... )