I Write On Weekends, On Vacation, And,

I Now Know My Right From My Left And My Up From My Down. Unluckily, My Terrible Sense Of Direction Remains. For Me, To Live In New York City Is To Never Be Able To Meet Someone On The Northeast Corner. It Is To Never Ever Make A Smooth Entrance, Always To Get Caught Looking Lost On The Street.

Because I Am A Horrible Flincher, Contact Lenses Are Not An Option. I'm Always Envious Of Contact-wearers. There Are Endless Reasons To Take Off One's Glasses During The Day And, As I Have Grown Older, What I Don't See Has Become Increasingly Pronounced.

Uniqueness Is Wasted On Youth. Like Fine Wine Or A Solid Flossing Habit, You'll Be Grateful For It When You're Older.

But Now My Problems Had Been Set Loose. They Could Be Anywhere At Any Time And I Was Just Like Everyone Else I Knew: Almost Positive That There Was Something Profoundly And Undiagnosably Wrong With Me.

Are There Moments When I See Unrequited Crushes Or Ex-boyfriends Slow Dancing With Their Dates And Kind Of Want To Stab Myself In The Spleen With A Salad Fork? Yeah, Sure.