She
31 sentences

Her notebook was open and her pen was poised but she couldn’t make a move. She knew she’d be judged by some kid sitting in front of a beat-up laptop at some coffee shop somewhere. She knew she should be beyond this sort of thing, but the thought of a dismissive groan or roll of the eyes from this imagined kid kept her frozen. She would have to unfreeze herself somehow. She knew that. Yet she still couldn’t budge.

She administered a bit of self therapy just then, walking herself methodically through the thoughts of reason, step by step, and willing herself to get a grip. The exercise calmed her down a little. Words started to come together, tentatively latching on to each other in her mind at first, then congealing into things on to her notebook that were, if not coherent thoughts, at least something concrete enough to hold and consider. Without warning, the words suddenly started to topple on top of each other like lumpy sacks of potatoes. They were ugly to her now—disheveled, disorganized. Any enthusiasm and momentum that she’d willed into being puttered out of her. She had failed, even before she’d really begun at all. She didn’t normally have the gift of melodrama but just then she felt the sirens of mediocrity pulling her into the depths of resignation. Disappointment reminded her of who she really was.

She was embarrassed—initially because she was surprised by how easy it was to give up but then really because she had actually said the words “sirens of mediocrity” (never mind that it was just to herself and in her mind). Well, if she gave up now like she wanted to, it wasn’t like anyone would know. She let out a long sigh and looked around her bedroom. Like a cartographer, she studiously surveyed the heaps of clothing, dirty cups and discarded shoes that formed a rather impressive landscape. What a dump. She felt disgusted. She wondered if this was going to be the rest of her life—surviving the miniature highs and lows of secret aspirations and failures while surrounded by the musty carcasses of her wardrobe. If this was to be her fate, her life would be an excruciatingly drawn-out affair. This most recent descent from high to low had occupied all of fifteen minutes. She then wondered about other things that took fifteen minutes. Grabbing a cup of morning brew at the coffee shop down the street. Liking photos and status updates on Facebook. Maybe this list of things that take fifteen minutes.

She thought about that imaginary kid at the coffee shop again. She wondered how many things he could groan or roll his eyes at in fifteen minutes. She wondered if she would even show up on his radar. She wished she’d never thought of that kid.

The Mouse
28 sentences

I knew it was a bad idea even as I said yes. I was never very good at saying no, and apparently that wasn’t going to change any time soon. Internet dates were pretty awkward to begin with, and once things started heading toward an actual date with Kyle, it seemed too mortifying to turn back—the option to stop responding or straight out say that I’ve changed my mind seemed like the action of a braver person. Anyway, it’s just one date. No big deal.

I was always working overtime to convince myself of things.

Even after figuring out the logistics of our date, Kyle wanted to keep me on the phone. He asked me about movies I liked, the food I ate today, my plans for the weekend. I answered each question with deliberate adequacy. It was a very dull game of conversational volley.

His confidence swelled to a delicate crescendo as our conversation droned on. He told me a story about the days of his wild and reckless youth. He assured me that I had nothing to worry about. Those days were behind him and he was ready for love. Ready for someone like me. I regretted everything all over again but still, even then, my instant cowardice told me I had to hang on.

I explained I had a long day tomorrow.
Oh ok, he said.
So, what kind of books do you read?
I felt my face overheating and my head start to throb.

You need to push the eject button, I told myself.
You should’ve done it before, you sad little mouse, but you really have to do it now.
He just equated you with love and if you’re scared to reject him now, imagine how it’s gonna be later.

I felt sick. After everything, I not only had to disappoint him, I had to do it while he and I both stared at the reflection of my pathetic cowardice. I really, really regretted everything then: saying yes to a date, responding to Kyle’s private message, having a profile on a dating site, wanting romance, feeling lonely. I should have stuck it out with lonely. I had been just fine with lonely.

I was pretty sick throughout the month.

Clouds
30 sentences

Sometimes when sitting in this tiny slice of the world (a slice that feels like such a big deal when it really isn’t), I look at the clouds passing across the sky above and I feel like my life is passing me by in the same fashion. Slow and steady, ever onward. I could grab hold if I wanted. You know, if I had the gumption.

My parents wonder why I can’t get my act together and I think of how I would go about explaining exactly what the problem is. I picture the expression on their faces when I tell them that, even with a decent IQ, education and resources, the feather-weight responsibility of paying the gas bill on time crushes my bones. They would ask more questions and suggest more solutions. My blood would boil, and my insides would get filled up with angry little exclamation points. Even as the jagged ends of the exclamation points were still pumping through my veins, though, I‘d start to feel guilty because I’d know my parents’ confusion and concern were genuine and quite innocent. Then I’d get mad again because I resented the guilt. Then I’d yell in frustration. Then I’d feel even more guilty. This is the circle of life I’m used to.

I would think to myself, this is why you shouldn’t even try.

But then I’d reply to myself, that wasn’t trying. You had a tantrum because they didn’t understand.

They who worked such long hours but stayed up late to help you with your reading comprehension homework in fourth grade because none of you spoke English fluently but at least you were figuring it out together.

They who didn’t understand your entitled American teenager ways but let you have all those clothes and makeup and chose to believe you whenever you told them you had to go to a school-sanctioned extracurricular event.

They who just want to make sure you’re going to be safe and taken care of when they’re gone.

You jerk.

Defeated, I slip out of that imagined scenario. I look back up at the clouds. Big or small, they all move along at the same speed. Slow and steady, ever onward.

My parents fret a lot because having a 39-year-old daughter in America in 2013 is the unknown, and they can’t keep me safe from what they don’t know. I fret a lot too. There is a lot I don’t know.

The constancy of the clouds is comforting today. And, you know, I don’t really feel the need to grab hold of anything, clouds or otherwise. I’m ok with letting them passing me by, for now.