I rolled out of bed last Wednesday morning, my legs kicking back sheets and the sun bathing my belongings in pale yellow. Shuffling around in my dorm room, my sandals smooth across the linoleum floor, I brushed back photos of Britin and little letters from friends on the surface of my desk and opened my laptop. The usual rotation: Goodreads, WordPress, Yahoo, Facebook, and finally, Gmail.
Thank you for your application. We have drawn up a shortlist of candidates to be interviewed. I very much regret that it was not possible to include your name on the list.
I read the email twice, just to test myself, to ensure my eyes could see my defeat. Continue reading
“You’re a liar,” she says.
“Nope,” I say. “I’m an introvert. Just like Jane Eyre.”
“You talk so much though,” she says, eyes wide with shock. “You get along with everyone. You have so many friends!”
Now you’re the liar, I think, I don’t have friends. What are those? Also, you ignored my allusion to the best book ever. Our friendship is over. I cough a little bit into my hand to cover my disdain, and I lean back into the hard wood of my dorm room door.
“Have you met my roommate?” I ask. “Now, he’s an extrovert…” Continue reading
Back in junior year of high school, my AP US History teacher scared the heck out of everyone. I think he liked me well enough, but I recall how every time he would ask a question – what was the treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo? why did Andrew Jackson shut down the National Bank? – all my classmates and I would look down at our notes, afraid of making eye contact. One day, he asked a different type of question.
“How much good do I have to do?” he asked. “I work hard to teach you guys, I do my best to be a good husband to my wife and a good father to my kids. But how much more am I responsible for?”
As a freshman in college, that question still gets to me. Continue reading
On Wednesday, I felt unwanted.
Today, it took me an hour to write the first sentence – that sentence, about Wednesday – of an emotional, super personal, and rather melodramatic blog post. Continue reading
As someone who possesses a natural suspicion toward human beings, I tend to befriend only a few. With my college years coming to a close – well, with three and a half years left, but – and my already non-existent social life fading away, I’ve caught myself contemplating this question: why do I have friends? Why do I hang out with the people I hang out with? Is friendship intrinsically selfish? Why would others even consider associating with me when I make weird animal noises and overuse the words “pulchritudinous” and “twerk”? Continue reading
Some statements addressed to me by friends, family, and other folk:
“Wow Thomas, I see you with a book all the time! How do you even find time to read?”
“Thomas, as a busy college student, you must really have no friends or no life to read as much as you do.”
“Why am I writing this blog post when I could be reading Game of Thrones? Why do I do anything when I could be reading Game of Thrones?”
Okay, the last one belongs to me – but I do have a sincere reason. Continue reading
Filed under Books, Personal
After over 530,000 views, 400 posts, and 4,300 comments, I almost cannot believe today marks this blog’s three year anniversary. I feel guilty for not posting for so long
and I need to throw in an incentive for people to still read this anyway like who actually reads this anymore so here’s a picture of me in heels from senior year:
I need to wear these more often. They really enhance your height. And your calves.
I officially finished my finals – and my first semester of college – just yesterday. Continue reading
I swallow cold air and bite frosty wind, leaping out of my dorm for a late night jog. Wearing a thin jacket and shorts, I let darkness envelop me and whisk me away from my essay due in two hours. As my feet pound the pavement, each thump in rhythm with some trashy pop song, an old friend assaults me, appearing from the shadowed buildings of colonial Williamsburg. He asks if I’m really making the most of my time at college, if I’m really doing all that I can, if -
A tree branch trips me and I hit the ground with a thud. Continue reading
I rub the slippery surface of my dorm lobby’s couch. “Look, the thing is, I just don’t trust-,”
“Why don’t you?” my friend asks. “What’s the difference? If you do nice things, then you’re a nice person.”
“I disagree,” I say. Midnight nears, and this starts to look like one of those late night college conversations, the ones that rob me of sleep – and sometimes, sanity. “You have to look deeper.”
“Why though?” she prods. “Either way, the nice action or whatever is accomplished. Does it matter what the person’s motivation is? Wouldn’t it be annoying to always distrust people?”
Well, I think, as I smile and nod and agree to disagree, I officially don’t trust you. Or your family. Or your family’s cow. If your family even owns a cow… Continue reading
“Forgive her,” the man says.
A mask hides his face and a grey cloak covers his body. He holds a sleek whip, its length running along his arm. I cannot move, trapped by invisible bonds that tie me to the floor. His fingers caress the whip and I shake my head. Continue reading