• You get your dog's and your boyfriend's names mixed up. You laugh, but neither of them seem to appreciate your humor.
  • Because who names a dog Paul? Or a boy Tod? Or the other way around. Which is how it is.
  • You use "how" and "why" interchangeably. You almost always mean the other.
  • "How is that someone you could someone with?"
  • "Why didn't you tell me?"
  • You walk on your toes when it's cold. You don't know when that started. You don't know how. Of course you mean why.
  • You can often be seen stilted on a pair of invisible heels making your way across the house, cold with quiet, following a winter shower.
  • You are wrapped haphazardly in a towel, the deep of your back exposed.
  • Even your towel wrapping is haphazard.
  • You wear too many stripes. You wear too many stripes.
  • You lie and tell people you have been told things that you have only read in books. You have been doing this for awhile.
  • "He told me I was warm from the covers and from, he supposed, being a good person."
  • Book.
  • You spend too much time thinking about all the ways you are not in love. It is all you think about. You see love you don't possess in movies. In department stores uncomfortably full of Christmas. Laugh-kissing behind a scarf rack. In phone calls. You tell yourself over and over; aching reassurance. "You are not in love. You are not in love."
  • You get restless leg syndrome occasionally. Dancing around your kitchen does not help. You believe if you were in love. In the ways you know you are not. Your legs would be rested.
  • You identify with all the wrong characters.
  • You are obsessed with amusement park deaths. Something is wrong, you know.
  • Your leg hairs exhibit a determination you can't find anywhere else in you.
  • You asked someone today, "Whatever happened?" before realizing exactly what you were doing there.
  • You think it really means something to kiss someone.
dec 21 2010 ∞
dec 27 2010 +