Three scenes explaining why I might be single:
Scenario 1 (slightly likely)
Man: Wow, that girl is awesome! Too awesome. Oh, man, she glows like the sun. I can’t talk to her.
Me: <remains blissfully ignorant and alone>
. . .
Scenario 2 (possibly likely)
Man: That girl thinks she’s SO awesome, but she’s just so up herself that I can’t even look at her. And what’s with those weird dudes she’s hanging out with? Ugh. Nightmare. Not hittin’ that.
Me: <remains blissfully ignorant and alone, complains to weirdo guy friends about men>
Scenario 3 (best possible outcome, but still the dream)
Man: That girl is kinda awesome, but maybe she’s too good for me.
Me: <spidey sense tingles and rushes over> Hi! I saw you look at me and smile and look away. You look nice. Why won’t you talk to me? I’m kind of awesome! But also kind of a mess!
Man: YAY! Me too!
<they run off together and have happy fun times in their neurotic way>
I’m on a wee mission to read more poetry. I haven’t really read any since going through an Auden phase in high school, which might have been related to my (ongoing) obsession with Iceland rather than any actual interest in words and verse. I’m not very bright about things literary, see.
But a friend brought up T.S. Eliot (again) recently (he is a huge fan) and I remember not hating what I read of his in university (high praise indeed, eh?), so I bought an anthology of his, which is now on my Kindle.
Good news: I am actually really enjoying it.
Bad news: I actually have to read it aloud to get it to ‘work’ for me, otherwise I lose interest. So I can’t read it on buses, in cafés, or at home, lest (more) people think I’m slightly mad.
Perhaps I will just download some audio of the man reading it himself and save myself some embarrassment.