|
I just don't seem to fit.
|
|
|
It's true, I swear. I listen to classical music. I prefer Shakespearean actors to Leonardo diCaprio. My walls are covered in Gustav Klimt. I read literature by dead guys. I don't like drinking. I don't like ditzy people. What's a girl to do?
|
|
|
I spend much of my days emailing R. He's a constitutional law professor in New York. He's 43 and he's my confidant. I've never even met him. Hell, I've never seen a picture of him. He may be some psychotic transvestite for all I know. At this point, I really don't care. He talks me off of my proverbial ledges.
|
|
|
|
|
|
How does a girl cope when you can't even relate to your own generation? What do you do when the guys all seem to look the other way? What do you do with all the pain? You write about it, that's what.
|
|
|
|
|
Favorite Links
|
|