- Ah, yeah, I got Pfizer, too. - My weekend was good! Just went to the park, socially distanced. How was yours? - AGH, OUCH! Shit. No, I’m okay.
I’ve never needed the Pythagorean Theorem for any moment of my life. I’m a million times better off without you, just like I always thought.
An Open Letter to Fall Out Boy Regarding All the Incorrect Lyrics I’ve Been Singing for the Last Decade and a Half
Now, I’ll admit. I knew the words that I was singing were not in fact “words.” They were more like syllables strung together.
Think something along the lines of “My oven is on!” or “I have a deadline to meet!” hold up your index finger in the air, and abruptly turn around.
Journal entries dissecting a previous relationship / Bad poetry / Concerns to share with doctor / Reminder to self to be more crafty
I’m disappointed that after our four-message exchange about how our weekends went, you haven’t proposed. It’s been almost a year, after all.