![]() ![]() Same time, same place, every week, week after mundane week. ![]() William catches my eye and raises his hand to me at a table in the far corner of the restaurant. But the truth of the matter is sometimes I feel like I’m suffocating in my perfunctory life. I should be proud of where I am in my life. ![]() My life is neat and organized and my heart rate stays constant. I’m a character in my story, going through the chapters of my life as if it was written by an imaginary person, when I should be the author. So why is it that as I look across the room, scanning for William in the crowded restaurant, part of me hopes he stands me up? What twenty-five-year-old wants to be stood up? One that will continue to coast through life on autopilot, unless circumstances in my perfect life force a change. I’m smart, have a great job, long legs, perky boobs, and I’ve been told the guy I sort of date is a catch-and-a-half on more than one occasion. I’d like to think my past doesn’t follow me around like a shadow on a sunny day that I just can’t outrun. ![]()
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