When you live the life of a hermit, communication skills generally become rather rudimentary. Mine usually ride the range of technology. I feel safe in the world of black and white blinking cursors. There, things are black and white. What I write is what I mean. If there is a suggestion of something deeper, it can be uncovered in the permanent pages. Face to face conversations, and (god forbid!) phone calls, make my life a living hell. Suddenly body language can tell a story that contrasts tone of voice. You can lose yourself not only in the juxtaposition of contradictions, but you may also lose the tried and true signs of attraction—signs which I recently sleuthed the Internet for. (A bit ridiculous? I was desperate. And I flirt like a broken faucet.)
I should have a button that says, “Don’t talk to me. I’m Awkward.” Someone better watch out.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

Season 3 i: Romance in Transatlantic Romanticism

Setting: Eau Claire, UWEC, Hibbard Hall

Another Valentine's Day alone. How come I'm not surprised? I suppose there is one saving grace. The tall drink of water (in both my WMNS Lit and Transatlantic Romanticism classes) is some tasty eye candy. Plugged into his iPod, pensive, brooding. He is Mr. Darcy in the flesh. Yum. I will probably talk myself out of liking him later, but for now, I am going to enjoy glancing at him when I know he isn't looking.
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