Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Touche.

"Fuck."

"What's wrong?"

"I just... fuck. I just smashed my toe."

"Little toe?"

"Little toe. On the fucking coffee table. God... dammit..."

"You all right?"

"...yeah. Just... fuckin' hurts. Ow."

"Neil. I need to tell you something."

"Ow. What."

"No, this is serious. You need to hear this. It's very important."

"What."

"You don't need that toe."

...

...

"Oh fuck you."

[we laugh]

*********************


"Did we just say, 'Suck on that,' at the same time?"

"Eeeyup."


"Oh no. We're fucked."

Sunday, May 26, 2013

"I love you, too."

"There's only one explanation for two people as self-aware, street smart, full of common sense and intellectually ahead of the curve as we are: Love. Stupid, blind, stubborn, prideful, brimming with brand new emotion love."

"Yeah."

"And I'll tell you something that proves it: We fucked each other up so badly, the we - of all people - genuinely turned to religion briefly. That's how hard we hit each other. How much we're connected."

"...I DANCED WITH A CAT!"

Tuesday, May 14, 2013

"It's easy to give up something when you're satisfied."

When the world hated you;
When you had no friends;
When your family gave you ultimatums;
When your peers turned their back on you;
When you lost everything;
When you had nothing;
When you stumbled half drunk to your ex-boyfriends house at 3am and pounded on the window in his backyard and argued till he called the cops;
When you sat in the church parking lot, crying and alone;

I answered your call. I kept you company. I made you laugh again. I kept you warm in my car. I drove you home. I wished you well.

And for weeks after, your face and number lit up my cellphone at all hours of the day, night and morning. You called every day, just to talk, just to laugh, just to learn, just to ask for help, just to admit how much you missed me, too.

The one person who should hate you more than anyone else...
The one person who should have ignored you...
The one person who should be relishing in your agony out of vengeful spite...
The one person who should have been so angry at you that they never spoke to you again...

And I answered every one of your calls.

But now I know you were just trying to find peace for yourself. Self-vindication. Redemption. You wanted to "feel comfortable again," because it gave you a sense of stability; And you knew - deep down to your core, you knew - that out of everyone on this planet, I would be the one person that would always talk to you, still listen to you.... still allow you that chance.

You're fine now. Stronger. Better. Moving on. Leaving for a new job.

And I am once again disposed of.

And this is, very truly, not your fault at all.

It's mine.

- n.


*******************


"Call me if you need anything."
"I always do."

Sunday, April 28, 2013

Pings.


"Having a shot of wheatgrass is... a very, very poetic experience."

Go on.

"It's like... drinking grass. It's very earthy. It's fantastic. You feel like home. It's amazing. Almost magical. It reminds you of a freshly cut lawn on a summer day. And, when you're done, you realize why dogs and cats vomit all over the place after eating grass."

That E.E. Cumming or Frost that you're quoting? I can't put my finger on it.

[laughs]

Whitman. It was Whitman, wasn't it.


*********

You were the best I ever had.

"...hashtag: Ditto."



Spielberg's Obama

Friday, April 26, 2013

So much for the afterglow.

So this, I assume, is the part where they say to pull yourself up by your bootstraps and carry on.

This is the part where someone gives me the "plenty of fish in the sea," and all that. Spend a few days or weeks watching sad movies, listening to sad songs, binging on terrible food, and lock yourself away and grieve. This is there part where I'm supposed to call up some friends who can surround me and tell me how victimized I was and assure me of how bad of a person - and therefore a fit - she is. Where we go back and relive it all and pile on all the bad stuff and trivialize all the good. This is where I Google inspirational quotes and pictures and memes and sew them onto my heart as a temporary personal slogan to live by - at least until the sutures heal. 

And this, eventually, is where I'm supposed to start tempering the sting of loneliness by thinking outside the box and focus on learning and extracting wisdom for the future instead of simmering in doubts, regret, and painful imaginations. 

But I don't feel that. 

I don't feel sad. I mean, I know I am sad. But it's... more than that. 

Something broke this time.

I'm supposed to take solace in trying hard, subscribing to the theory that, "If you gave it your best shot and left it all out on the field, you have nothing to be ashamed of." Which I can see how it could be an alluring philosophy. Except that it also proves one agonizing fact: 

Your best wasn't good enough. 

100% of everything you have didn't meet the requirements. You were doomed from the start. Every ounce of patience, logic, and salt in your body was a lost cause. Every time you tried "just one more time," and gave her "just one more chance," and every moment you laughed in bed, on the carpet, with her in your lap, sitting by the sidewalk eating lunch, eating breakfast by the pool, cuddling in the car, walking hand-in-hand around the city... every wonderful moment will end up meaning nothing. Because I wasn't enough. Or I came around at the wrong time. Or she was just in a weird place. Or any other reason. 

That's a fairly awful sensation. Not a fan.


But these days and moments will fade into a haze of memories... first the little ones will go... the winks and smirks and middle of the night cuddles... 
  Then the inside jokes will be forgotten... the clever ones, the perfectly timed jabs, the endless puns, the ones that will never make any sense to anyone else but us...
  Then the words and voices will dissolve and we'll forget what the other sounds like over the years... but strangely, not the laugh...
And then the dates and moments and lunches and evenings spent making love, watching movies, going to the park at night, driving around, the showers, the kisses, the mornings next to each other in the bathroom mirror, the trips to the market, the wine, the sex... the sex...
Until finally, one day, all we will be to each other is a chapter in each other's story. Something that gets encapsulated into an quick anecdote that starts with an, "There was this guy," and ends with, "I wonder..."



But I didn't want her to just end up being a story. I didn't want her to be a lesson. I didn't want her to be relegated to a simple cautionary tale that I share with some friends years from now or end up being a sit-down conversation with the girl I'm explaining my past to.

I just wanted her. 

Very simple. Very pure. Very true.

No one's perfect. She wasn't. She isn't. I'm not. Nor did I ever expect her to be. I love who she is. Everyone has a past and baggage full of mistakes and wishful mulligans. But with her, for the first time in my life with anyone, I acknowledged my past with her in full disclosure - and it allowed me to not only accept the things I cannot change but also to accept what we were and gave me the desire to move forward; It was refreshingly liberating. By opening up and letting go of the burden of my past, the weight was suddenly gone, and I wanted to take her hand and fly. 

Forward.

But she couldn't stop looking back. She couldn't stop going over things ended before with her ex. Even going so far as to not even really end it, but to keep in contact with him, go to dinner with him, call and text him, argue with him, and... 

And I fear it has ultimately sank us both.

There's an engine in both of us that draws us to each other, like magnets. It's wonderful and frustrating and - given the proper circumstance - is something absolutely amazing. But it requires confidence

Monday, April 15, 2013

The Conundrum: Love and Logic :: Death and Life?

"We know these don't go together, so why do we kill ourselves trying to pair our love lives with the logic of the rest of our life?

"Why do we make conscious decisions to take actions that we know will later hurt us? Does the logic of our heart secretly want to hurt us, or to test our rational decision-making skills? Is this then proof that we are really the idiots we make fun of everyone else for being?

"Meet a guy at a party, and you'll have a fun, light-hearted relationship that tears at your heart strings.
Meet a guy at a bar and you'll have sex. Chances are 50/50 that it'll be decent, on a good day.
Meet a guy on the street and a romantic comedy unfolds in your head.
Meet a guy in your apartment building and you'll have to move.
Meet a guy at school and you'll fail the class. Unless he's the studious type, and then you'll never go on a real date.
Meet a guy at work and it will be amazing for a week, a month, a few months, and then it's awkward. And then you might get fired.
Meet a guy at the grocery store and you'll be miserable for half of your twenties.

Sunday, April 14, 2013

Never Give All The Heart


Never give all the heart,
For love will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem certain.

And they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.

O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?

He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

- W.B Yeats

Thursday, March 14, 2013

Muddy water is best cleared by leaving it alone.

"She's not.. a bad person."

"I don't understand how you can sit here and look at everything she did and tell me she's a good person."

"I didn't say she's a good person, per se. Just that she's just not a bad one."

"She's selfish."

"Sure. Probably. Very. And impulsive. Careless."

"You need to get angry at her! Stop being sad and just be mad. I'm tired of seeing you not eating or sleeping or anything and just nothing all the time. We all want our Neil back. She deserves to just be yelled at and told off."

"I'm not going to do what ev -- Look. Here's what I'm not going to do. And I hope any of my ex's give me the same courtesy: I'm not going to hate her just to make it easier to move on."

"I understand that, but what she did - everything - was seriously fucked up. Remember how we stood outside here last year and you told me how stupid I was being for putting up with my man and constantly making excuses for him? That's what you're doing with her. Right now."

"No. I'm not making excuses for her. I'm defining reasons. Excuses are something you use to get out of shit. I don't condone a lot of what she did. I'm just saying... it wasn't all from a bad, horrible, mean place. I just understand her. You guys aren't privy to the side of her that I saw. She's not a bad person. A stupid girl sometimes, yeah. But not bad. She has a good heart. She just tries so hard to be mean sometimes. I think because she feels she has to be."

"How is that different from what I was saying about my husband?"

"Because you were going back to him."

"...and you wouldn't get back with her?"

"Off the top of my head? ...my body would love to. Of course. But I know I probably can't. I know myself. I have an impossible time trusting, and... You can lie to me, hit me, yell and scream and hide things, insult me, argue, whatever. I can talk it out, connect dots, negotiate, compromise and rationalize with calm and logic forever. But the cardinal sin is cheating. In her words: That's a bell you can't un-ring. I don't think I could go back to that. Put all my eggs in the basket with that one. It's all gone now."

"Because she's an awful person inside! You're defending her, and I can't stand it."

"I'm telling you, everything she did wrong, she feels bad for. Somewhere. I know I do. She'll never say it to me... or admit it... or even show it. But she feels awful about it. When she cried to me apologizing for everything, asking me for another chance and everything... there was make up everywhere and we both sounded awful. She made mistakes. I did, too. But when it comes to feeling regret and wishing we didn't fuck up, we're both genuine. She fucked up, true, but I just... I'm telling you. She's not bad."

"And what if you saw her again?"

"...honestly?"

"Of course."

"I'd probably be paralyzed."

"Like, scared of her?"

"No... no, more like... I dunno. Paralyzed. Unable to speak. Think. Move."

"What do you think she's doing now? This second?"

"Now? Well... if I know her at all... probably doing the whole boot strap thing."

"I don't - I don't know what that means, hun."

"Boot straps. Pull yourself up by them. That whole thing. Probably went back to her parents and ex and just confessed and dropped all the bombs on them and everything - her version, where I'm some bad guy - and hoped for the best. Her parents would never abandon her. They'll help her out, emotionally, whatever. Scold her for a bit. But she's too smart and pretty enough that the world can't refuse her for too long. So she's probably doing some reset button action where she looks back at me like some big mistake. Compartmentalizing the whole thing to trivialize it. Probably doing the whole eating-right-and-working-out-again cliche. And I'd wager she's going to do the, 'I'm single now so let's take advantage of it, I'm a woman hear me roar' thing where she goes out and... does what pretty girls do. ...I really don't want to think about it."

"She doesn't seem like a very humble person."

"Ah, no, she hasn't quite learned that element yet."

"I'm sorry, hun."

"But... for now, the memory of us is probably going into a box in the attic of her mind where she can ignore it for a while."

"I don't see how she could do that. Not after everything. Not after what you two went th--"

"No, she can. She has a very strong will to suppress things she doesn't want to deal with. She's fantastic at ignoring stuff during the day. But at night... when she's alone in her bed... or, god forbid, not alone... if her and I are anything alike... I'll pop up in her mind. I know that... It'll always make me sad."

"You're still inside your little box, hun. A little bubble. You can't see it all. She was awful. I really think you can't see what we all see."

"I can. In fact, the fact that I'm not going to just make it black-and-white and say, 'Fuck that whore!' and move on, should show you that I'm analyzing it pretty well. There are a lot of shades of gray and subtleties that I can't explain. 99% of the time it was amazing. She was amazing. We were amazing. It's that 1% that killed it; That you're all aware of."

"That still makes her a bad person, hun. If she did what she did, I don't care if it was once or twice or a hundred times, she did it. She made her choice. She's not a good person."

"I just... don't think she's a bad person. A bad person would be happy or proud of what she did. I guarantee you, wherever she is, somewhere out there, she isn't. A bad person would do it all over again exactly the same. But I bet my life that if you were to rewind time, show her this current reality as only a possible ending, she would avoid it. I don't know how far back she would rewind, but she wouldn't hurt me like this again."

"I think you're probably giving her too much credit."

"I don't think you're giving me enough."

Thursday, February 7, 2013

You're guiltless and free; I hope you take a piece of me with you.




“I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it. If you don’t, you feel even worse.” 

 -H.C.

Wednesday, January 2, 2013

Screaming Infidelities


While men have always had a worse reputation for being unfaithful, recent studies show that women are catching up fast - but we are a lot more likely to lie about it, and a lot less likely to get caught.

Simply put, it seems that women are better at having affairs than men.

The news that Farrah Fawcett had a secret affair for 11 years without telling a soul is a classic example of the way a woman cheats: discreetly, in secret, and while carrying on with the rest of her life as normal.

It has been met with hot denials by Ryan O'Neal, but - and I'm sorry to break it to you this way, Ryan - you'd be the last to know.

According to Dr David Holmes, a psychologist at Manchester Metropolitan University, women are having more affairs than ever - recent studies say the figure is around 20 per cent for men and a bit over 15 per cent for women - but they behave very differently from men when they cheat.

'The biggest difference is that women are much better at keeping their affairs secret,' he says. 'If you look at the studies into paternity, even conservative figures show that between eight and 15 per cent of children haven't been fathered by the man who thinks he's the biological parent.'

That's a lot of women keeping a lot of secrets. One woman I know - let's call her Juliet - has been married to Adrian for ten years, and having an affair with Mark for the past two.

She has told me and her sister - otherwise, she says, she's '100 per cent certain' that nobody else knows.

'I won't allow Mark to call me on my mobile or email me, ever. Mobiles and email leave a trail. I insist we talk on our office landlines, and when we meet for drinks or dinner, we pay with cash.

'We work in the same field, so meeting for lunch doesn't look suspicious. If we meet in the evening, I tell Adrian I'm with my sister, and meet Mark a few miles away, where we won't bump into anyone.'

Does she feel guilty about the affair? 'Not so long as Adrian doesn't find out. You know the 11th commandment: don't get caught.'

Women have always had affairs, but over the past 20 years that number has risen dramatically.

Jobs outside the home - with the ready-made excuse of working late or business travel - financial independence and changing social attitudes mean that modern women simply have more opportunity to meet other men and start affairs.

Mobile phones, internet chat rooms and email also make it easier to fuel intimate encounters.

But while women's lives and sexual behavior might have changed, their willingness to be honest about it hasn't.

The truth is that we have always lied about our sex lives. British men consistently claim to have had more partners than women - the current average is 13, while women claim to have had only nine.

Plainly, someone is lying here. While men might exaggerate their sexual conquests, the bigger liars are women.

When studies about sexual partners or fidelity use a mixture of face-to-face interviews and anonymous computer questionnaires, men will give the same answers to both, but women will report much higher numbers when the answers are anonymous.

Why do women lie? Because we must, and because we can. In spite of apparent equality and a more sexually open society, we are still more harshly judged for our sex lives than men.

Can you imagine a leading female politician having an affair and her husband standing loyally by her?

Or the reaction to a female CEO having a public affair with her young male assistant?

There is something particularly humiliating for a man about being made a cuckold. So we lie to protect ourselves from the judgments of others, and because sexual 'reputation' still matters more to women, whether we like it or not.

But we also lie naturally and instinctively, as a way to manage and control our relationships, to protect our partners and our families, and to keep our options open.

In fact, we lie so much and for so many reasons that often we don't even think of it as lying at all, but as 'relationship management'.

Women are taught to lie from childhood. Those simple, altruistic lies such as saying we've had a lovely time when we haven't, that someone looks nice when she doesn't, or that we're delighted with a gift we don't really like, are just some of the small ways that lying oils the wheels of our social lives, keeps the peace, and makes other people happy.

Girls will lie to protect someone's feelings or to build a relationship. Honesty, in these circumstances, looks highly overrated, and we quickly learn the value and power of being economical with the truth in relationships.

Many women also develop a habit of secrecy about smaller issues in their relationship as a way of maintaining some kind of control.

It's common, for example, for women to lie to their partners about how much money they have spent - even when they don't need to.

It's not just a question of avoiding the inevitable row over the 'worth it' factor of a pair of killer heels, but of holding something back in order to maintain a sense of emotional independence, and to balance out the power we might feel our partner has in other aspects of the relationship.

A recent survey by a leading building society also found that women are much more likely than men to have a 'secret' account with money their partner knows nothing about.

'My mother always used to say that you should never tell a man everything,' says Clare, 38, 'and I thought it was rubbish. I believed in total honesty.

'But now I agree with her. Why explain yourself over every little thing? Why have a huge row over something he needn't even know about? I never tell him about my girlfriends' secrets, because he'd be judgmental and disapproving.

'I don't have a secret account, but I'm not completely honest about how much money I spend. If he doesn't know, he doesn't miss it.'

Harmless? Maybe. But it's easy to see how a climate of withholding and keeping smaller secrets can easily lead to bigger ones.

'Women are better liars because they're more psychologically sophisticated,' says Dr Holmes. 'You can argue about whether it's nature or nurture, but women are programmed to be much more relationship and people orientated than men.

From a young age, he says, women will start to consider the kind of life they want, what kind of job or house they aspire to, how many children they'd like and what kind of partner.

'Most men don't really develop that facility until they're much older. They live, psychologically, in the moment, while women think around corners and two steps ahead.'

Hillary stood by Bill Clinton when he had an affair, if it had been the other way around, would he have done the same?

We're also better at mental multi-tasking. 'You can keep all the different strands of a lie in your minds, remember them and make them convincing.'

Men lie, too, but they are much more likely to forget something, or make a mistake and get caught out.

When men have affairs, he says, they tend to be bigger risk-takers and naïve about how obvious their cheating is to an emotionally astute partner. They will also be bursting to tell someone about it.

'Men have more "trophy affairs" than women. They will often want to brag about it, or be so taken up by the sexual thrill of the affair that their behavior is a giveaway.'

Women, on the other hand, are much more cool and rational, even when they're in the grip of passion.

'It's a myth that they're more romantic. They may confide in one or two very close women friends, but they compartmentalize their emotional lives and don't let the affair bleed into the rest of their lives.'

Like Farrah Fawcett, a former colleague of mine, Susan, now 50, had a long-term affair with Brian, a salesman she met, ironically enough, when she was buying her husband a car as a surprise 40th birthday present.

'I was clear from the start that I'd never leave my husband and family. Brian kept me sane during some of the tougher years of my marriage, but he was strictly for snatched afternoons off and the odd "working weekend" away,' she says.

Susan adds: 'We made each other laugh and our sex life was wonderful. But Brian was a permanent "man-child" - a great lover, but not the kind of man you'd marry.

'He was always overdrawn, always teetering on the edge of some crisis that he'd just laugh off. I never wanted to live with him.'

The affair ended amicably after eight years, with her husband none the wiser.

Cheating is never pretty, but lying about it doesn't necessarily make it worse. Often, our lies are meant to shield our partners and families from pain. We tell ourselves that if nobody knows, nobody gets hurt.

Dr Holmes says: 'Often, women keep the secret because they're much more conscious of how much there is to lose, and to protect the other people involved. If she has children, she'll be especially careful that they aren't hurt in any way by the knowledge of what she's doing.'

Like my friend Juliet, who has become so good at lying to her husband that she surprises even herself.
'Adrian and I have drifted apart, but he's a nice man, a good father. He doesn't deserve to be hurt, and I have no intention of letting my son grow up without his father.'

Biologically, too, women are programmed to be more careful about revealing an infidelity.

In purely evolutionary terms, men are programmed to sleep with lots of women, and women are programmed to attract and retain a quality mate.

Dr Holmes adds: 'She will be very canny and keep her options open until she decides which of the men she is going to choose.'

Another reason women lie more about their affairs is simply that they can get away with it.
Historically, a man has put a higher value on the fidelity of his woman because he needs to be sure that any children she has are really his.

This seems to produce a strange kind of emotional blindness in many men, once they've selected a partner to settle down with.

'Whenever we question men about fidelity,' says Dr Holmes, 'they will very often admit to their affairs.

'But if you then ask the same men if they think their wives or girlfriends have had affairs, too, they will be shocked at the very thought, or laugh and call it ridiculous.'
In other words, men want to think women don't cheat, and women want men to think they don't cheat. No wonder we're better at secret affairs.

Sunday, December 23, 2012

TCitR

"All right. Listen to me a minute now . . . I may not word this as memorably as I'd like to, but I'll write you a letter about it in a day or two. Then you can get it all straight. But listen now, anyway." He started concentrating again. Then he said, "This fall I think you're riding for--it's a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn't permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement's designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn't supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn't supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started. You follow me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sure?"

"Yes."

He got up and poured some more booze in his glass. Then he sat down again. He didn't say anything for a long time.

"I don't want to scare you," he said, "but I can very clearly see you dying nobly, one way or another, for some highly unworthy cause." He gave me a funny look. "If I write something down for you, will you read it carefully? And keep it?"

"Yes. Sure," I said. I did, too. I still have the paper he gave me.

He went over to this desk on the other side of the room, and without sitting down wrote something on a piece of paper. Then he came back and sat down with the paper in his hand. "Oddly enough, this wasn't written by a practicing poet. It was written by a psychoanalyst named Wilhelm Stekel. Here's what he--Are you still with me?"

"Yes, sure I am."

"Here's what he said:"
The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause,  
while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.

He leaned over and handed it to me. I read it right when he gave it to me, and then I thanked him and all and put it in my pocket. It was nice of him to go to all that trouble. It really was. The thing was, though, I didn't feel much like concentrating. Boy, I felt so damn tired all of a sudden.

You could tell he wasn't tired at all, though. He was pretty oiled up, for one thing. "I think that one of these days," he said, "you're going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you've got to start going there.

"But immediately. You can't afford to lose a minute. Not you."

I nodded, because he was looking right at me and all, but I wasn't too sure what he was talking about. I was pretty sure I knew, but I wasn't too positive at the time. I was too damn tired.

"And I hate to tell you," he said, "but I think that once you have a fair idea where you want to go, your first move will be to apply yourself in school. You'll have to. You're a student--whether the idea appeals to you or not. You're in love with knowledge. And I think you'll find, once you get past all the Mr. Vineses and their Oral Comp--"

"Mr. Vinsons," I said. He meant all the Mr. Vinsons, not all the Mr. Vineses. I shouldn't have interrupted him, though.

"All right--the Mr. Vinsons. Once you get past all the Mr. Vinsons, you're going to start getting closer and closer--that is, if you want to, and if you look for it and wait for it--to the kind of information that will be very, very dear to your heart. Among other things, you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them--if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry."

He stopped and took a big drink out of his highball. Then he started again. Boy, he was really hot. I was glad I didn't try to stop him or anything. "I'm not trying to tell you," he said, "that only educated and scholarly men are able to contribute something valuable to the world. It's not so. But I do say that educated and scholarly men, if they're brilliant and creative to begin with--which, unfortunately, is rarely the case--tend to leave infinitely more valuable records behind them than men do who are merely brilliant and creative. They tend to express themselves more clearly, and they usually have a passion for following their thoughts through to the end. And--most important--nine times out of ten they have more humility than the unscholarly thinker. Do you follow me at all?"

"Yes, sir."

He didn't say anything again for quite a while. I don't know if you've ever done it, but it's sort of hard to sit around waiting for somebody to say something when they're thinking and all. It really is. I kept trying not to yawn. It wasn't that I was bored or anything--I wasn't--but I was so damn sleepy all of a sudden.

"Something else an academic education will do for you. If you go along with it any considerable distance, it'll begin to give you an idea what size mind you have. What it'll fit and, maybe, what it won't. After a while, you'll have an idea what kind of thoughts your particular size mind should be wearing. For one thing, it may save you an extraordinary amount of time trying on ideas that don't suit you, aren't becoming to you. You'll begin to know your true measurements and dress your mind accordingly."

Then, all of a sudden, I yawned. What a rude bastard, but I couldn't help it!

Mr. Antolini just laughed, though. "C'mon," he said, and got up. "We'll fix up the couch for you."