About

I work too much, worry too much, and probably wish too much -- the kind of vaguely sweet nostalgic wishing that comes from slightly too long in self-imposed emotional exile. I miss dating, of the charmingly anachronistic sort, and, as a kind of inevitable corollary, am literally distracted by how much I miss making out. I am: overly educated, appropriately read, and more than once have woken to boyfriends staring at me reverently while I slept. (I'm also not typically arrogant, but my own opinion on subjective matters seems potentially less valid than the impressions of others, flattering though they may be.)

Her ideal person

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