(Still working on something more topical, but thought I'd share how I'd surprised myself over "Wedded Twist", the novel I'm believing in against every trace of what's sensible in me, but...
Part of me had always halfway hoped that all the struggle of my early years would culminate in some amazing opportunity, but if it were going to, the opportunity hadn’t arrived yet. Eventually, I figured I’d settle into what was really there and stop looking, but it was clear that moment hadn’t arrived. At least, not as far as my brain knew. I wasn’t sure which would be sadder: Giving up too fast, right now, or trying really hard to be fresh-faced at eighty and telling everyone who might listen (Who would those people be, while I was having that thought) that it would be my year. I shrugged, though at that time of day, nobody was there to watch me act out confusion, and concluded it was all fairly tragic. Maybe I should admit to being over my head, let Tommy treat me like a child for a year or two, and then rebound once I aced the “Jeopardy” test. Stranger things had probably happened; they probably all turned out like me, though.
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