Carrie A. Laski

There are no soulmates, no meant-to-be’s, and certainly no The One. Poetry, astrology, or whatever else you believe in have nothing to do with it.

The office will be there tomorrow and the day after that, but here? Who will make the eggs if you’re not here?

Yuppie Hipster? Basic Bitch? Find out here.

Are you prepared to be disconnected from “news” of the world that constantly refreshes with nothing real to report and from “friends” that share banalities to make you feel less alone? Are you prepared to be alone? Are you prepared for the quiet—the deep quiet—and the tiny new sounds that come with it?

The streets of neighborhoods that held you like arms in the quiet dark have found you again, and they are relentless.

Like most things she has known and loved, your initial brilliance will dull with time and with familiarity.

I am here to provide you with the Official Guide to Ennui you never asked for: what it is, how to diagnose it, and what to do if you have it. Fear not, fellow sufferers, my degree in French literature will lead you through these trying times. At least then it will be good for something.

The world was not something you were forced to be in; you wanted to be in it, badly, and wanted it in you. You wanted to put your hands on it and breathe it in. What was that like, again?

Think back to your first boyfriend or girlfriend (or should I say “boyfriend” or “girlfriend”).

1. Invite hipsters to an ugly sweater party

(They won’t know how to look for their own kind)

We’ll stop at diners boasting fifty cent coffee in neon letters and at gas stations overrun by weary families and truck drivers who have miles to go.

Look for someone smart enough to banter quietly with you while you drink coffee together in the morning or to reference a Wes Anderson movie in exactly the right situation.

If only you weren’t wearing gloves, then it would better because touching is better than most things.

A week goes by with a Thanks, Darling, Brunch Was Great Hug, an It’s My Roommate’s Birthday, Happy Birthday! Hug, and a late-night, post-study-sesh Get Home Safe Hug. They’re all nice, quick yet firm, but you forget them easily like a meal you’ve had too many times.

Were you holding my hand? I can’t remember. I do remember that the rain never stopped, so we sat under ancient crown moldings while the thunderstorm crashed in and pelted the city with a fury not seen in decades.

Farmtasy (n): The somewhat irrational obsession with meeting the love of your life between the months of September and November at a farmer’s market, orchard, or community vegetable garden.

It never roars, bites, kicks, snarls, or commands. It only drifts.

The first step to having a summer worthy of the femme Fitzgerald is to have endless free time because you never know when you will need to make an appearance at a backyard soiree or skip town for a three-day bender.