Patience may well be my Achilles heel. Or, more specifically, my distinct lack of any of it. In some situations, I take a perverse pleasure in thwarting this need for immediate gratification, but for the most part, I want things now. More specifically still, when I meet (or re-meet) someone who catches my fancy, I want to see them again now. See my list of things I consider to be a waste of time here.

On a different but vaguely related note, I was silently hit on while riding the subway this morning. One of the skills I have learned since moving to New York (in addition to quietly and immediately calculating the fastest route from point A to subway stop B, and threading myself and my concomitant satchel through crowds like an eel) is how to stand in a crowded subway without actually touching anybody else. Somehow one's ribcage shrinks, one's arms contort, so as to avoid physical contact with these strangers. Yet this morning, I found myself pressed up against a young man who had no need to be pressed against me -- he had at least 3 inches of room in front of him in which he could have scooted away from me -- and he kept tossing sidelong glances over his shoulder at me as I read my book. Because I cannot help myself, I found myself looking back at him, and when the subway sped or slowed, he swayed backwards rather unneccesarily against my chest. When he got off at 14th and let go of the bar, his hand brushed against my leg as he sidled past towards the door, and he looked back one more time as he stepped out.

The politics of flirtation between boys always amazes me. The conversation we had without saying a word: a brush of arms: "Hi there." A glance from him: "You're cute." A glance back from me: "Thanks. I'm looking at you to see if I think you're cute too." His back pressed into me: "If you so think so, you won't pull away from this." My hand inched closer to his on the hanging bar: "If your hand inches closer too, I'll know I'm not imagining things." His hand inching: "No, you're not imagining things." Our glance as he stepped out: "Well, um...it's been fun. I enjoyed our random flirtation."

My official conclusion: Boys are irretrievably weird, myself included.