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Which member of #EisE are you?
Your lover says that they can't be with you any more because they don't trust that you'll be there for them when they need you.
Give them a hug and a kiss. Say goodbye. They're probably right.
Argue. Insist. Prove them wrong. Go crazy trying to prove how much you'll be there for them. Push and push and push until they finally give in, then realise that you don't even love them, you just wanted to win them back to prove you could.
I got a better question for this supposed "LOVER": CAN I TRUST YOU? WILL YOU BE THERE FOR ME WHEN I NEED YOU? You think the near-perpetual stream of witty banter, mix cds, emotional support, and cunnilingus that you're enjoying comes for free? WHAT ABOUT MY NEEDS?
Say you understand. (You don't understand). You'll let them move on. (You won't. You'll haunt them forever. They'll never have anyone better than you).
You've been elected Governor of a small provincial town. You're really excited to make some necessary changes to the town's political and social structure, but in order to take office you must agree to be under 24-hour video surveillance for your entire terms.
Straight up refuse. Reject the position, let the opponent in, and proceed to the lead the people in a grassroots uprising. Edward Snowden will likely make an appearance.
Shortly after being elected student government president in high school you were impeached for exposing yourself at a middle school assembly. YOUR ENTIRE LIFE HAS PREPARED YOU FOR THE CHALLENGES OF THIS POSITION.
Agree and secretly find loopholes. A lot of negotiation can happen in toilets.
Accept eagerly: how bad can it be? Realise over the first few weeks that you deeply, desperately cannot handle the feeling of being watched. Bottle it all up and persevere, until finally you go into sudden meltdown and curl up on the ground whimpering in the middle of a TV debate.
You are at a party having a good time, chatting with friendly people. You are in the middle of telling a story when you suddenly notice that your rival is here - that one person who is just like you only cooler - they must have just arrived. You are so surprised that you forget the end of the story, and you trail off into silence. There is an awkward pause for a moment, then your rival says something and everyone bursts out laughing.
Probably slink outside, smoke a joint, then let your body do the talkin' on the dance-floor like you do in most awkward party-related scenarios.
Flirt with your rival and then make a move. It's the only way. As Kate Bornstein says, "Never fuck anyone you wouldn't want to be."
Try to be the loudest laugher in front of your rival, so they know they have nothing to worry about. Quietly plan your revenge.
Get out of the party immediately, go walk in the park or in circles around the carpark, mutter to yourself until you mutter out all the shame
As the bus is pulling up to your stop, you get up from your seat to hop off. As the bus comes to a stop, you realise that the person waiting to get on the bus is you - it is your doppelganger, an identical double dressed in the same outfit you have on. The bus door opens.
Probably look at them longingly, search desperately for something witty to say, fail, look again in the hopes that something EVEN WITTIER will occur to you, fail again, exit the vehicle in shame, beat yourself up for not complimenting their belt or shirt or the book they're reading, bemoan how much pressure it is to talk to strangers on public transport, and then finally take solace in the fact that if they were TRULY your doppleganger, they did exactly the same thing when they saw you.
Wish you could stay on the bus to meet this once-in-a-lifetime doppelganger, but what am I, made of time? Sitting in the mall staring at your nails won't do itself!
Ignore the whole thing and just get off the bus and run away because probably no one saw that but you.
That means you're going to die today, doesn't it? Walk home contemplating how vivid the colours of the sun on the leaves are
You have died, and your immortal spirit has risen to the city of heaven,
And the foundations of the walls of the city are garnished with all manner of precious stones
And the building of the wall of it is of jasper: and the city is pure gold, like unto clear glass
And at the gate stands guard a saint, and his countenance is joyful, and he looks at you and asks
'Tell me, by your own conscience, have you lived a worthy life? Should I allow you in?'
How do you respond?
If this is the same city of heaven where all my friends and family are, and there's lots of great music, art, food, sex, drugs, and other earthly pleasures, then I'd say yes. If not, I'd prefer to keep my options open.
You don't need a saint giving you shit on top of everything else, you just ignore him, turn away and go for a walk along the foot of the wall, looking up at what you can see of the city from the outside.
You just throw down your heavenly bags and have a fit. "WORTHY. By whose standards? I've been working my ass off at a million jobs and trying to save the world and being creative and now I have to see if you'll allow me into your club?" (This probably means you're going to hell).
'I try to be good, I really do, but sometimes I fail. Sometimes I become aware of the failures after the fact, and sometimes during. It's always hardest when it's during.'
You've committed to riding your bike for awhile, regardless of the distance. Today, the morning was a bit chilly but still smooth, and now in the evening, it is pouring down rain. You have a poncho that is pretty good at deflecting, but you don't have proper shoes and you're not generally fond of the elements coming down on you, especially in the cold. Your coat/shoes/gloves are insufficient. You consider just taking your bike on the subway or in one of those big cabs. HOWEVER being in the city like you are, you run into your ex right there on the street corner in the pouring down rain. They say hi to you under their umbrella. You have already promised yourself that this person will never see you weak. But you also hate hate hate biking in the rain.
What's your plan?
Play it off smooth, nonchalantly hail a cab, and tell 'em to stay dry. (Whether it will actually go that smoothly in reality is of course anyone's guess).
You sigh. You shrug. You say fuck it. Put your blinking lights on the bike, barely say hello as you unlock it, and then pedal off for a miserable and dangerous ride. But still. You'd rather do that than talk to this person or have them see you retreat to the subway.
Drop the bike. Your pants split in half. Puke down your front. And stand in the rain letting the puke run in stinky rivulets down your skin until they walk away.
'Hey! How's it going, what have you been up to? I'm good, I'm really good, yeah, I'm having lots of success right now, also I am happy and stable, and I've got a job and I own clothes and I can pay rent and how are you going? Not that it's a competition! I am getting on my bike now because I have to ride a bike in the rain for a bet! A fun bet that I made in my good life! Bye!'
The guards threaten to torture you you if you don't confess to the charges and agree to testify against your friend.
They can't chain you down without a fight. Bust out your best self defense skills, and sound the alarm for Tom Morello to come join you in taking out the man via sweet guitar solos while you get to rescue your friend.
BUT I DIDN'T DO IT! I SWEEEEEEEEEEAR!
Give it away give it away give it away now.
You know what you want to answer to this question, but for real, how do you know? How do you even know what you'll do when the moment comes? (You totally know, tho)
You popped out for a quiet walk to clear your head when you accidentally saved 70 peoples' lives, including the President of Brazil and one of the Rolling Stones. The Mayor wants to award you special honours in a public ceremony.
Public ceremonies are the worst out of all of the ceremonies. No way you're dressing up like a damn fool to pose with a bunch of suits for hours on end. Maybe your mum will accept it on your behalf? She can feel proud of you, and you can stay at home and read ghost stories.
Accept that shit, duh! I'M A HERO! KEITH RICHARDS and DILMA ROUSSEFF just told me so!
Agree to the party and quickly head home to wiki the President of Brazil and who the heck is even IN The Rolling Stones.
Accept the honour gracefully and wearing something hot but not too hot because this is serious business. A special song must be written.
Your purpose on this earth is to:
Keep pushing until it gives way or you do
Make it a little nicer starting from the ground up.
Fuck Shit Up?
You're teaching a group of children who are rowdier than you'd like. Suddenly, one of them turns to you and says "if I was you, I'd kill myself."
You respond by:
Don't react. Show no feeling. Wait til the end of class. Hold the kid back when everyone leaves. When it's just you two, sit down opposite him and ask him why he said that. Don't let him look away from your face. Make him squirm. Ask him to explain why you shouldn't tell the principal and his parents. Be willing to do exactly that. Make him aware that he has given you a bomb and you are completely willing to blow up his life with it.
Getting eerily quiet, looking them straight in the eye, and saying "oh, If you only knew."
Patting the child on the back, giving a hollow smile, and saying "Thank you, dear."
You retort something like, "well, lucky you're not." Go home. Cry into your chest. Eat a tub of icecream. Prepare a retort for your blog that the kid will never see unless he finds your blog. Publish it. Delete it.
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