When she mentioned an ex of mine, I couldn't be sure at first that it wasn't my second cup of coffee inserting paranoia into the conversation or if I had reasonable apprehensions. Afterall it is a large town with many intersecting circles. Perhaps she felt compelled to mention a mutual friend upfront like reading my Miranda rights before the arrest. Yet I didn't recall sharing my hometown either and so it became increasingly difficult to distinguish between caffeine shake and the shiver that comes from feeling like you're being watched. Of course I don't regret what she might find and have sought out old friends through Facebook many times myself, but the more she spoke I was convinced she couldn't tell the difference between what she'd read and what she'd heard me say.
Its as though my unedited résumé of relationships sits on public record, along with more than sufficient details to complete the Meyers-Briggs without cheating. All these exciting tools keep us accepting unread terms of agreement and gather a sewer grate swath of personal information available to friends and foes alike. A third cup of coffee proved distracting and hardly worth the brief reprieve of waiting in line. She continued on as I sat back down and I couldn't be sure she'd noticed my absence the way questions put to me typically included the answer.
Caught off guard by references to photos I'd forgot, filled my head with more than a thousand words, not one of which could I get in. A moment did come though when to catch her breath she looked away briefly and I saw my chance to interrupt. The idea of telling her my discomfort, turned out to be far less aggressive than when I put it into use. Was her profiled perception of me soiled by my patience and honesty? Had I given an expert researcher a foul motive? Only Timehop will tell.
Its as though my unedited résumé of relationships sits on public record, along with more than sufficient details to complete the Meyers-Briggs without cheating. All these exciting tools keep us accepting unread terms of agreement and gather a sewer grate swath of personal information available to friends and foes alike. A third cup of coffee proved distracting and hardly worth the brief reprieve of waiting in line. She continued on as I sat back down and I couldn't be sure she'd noticed my absence the way questions put to me typically included the answer.
Caught off guard by references to photos I'd forgot, filled my head with more than a thousand words, not one of which could I get in. A moment did come though when to catch her breath she looked away briefly and I saw my chance to interrupt. The idea of telling her my discomfort, turned out to be far less aggressive than when I put it into use. Was her profiled perception of me soiled by my patience and honesty? Had I given an expert researcher a foul motive? Only Timehop will tell.
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