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	Detours 8.17.99 It's 10 o'clock Tuesday night. That means it's quiet now, except for the droning of the air conditioner. Yet I'm reeling with giddiness from watching a rerun of Felicity on WB. Somehow I've found myself completely immersed in this drama (read "soap opera") about (typical? Yeah right!) college life. It's killing me that I have to wait a week and a month to find out whether Felicity went with Ben or Noel for the summer. (The sensible me is pulling for Noel, but there's this tiniest part of me that wants to know what it would have been like had she chosen Ben. Ya know, like one of those books where you get to choose which ending happens each time you read it.) Underlying my excitement is a deeper disappointment though. Why am I not so enthusiastic about my own life? It's like I consciously choose to live vicariously through a fictional character. Why don't I have a Noel and a Ben, one of which I have to choose to spend my summer with? Everyone has a choice of paths to take. Two parallel paths with very different scenic displays. I detoured the action one day and have been lost ever since. The parade's marching one block away. < Previous Topic >                                                                            < Next Topic >
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