Volume 26: An Elegy for AIM

Welcome to the twenty-sixth installment of Open Book. If it’s your first time, click here for a little background.

My parents will be happy to know that AOL Instant Messenger, or AIM — the messaging service that nearly tore our relationship apart back in my teenage years — is scheduled to die today. AOL announced back in October that it was shutting down the service for good on December 15, 2017. That day also happens to be my 27th birthday.

The timing feels poetic: I move another year closer to fully-formed adulthood, while a relic of my adolescence withers in my wake.

Volume 25: Up North

Welcome to the twenty-fifth installment of Open Book. If it’s your first time here, click here for a little background.

Moving sucks.

I feel I have the authority to say this because, as of this summer, I have officially lived in five different apartments over the past five years. I’ve reassembled my IKEA bed so many times I don’t even need the cryptic directions anymore.

But it’s not just the packing and box-lugging that make moving terrible. I think what sucks more than anything is the fear. Fear that that you’ve chosen the wrong place, the wrong price, the wrong roommates. Fear that the neighbors will be the kind from hell. Fear that you’re somehow hurtling in the wrong direction but tough shit ’cause now you’re legally obligated to stay out the one-year lease. Fear, most broadly, of all the nebulous unknowns.

Volume 23: Just Words

Welcome to the twenty-third installment of Open Book. If it’s your first time here, click here for a little background.

Dearest readers, I want to start by asking you a question: What words would you use to describe yourself?

Maybe you’d poke fun at a few of your less-than-stellar qualities and call yourself geeky or perpetually late or such a hot mess right now lol. But you probably wouldn’t be outright mean to yourself. Right?

Volume 22: Quarter Century

Welcome to the twenty-second installment of Open Book. If it’s your first time here, click here for a little background.

Tomorrow I’ll be twenty-five years old. I’m sure it sounds silly to people older than me, but twenty-five feels big. It feels like an age where things start to matter.

I guess that’s why people talk about having a quarter-life crisis, though I think the term itself is a bit of a misnomer. If twenty-five is considered a quarter of my life, that means that I’m apparently living to 100. This feat of longevity would require some pretty immediate action on my part: Kicking my yogurt-covered pretzel habit, actually sleeping more than five hours a night, perhaps setting foot in a gym once or twice before mid-life.