Tomorrow I’m moving away from the Bay Area, the only post-college home I’ve known. It’s been five years of good ice cream, bad pizza, adorable friends, and monotonously beautiful weather. I’m already nostalgic for Oakland, even as I’m excited for the British adventures that lie ahead (and overwhelmed by the boxes of books that gaze pleadingly up at me, hoping I’ll relocate them).
And what better outlet for nostalgia then graph jokes?
First, the chilling inner life of the non-nostalgic person:
Second, the tragic paradox of the nostalgic soul: Continue reading