While my mind, my gut, my spine, my kidneys, my liver, and my lungs were all convinced of love, my heart, the sovereign of this cursed land, refused to give its consent.
It's just that my brain seems convinced that my need for teeny tiny sparkly tops and thoroughly impractical shoes is infinite, and that I can get by quite well with one pair of trousers and a couple of manky T-shirts for work.
I test my classes on the scientific explanation for evolution, including population genetics, Hardy Weinberg, paleontology, cladistics, natural selection, etc., but I do not ask my students after my lectures whether they were "convinced" by my presentations, or whether they "changed their minds".
I returned to my office more convinced than ever that this would be our last Christmas together.
My dad's convinced I'll be a manager but there are a lot of pressures now.
And now I am even less convinced: my gut instinct is that—human psychology being what it is there is no way Lady Ashton would want to step aside for a man who would be widely expected to do much better than her, and who was the first choice before the job in many EU capitals.
One night, at a club on Vancouver's infamously trashy Granville Street strip, my friend became convinced that two (much taller) women were laughing at her.
Her idea to go pro came after she "sort of convinced my parents that I was saving them money by not going to another year and a half of college and that they should support me when I moved...
But at least one of my friends was convinced that I was full of 'cattle excrement' and that I was just looking for an excuse to take the mental equivalent of steroids.
I'm more or less convinced my dad actually feels the same waves in his stomach I do when on a roller coaster, he was just never taught that this intestines-in-your-throat experience was fun.
