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 |  My first ever Writing.com journal. |
| ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** how i wish for that same clear, uneventful skin. i'm killing myself trying to figure out what i did/ate/applied to invite this horrid blotchiness. the sleep thing, probably. i'm a raccoon, dark circles around both eyes and this constant flush at the base of my throat. krystle says it's my summer color fading, my irish whiteness peeping in, the same as last november, she says. "you're so physically disconnected, you never notice anything about yourself, you always show your heritage around this time of year." thank god she knows everything. i was freaking out, researching vitiligo, trying desperately to scrub my eyelids, thereby restoring evenness. in december, she says, it'll fix itself. she is the mother i never had. that one sort of precocious tress of hair by my left ear, near marcus, it's giving me a hard time tonight. longer now, for one thing, sort of shaggy, unfortunately, because i still haven't gotten in for that much-needed haircut. parting it, i try to alternate--right side, left side, right side, left side--and it pops up on my head like an unctuous cowlick when i don't hit the spot just right. another of those things, like the vulnerable slant of my eyes, that suggests shock, when in fact my general attitude is more, oh, okay, this is unsurprising and a little mundane. strange picked up on and liked a similarly themed line in the jaw poem, today. the line about getting stuck in the open position. those hands, the ones that look so huge and unwieldly in the photo (they really aren't; ring size is still a modest five and i can circle my wrist with a thumb and pinky finger), during the conference, they resorted to their usual irritating habit of compulsively touching everything, smoothing my hair behind my ear, removing and replacing rings, clicking my pen cap, over and over and over. if she noticed, she was nice about it. i'm sure she's had more spastic students, and she will again. i'm not special. but it was a good hour, gave me even more reason to look forward to next semester. later, there was an attempt at a writers-only dinner downtown, a car accident and a quick change of plans, a blockbuster run with friends, incisive discussion with the same, brownies. i saw and am still contemplating napoleon dynamite. i don't have class tomorrow. i could stay up for another two hours, probably, if i didn't have to tutor in the morning. i am searching vainly for some sort of unifying conclusory assessment of the day. ups and downs. i got two of the three things i wanted; the one i wanted most still escaped me. i miss marcus. i'm glad classes are over, but in a sort of dubious and withheld way, because the real problems start now, trying not to accidentally die pulling together these 3,205,112 final papers of mine. my last entry had everyone thinking i'd uncovered some sort of sexual grail, which was sort of funny. i didn't, sorry. i'd have told you. i've been reading the book, and the poems are good, some better than others. there is a sort of divine wildness to them, an intelligence you'd like to penetrate, penilely if possible. aaron says i'm halfway toward becoming a full-fledged lesbian. not so much, but, you know. i thought about him a lot today, about how when he gets my letter he's going to consider, but quite possibly chicken out of, writing me back. how i won't care either way, will simply hope its receipt brightens his day. i'm going to read and sleep. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** |
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