arms that are braceleted and white and bare
And I have known the eyes already, known them all-
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
On July 4th I visited Beth at her apartment. We bought pineapples and teriyaki sauce and made some chicken kabobs to take over to a barbecue held at a neighbor's place. There was a party of 30-40 people, mostly from our church and a few other young churches in the city. Being as I don't know too many people yet, and I'm generally not a big fan of parties (unless it's in the home of someone I know really well, like a family member) I sort of sat idly and chatted a little, having a few conversations here and there.
I overheard snippets of conversations, covering the Indigo Girls, foreign policy, recipes for corn on the cob, parking in DC, bocci ball. etc. This type of interaction does not suit me at all, the pressure to talk about something interesting, to engage, to join in. Sometimes I come home from those evenings with a kind of energy high. Most times, however, I drink a beer and wait for an appropriate time to leave because I'm not good at small talk with people I don't really know.