peaches and cream
I finally remembered what I wanted to post the other day but forgot to in the midst of typing. First a small rant on the sense of smell. Olfactory. Just say it a few times. "I get so overwhelmed by olfactory hues." Ah, Phish, you always know just what to say. So smell is an odd sense. I don't want to offend anyone here but it seems like the least useful of senses. Imagine not being able to smell. You could still function relatively normally, right? But it's the sense with the strongest connections to memory. I personally have very dull senses. It's like I exist in my own little bubble of sensory deprivation. I hear very poorly, I have asbestos hands, I'm farsighted and I have a hard time smelling things. I seem to have normal tasting capabilities although some might contest that my devotion to soy-based fake meat products clearly indicates otherwise. So I have a poor sense of smell, but when I do smell things they are incredible at bringing back memories. Especially of people. Everyone has their own distinct smell- usually produced by the combination of cleansing/beauty products they use but sometimes by the lack thereof. I was walking around Harvard Square the other day after class with my headphones on - I was on my way to purchase little boxes to keep my exponentially growing sets of flashcards in, if you must know - when suddenly I smelled something. A good something. And I knew that I knew that smell. It actually smelled just like Jason, the personals guy and instantly I was like, I think Jason's behind me. Suddenly I'm tapped on the shoulder. (The word suddenly is a bit of overkill but I suppose a life like mine needs artificial excitement sometimes) I turn around expecting Jason and it's...
Peach. Robert Peach. I knew that he was going to Harvard summer school and I had been half expecting to see him at some point but I was a tad taken aback. He smells just like Jason. Isn't that strange? Stranger yet, now I will forever remember what Peach smells like. (Side note of not that much interest - he's taking bio because it's a premed requirement. I'm not sure I even realized that Kenyon had a premed program somehow it doesn't seem to fit into the general Kamp Kenyon atmosphere) So now I have Peach's number in my phone and I'm going to give him a call if anything interesting happens in Cambridge. Isn't life amusing.
I'm back in Wellesley this weekend pet-sitting for my animals. As much as I rant and rave about this place, there is something nice about coming home and having a yard to sit in. I can go get coffee and know the people who work there. It's idyllic in a sickening but comforting way.
I got my hair cut yesterday. I asked for an inch off. He took three-four inches off. I hated it at first. I thought I looked like a (I know I'm un-PC, fuck you) lesbian from the nineties. But it's growing on me. Literally and figuratively. I suppose I can live with it until it grows out. According to the people I've asked it looks fine (if not good, even) but they may have been lying to be spared the wrath of Lauren with a bad haircut. Even so, I went shopping yesterday and bought some bras to make myself feel better. Underwear is like a drug for me. And those women who want to measure my breasts are my enablers.
And this Greek class, combined with Kendra the painter (another enabler of mine) have convinced me to start smoking again. I'd be mostly good since finals but broke down the other day and returned to my humped friends. And I had a piece of Nicorette for the first time the other day (Bob who cannot possibly be explained without arm motions and facial expression) pressed some of the "devil's gum" on me. It was like smoking an entire pack in three minutes. I thought I was going to throw up and I had a headache and I felt vaguely high but not in an entirely pleasant way. Scary shit.
Peach. Robert Peach. I knew that he was going to Harvard summer school and I had been half expecting to see him at some point but I was a tad taken aback. He smells just like Jason. Isn't that strange? Stranger yet, now I will forever remember what Peach smells like. (Side note of not that much interest - he's taking bio because it's a premed requirement. I'm not sure I even realized that Kenyon had a premed program somehow it doesn't seem to fit into the general Kamp Kenyon atmosphere) So now I have Peach's number in my phone and I'm going to give him a call if anything interesting happens in Cambridge. Isn't life amusing.
I'm back in Wellesley this weekend pet-sitting for my animals. As much as I rant and rave about this place, there is something nice about coming home and having a yard to sit in. I can go get coffee and know the people who work there. It's idyllic in a sickening but comforting way.
I got my hair cut yesterday. I asked for an inch off. He took three-four inches off. I hated it at first. I thought I looked like a (I know I'm un-PC, fuck you) lesbian from the nineties. But it's growing on me. Literally and figuratively. I suppose I can live with it until it grows out. According to the people I've asked it looks fine (if not good, even) but they may have been lying to be spared the wrath of Lauren with a bad haircut. Even so, I went shopping yesterday and bought some bras to make myself feel better. Underwear is like a drug for me. And those women who want to measure my breasts are my enablers.
And this Greek class, combined with Kendra the painter (another enabler of mine) have convinced me to start smoking again. I'd be mostly good since finals but broke down the other day and returned to my humped friends. And I had a piece of Nicorette for the first time the other day (Bob who cannot possibly be explained without arm motions and facial expression) pressed some of the "devil's gum" on me. It was like smoking an entire pack in three minutes. I thought I was going to throw up and I had a headache and I felt vaguely high but not in an entirely pleasant way. Scary shit.