I can see water towers taller than steeples.
Is it lame to regress back to listening to angsty music behind closed doors?
I mean, this is something I'm used to doing behind open doors. Like the time last fall when Will had to return a movie to me but was probably afraid of me and I'd sort of forgotten my door was open and was sprawled all over my beanbag chair drunkenly listening to Elliott Smith.
But, you know, the fresh high school graduates (J. and friend A.) are playing Risk (I'm surprised there was no sparkly pink flasked party last night) on the tableclothed dining room table outside my room, and I can't possibly listen to their soft Sirius or contaminate them with...artsy angst?
And I'd like someone to tell this family that I, too, can hear my cell phone when it rings. A ringer's purpose is, after all, to be heard.
PS: I miss Hildy Calpurnia Rose. I wish I had a Tar Beach.
I am so conditioned by literature. If only seven-year-olds were aware.
I mean, this is something I'm used to doing behind open doors. Like the time last fall when Will had to return a movie to me but was probably afraid of me and I'd sort of forgotten my door was open and was sprawled all over my beanbag chair drunkenly listening to Elliott Smith.
But, you know, the fresh high school graduates (J. and friend A.) are playing Risk (I'm surprised there was no sparkly pink flasked party last night) on the tableclothed dining room table outside my room, and I can't possibly listen to their soft Sirius or contaminate them with...artsy angst?
And I'd like someone to tell this family that I, too, can hear my cell phone when it rings. A ringer's purpose is, after all, to be heard.
PS: I miss Hildy Calpurnia Rose. I wish I had a Tar Beach.
I am so conditioned by literature. If only seven-year-olds were aware.