hot and bothered
"Hot"
Hot, I thought. Too hot. I flung off the duvet which cloistered my body and stuck to my perspiring skin. I rose from bed in my anticipation to face a plethora of ignorance, to laugh at people readily lured by countless snakes in their waking hours, drawn to the distortions and twists of their realities. Deranged for an instant, I drew the shady blinds from my window, only to close them violently at the sight of the blistering sun. Wearily, I moved into the kitchen, eyeing the walls as if skeletons rested inside them, ready to make their appearance once darkness prevailed, exhausted by the wonderful cruelty of yet another night. I shared their disgust for the sun. The touch of those ubiquitous eyes, and the thought of them burning the skin on the back of my neck, had abruptly knocked me to my senses. And so I dove my head into the fridge lusting for that nasty liver paste I’d kept for over a year. There was something undeniably gripping about the act of preserving, making the preserved attractive and the attractive unreal. The liver paste, albeit begot by some fluffy mold, was unchanged and beautiful. Its smell, slightly putrid, breathed energy into my body, similar to the effect of coffee. I never drank coffee. I never drank hot drinks for that matter. The liver paste had been a gift from my mother, part of her housewarming present to me, which consisted of (…..) Her body was crushed six months ago in a car accident, and she had died on the spot, sooner than anyone could say ‘liver paste.’
A knock on the door gave a rhythmic consistency, allaying my suspicions even before I opened the door to face Mrs. Gritmarble. “Darling!” she proclaimed. “It is eleven o’clock. The sun has hit the high sky, and you are still in yesterday’s attire. I’m appalled, you are late for our appointment.” Her wrinkled face reflected a soft sheen of pink in the midst of all the grey. Perhaps it was seeing me, and I made myself feel offended beyond words at the thought. I didn’t speak and instead gave her a dark look, the bleakest I could muster. She chuckled, and said, “That attitude of yours will catch up with you one day, mark my words. Now get ready.”
This short story is supposed to be done by Monday, 4-8 pages long, and I'm still up writing the damn thing, and i'm stuck. I don't even know what i'm talking about. The insomniac in me screams 'go on' but it doesn't seem to matter whether i'm making progress or not, as long as I'm not sleeping. So here I am. I'm please though. I never imagined starting until Sunday, but now at least i've got something down on paper.
School is fun now; it's slowed down considerably since last semester, the thought of which still makes me cringe. I love my Hampshire class. I love the fact that i can take classes at any of the five colleges in the Pioneer Valley, and next semester I'm taking two at Amherst: one (pseudo-)biology called 'evolution of human nature' and one colloquium (public policy, bioethics, smt like that) called 'politics of new genetics.' then of course calculus and intro to literature at mt holyoke. Tomorrow will be my first time in NYC, where my American family originates (as German and Estonian immigrants they first came to and lived in Flushing and Queens). Many of my friends on campus right now will be going so I'm intrigued by the thought of the fun we are going to have. I hear the Met is having some travelogue-type exhibition, and it's free - always a plus.
Hot, I thought. Too hot. I flung off the duvet which cloistered my body and stuck to my perspiring skin. I rose from bed in my anticipation to face a plethora of ignorance, to laugh at people readily lured by countless snakes in their waking hours, drawn to the distortions and twists of their realities. Deranged for an instant, I drew the shady blinds from my window, only to close them violently at the sight of the blistering sun. Wearily, I moved into the kitchen, eyeing the walls as if skeletons rested inside them, ready to make their appearance once darkness prevailed, exhausted by the wonderful cruelty of yet another night. I shared their disgust for the sun. The touch of those ubiquitous eyes, and the thought of them burning the skin on the back of my neck, had abruptly knocked me to my senses. And so I dove my head into the fridge lusting for that nasty liver paste I’d kept for over a year. There was something undeniably gripping about the act of preserving, making the preserved attractive and the attractive unreal. The liver paste, albeit begot by some fluffy mold, was unchanged and beautiful. Its smell, slightly putrid, breathed energy into my body, similar to the effect of coffee. I never drank coffee. I never drank hot drinks for that matter. The liver paste had been a gift from my mother, part of her housewarming present to me, which consisted of (…..) Her body was crushed six months ago in a car accident, and she had died on the spot, sooner than anyone could say ‘liver paste.’
A knock on the door gave a rhythmic consistency, allaying my suspicions even before I opened the door to face Mrs. Gritmarble. “Darling!” she proclaimed. “It is eleven o’clock. The sun has hit the high sky, and you are still in yesterday’s attire. I’m appalled, you are late for our appointment.” Her wrinkled face reflected a soft sheen of pink in the midst of all the grey. Perhaps it was seeing me, and I made myself feel offended beyond words at the thought. I didn’t speak and instead gave her a dark look, the bleakest I could muster. She chuckled, and said, “That attitude of yours will catch up with you one day, mark my words. Now get ready.”
This short story is supposed to be done by Monday, 4-8 pages long, and I'm still up writing the damn thing, and i'm stuck. I don't even know what i'm talking about. The insomniac in me screams 'go on' but it doesn't seem to matter whether i'm making progress or not, as long as I'm not sleeping. So here I am. I'm please though. I never imagined starting until Sunday, but now at least i've got something down on paper.
School is fun now; it's slowed down considerably since last semester, the thought of which still makes me cringe. I love my Hampshire class. I love the fact that i can take classes at any of the five colleges in the Pioneer Valley, and next semester I'm taking two at Amherst: one (pseudo-)biology called 'evolution of human nature' and one colloquium (public policy, bioethics, smt like that) called 'politics of new genetics.' then of course calculus and intro to literature at mt holyoke. Tomorrow will be my first time in NYC, where my American family originates (as German and Estonian immigrants they first came to and lived in Flushing and Queens). Many of my friends on campus right now will be going so I'm intrigued by the thought of the fun we are going to have. I hear the Met is having some travelogue-type exhibition, and it's free - always a plus.