interim
or,
250 dollars is worth not being home for the entire month of january.
first interim, i learned that combining nyquil, codeine, and bourbon is not an effective way of treating strep throat. i learned that my roommate loved me enough to turn my electric blanket on for me when she knew i would come home shivering uncontrollably, and to buy me vitamin b12 so i wouldn't die. i also learned that writing essays analyzing one's own personality while quite drunk is an interesting, exceptionally ill-advised activity.
second interim brought the hours (et les heures suivantes...), mint hot chocolate, la ménace du printemps, and an interpretative dance on the meaning of language acquisition. (oh, the things you would do to make me smile.) the floor days returned, and words vanished into the study of words and falling snow.
third interim returned my voice. via the study of line, form, color, and drape, lyrics became armour and expression, and paintchip poetry and drunken performance art stood testament to the poignancy of the intoxicated universe. i was reminded again and again that i am worthy of love, even though i reject or severely traumatize those who love me truly. i may have a playlist to listen to while watching the snow fall, but i no longer lose my words in its whiteness.
and next interim?
who knows?
250 dollars is worth not being home for the entire month of january.
first interim, i learned that combining nyquil, codeine, and bourbon is not an effective way of treating strep throat. i learned that my roommate loved me enough to turn my electric blanket on for me when she knew i would come home shivering uncontrollably, and to buy me vitamin b12 so i wouldn't die. i also learned that writing essays analyzing one's own personality while quite drunk is an interesting, exceptionally ill-advised activity.
second interim brought the hours (et les heures suivantes...), mint hot chocolate, la ménace du printemps, and an interpretative dance on the meaning of language acquisition. (oh, the things you would do to make me smile.) the floor days returned, and words vanished into the study of words and falling snow.
third interim returned my voice. via the study of line, form, color, and drape, lyrics became armour and expression, and paintchip poetry and drunken performance art stood testament to the poignancy of the intoxicated universe. i was reminded again and again that i am worthy of love, even though i reject or severely traumatize those who love me truly. i may have a playlist to listen to while watching the snow fall, but i no longer lose my words in its whiteness.
and next interim?
who knows?