Goat Milk
When I got back from class, I dropped my things immediately and, as custom, submerged myself into the the grasp of the lengthy oceans of the internet. Just as routinely, I realize I'm just doing the same shit I do everyday - not a damn thing changing.
I then decide to go ahead and continue reading R. Crumb's Kafka, not so much for interest sake, but feeling contrite for all the unread books sitting on my shelf, waiting for their day in the sun. Though my reading habits are sluggish, particularly with this book, the book is very interesting and Kafka comes off as somebody I can relate to. Crumb, through his illustrations, and David Mairowitz, through his text, define "kafkaesque" with words and pictures that perfectly suit Kakfka's self-hating and surreal narrative.
After a good hour or so, I set the book down to rest. Life's got me tired. Today I did some extensive walking, and nearly as much worrying; I had two quizzes and it's only the third week of classes. There's no time anymore for that "next semester things'll change" bullshit. Though aware that I have quite a lot of poetry to read in order to prepare for tomorrow's "lit" class, if anything I am consistently confident in that I will always do just fine academically. Fine by my standards, that is.
Just before I'm able to decide what to focus on in order to achieve peace of mind during rest, the phone blasts its unforgiving ring-a-ling.
"Hello?" I answer.
I knew even before he answered back that it was Domenick. Nobody else ever calls me.
"Hello."
I must have mumbled a bit, pressing my hand and crunching my fingers against my numb face while stretching my toes, "What's up?"
"Well...would you like to come over and have some goat milk and Milano cookies with me?"
"I'd like nothing more. Just wait outside for me."
"Okay."
The milk was great and the cookies were great. I took small bites, as he explained, with great enthusiasm, his plans to redecorate his dorm room after his roomate moves out. I took a seat by his laptop, but stopped myself from using it because I figure the less time I'm on the computer the better. I just admired the emptiness of his room and the joy he had describing it.
"And we can put Puff Daddy (the goldfish) here!"
"Make a shrine, perhaps?"
He had plans to arrange a "Pita Party" later in the evening, but I, not being in the party mood as of late, asked him if he would accompany me to the dining hall so I can have dinner now, knowing that if I did not go, my perpetual loss of appetite wouldn't allow me to at all this day.
He selflessly agreed, as always, and we headed north: to Andros!
Domenick did not want to spoil his appetite by eating, so I asked him to construct a salad for me while he waited for me to pick out what exactly I wanted. I normally would never even think to eat a salad, but due to my less than eager stomach this evening, I thought it may do me good. He builds a pretty good salad, though he's an experienced cook in his own right, as many italians are.
I chose a parfait, milk, and some french fries in case I did not like the salad.
It turned out that I didn't like anything or I just wasn't hungry at all. The salad was constructed well, however, like the leaning tower, wasn't a very practical idea. Salad almost always gives me explosive diarrhea. So much for being a vegatarian.
"So, why don't you have sex with one of the cleaning ladies?" Domenick asked, with his gleeful sarcasm.
"Well...using the term ladies in regards to them is somewhat of a hyperbole. Have you seen the maintenence ladies at my dorm?"
"Well, actually I was referring to the new one in my dorm. She's quite attractive."
"Then why don't YOU?"
"Well...maybe I will!"
Of course, if that doesn't work out; one of you should. Have sex with Domenick (domenator). He's ethnic, charming, goal-oriented, intelligent and a talented pianist and cook.
Whatever you do, just don't fall in love with me or have sex with me, which would lead to a possible emotional attraction. I am self-depricating, boring, white as paper, slothy and shallow. I am unworthy of even the attention that the poochies, Bowser and Otto, give to my shin.
Alex