searching in the sun
Some kids at school keep saying that my get-me-through-the-day crush, a fellow teacher, looks like Nobita, the boy from Doraemon. Their taunt is irritating for its terrible inaccuracy. I mean, Crush-sensei has no side part, shorts, OR glasses. Guh. Come the fuck on.
(That phrase is the next item on the list of Phrases I Would Teach The Kids, If'n I Could.)
Nobita, Doraemon, and what appears to be a Philly cheesesteak
Most evenings, I pass out minutes after I take off my pants, which happens seconds after I arrive home. People knock on my door and I remember that I'm not wearing pants. There was an isolated incident where I answered the door in a blanket, but now I just freeze in horror instead of putting on pants. I breathe through my nose and wait for the crinkle of a pizza ad stuffed through my doorslot. I wait for footsteps to fade out.
My building's hallways are flicker-fluorescent-lit 24/7 and smell of cigarettes (tiny ones) and have green floors and the occasional coo of an infant being bathed. Many times, I think it'd be nice to have someone to accompany me on the stairs again. We'll have some conversations that move past self-intro junk and discussion of language ability. We'll have urban excursions, countryside strolls, riverside bikes, listening parties, makeouts, and a billion zillion photo sticker booth sessions, I will make sure of it. But yeah, just more frequent engaging conversations will be nice.
NUFF WAITING.
pic taken from a positively adorable J-dog blog
what