ash-colored clothes and gynecological confessions
It’s fucking cold. Hasn’t stopped raining for hours. Took down the box of winter clothes tonight - realized how nearly all of it is black and grey. I wish I could trade in all my denim for charcoal-colored corduroy.
My fortune cookie today read “You will attend an unusual party.” The only one coming up is Halloween at the Tribe. I wanted to pull off a Pocahontas costume, but my John Smith isn’t so gung-ho. Maybe I could think of something solo, simple. I haven’t dressed up since I was a child. I wish I could find something to make me entirely unrecognizable.
I’m in academic limbo again. Content (with little reason to be) in all of my classes but one. Story of English, also my earliest class. A’s on all the papers and homework, low C’s on the quizzes and midterm. This is one of those classes I hate to sit through, hate to do work for, hate to read for, but think about constantly if I’m not doing one of those things. How could a freshman course be crushing me during my last year of college?
My poetry professor read a letter that she received from a gynecologist who just moved into town. The gyno introduced herself, talked about her education and experience, etc. Then she says, verbatim, “I enjoy the intellectual challenge of abnormal pap smears.” I wondered what gynecologists talk about on their breaks.
The folks finally found out that I smoke. They found cigarette ashes when I left the car at home and went to San Diego for the weekend. Dad vented, saying I can barely drive let alone smoke at the same time, that I’m broke and smokes aren’t cheap, that it’s “trashy” and “trampy” and I must want my mouth to taste like crap. Mom just said it’s a bad habit and told me not to do it in the car. Nothing more was said on the matter when I came home. I hope it stays that way.
I’m back to biting my nails like a madwoman, ever since the Steve Poltz LRC. Last week I saw The Debonaires. Up next: Lucero and Damien Jurado - both in one week. Fucking outstanding.
My fortune cookie today read “You will attend an unusual party.” The only one coming up is Halloween at the Tribe. I wanted to pull off a Pocahontas costume, but my John Smith isn’t so gung-ho. Maybe I could think of something solo, simple. I haven’t dressed up since I was a child. I wish I could find something to make me entirely unrecognizable.
I’m in academic limbo again. Content (with little reason to be) in all of my classes but one. Story of English, also my earliest class. A’s on all the papers and homework, low C’s on the quizzes and midterm. This is one of those classes I hate to sit through, hate to do work for, hate to read for, but think about constantly if I’m not doing one of those things. How could a freshman course be crushing me during my last year of college?
My poetry professor read a letter that she received from a gynecologist who just moved into town. The gyno introduced herself, talked about her education and experience, etc. Then she says, verbatim, “I enjoy the intellectual challenge of abnormal pap smears.” I wondered what gynecologists talk about on their breaks.
The folks finally found out that I smoke. They found cigarette ashes when I left the car at home and went to San Diego for the weekend. Dad vented, saying I can barely drive let alone smoke at the same time, that I’m broke and smokes aren’t cheap, that it’s “trashy” and “trampy” and I must want my mouth to taste like crap. Mom just said it’s a bad habit and told me not to do it in the car. Nothing more was said on the matter when I came home. I hope it stays that way.
I’m back to biting my nails like a madwoman, ever since the Steve Poltz LRC. Last week I saw The Debonaires. Up next: Lucero and Damien Jurado - both in one week. Fucking outstanding.