REPORT A PROBLEM
I sit at my desk and thing about doing what work I have left before the weekend comes along. but instead I find myself staring out the window, looking down on people smoking around the Sundial. People walk to lunch, people walk to class. People walk fast, people walk slow, people walk with a limp or with a curved spine. There's so much to see besides the words in this textbook. I'd like to think that this could be a profession, to watch people from my window. And to learn the story of their lives by the way they walk.
I have too many things. I really like all of my things, but I just have too much of it all. My window sill is lined with martini glasses and green plastic cups covered in puffy paint and cute little mathematical signs. The top half of my closet is filled to the brim with jeans. White jeans and black jeans; jeans of every shade of blue are stacked on top of one another. A white purse hangs from my bed post. So does a green one, a red one, a black one, and one in the shape of a cat.
I see the trees and the trees see me. They show the world how I feel. Shaking from top to bottom when I'm cold in the wind, wilting and slow in the middle of a blistering summer day, as I fall to the floor do to exhaustion and cradle an electric fan in my arms like a precious newborn. The tips of their branches sway delicately as I rest under their strength and play a tune on my daddy's old banjo. They grow heavy with age. They see things as I see things. They stay silent and bask in mystery.
Through the Looking Glass (And What Alice Found There) is one of those stories that becomes a part of your life.I understand that there will never come a day that I sit down between a lion and a unicorn and maintain a civilized conversation. But I feel that one should always be prepared for such things. If you always imagine that life can be full of wonderful oddities, it's more likely that you can appreciate the occurrences in your life. You have the power to make your life as powerful and entertaining as a movie, you just need belief.
It's cold outside today and I don't like it. My roommate's window is open. I can't close it because it is stuck. So I have one leg up on my chair, toes curling together to retain what warmth they can. I need to do laundry but that's not fun to think about. I want to think about the weekend. I want to think about going out to dinner tonight. I want to think about what I'm going to have my next take out make me. A pillow to match my blanket? Maybe. As long as it's cute and it's green.
Oh, dear, what are you doing? You know that he's no good. That house is full of horrors and devilish temptations, yet you go back again and again. Can't you see that you're too good for him? Everyone tells you so, but you can't seem to admit it yourself. Go away, go far away and don't look back for some good time. For when you return he will be gone, and others you left behind will be round and swollen, eating for two. You will be glad, you will smile again. For if you stay, the sunflowers will go away.
Once upon a time there was an exquisite girl that enjoyed learning. Unlike other children, this little girl loved to immerse herself into textbooks, full of colorful and detailed pictures of the world. At seven years old, she knows all about the history of Sweden and the main ideas of evolution. She doesn't have many friends her age because while she is sticking her head between the finely printed pages of her books, other children play outside and make jokes about her always reading. But she doesn't mind. She knows that one day she will outsmart and rule them all.
My throat is warm and I'm proud. I laugh louder than usual, and talk to people I don't know. I'm not sober. What I mean to say is, I'm drunk. I'm just not ready or willing to admit that I'm intoxicated by nine o'clock at night. I'm not sober. I can't walk down the stairs. I forget seeing my friend in an elevator. I lay down in the middle of the road because my legs are like gelatin. I'm not sober. I lie on the bathroom floor from exhaustion rather than nausea, seeing someone. Hello, Mr. China Man, I'm drunk!
A light breeze saunters by your face and your hair takes notice. It wisps about your high cheekbones, getting caught momentarily in your long eyelashes. Brushing the strands away delicately, you look to the sun and smile. Its round and enigmatic face peeps through the large mounds of vanilla cotton candy being thrown across the sky. Short stubby stalks of grass dance under your feet, not being able to decide between which two toes they should pop out of. A feather saunters over to rest from a long journey across the world, but quickly has a change of heart, disappearing.
Drums are the most important part of any song. Forget the guitar, forget the bass. Without drums, there is no backbone, there is no story. I've always wanted to learn how to play but never have I had the patience. But sometimes I walk into a music shop, and slip into the instrument room unnoticed. I stand in the corner as if I'm blanketed by a dark shadow, and watch potential buyers try out the snare, try out the symbols. I stare at their perfect flow of movement and share their glory for just a second. Then I go home.
Hello, Polka Dot Sandals. I know it's been a while since our last rendezvous, and I sincerely apologize. I've been so unhappy in my season of fur and darkness. I've been locked away; trapped, if you will. My motions have been ever so restricted, and all color has drained from my person. I'm cold. I miss you. I feel free when we are together, always walking in the same footstep. I love the way we mold together; you don't try to suffocate and control me like the others do. Hopefully we will see the sun together rather soon. Sincerely, Toes.
My lips are chapped, yet I continue to gnaw at them in both frustration and excitement. I clasp my chubby fingers together and strain my neck in a way that no child's neck should stretch. The air is cold, and with every exhale I can see a swirl of steam, mixed with the stale smell of my breath. I haven't eaten in hours for this. I needed to be early. I hop from one foot to the other, jump around, and run in place to gain feeling back into my limbs. There's fire trucks tossing candy everywhere. Finally. Santa's here.
It's fun to not eat. You make a game out of it at first; see how long you can go until you drop, and how little it takes to function again. It's harder to go up stairs or to walk very far, but that's okay. At least you look good doing it. Until you go back home, that is. Until your daddy sits with you at the dinner table for every meal and makes sure you eat every little thing on your plate. It's like you're six again, but that's okay. You don't need to keep it in your stomach.
I'm writing these 100 words instead of studying for my biology exam. I really want to be a good writer -- a great writer. I adore creative nonfiction. It's so much raw power and emotion, mixed with smart writing. Any event in your life can be powerful, so long as you know how to write about it. That'a that what I want to do. Hopefully I will get there. But for now, I am stuck in a ten by twelve dorm room, needing to study for silly little things like biology. And I don't even get a room to myself! Hmmph.
The big jet plane in the sky says hello as it roars by. Those light posts give a sexy wink as you walk under them, trying to find your way back to the main road. The library is eager to tell you a thousand and one different stories about life. Do you see these things, or do you just ignore them as you go on living your static life? Are you trying to tell me that you didn't notice the diner's jolly neon sign opening its arms to greet you? How rude! The worlds always talking, but you don't listen.
Love is such a funny thing. I love my parents. Yet at the same time, I love elephants, I love enchiladas, I love my boyfriend, and I love to read. Now, I know that I don't feel the same way towards all these things, but I do love them all. That's for sure. I just wish I could understand the human mind. How can there be one word to describe all these feelings for all these things. And in reverse, how can I love someone or something in so many different ways. I love you. But what does that mean?
I've done a good amount of things in my life that I'm not exactly proud of.
Some purchases could have been a little more thought out.
A few friendships probably should not have been created.
I've changed, and I know that now I am a better person, but every once and a while I still look back and feel immensely guilty for what I've put myself and my family through. Now, before I do anything, I think back to the look that was on my dad's face that one night. And I make sure to be better.
Listening to Tchaikovsky makes me feel fancy. Educated, sophisticated, mature. But then I open my eyes and see a girl sitting on a bed across the room plucking her eyebrows and I am slammed down into reality once again.
I'm excited to be old; I already have a few grey hairs growing out of the top of my head and that titillates me. I want to live in house that has a library, full of all the books I've ever read. I want to tell people the adventures of my life, and the powerful lessons I have learned.
It's snowing! The last full week of February and the weather has finally decided to act like its season. The flakes look like millions of stars falling to Earth, covering our world in a delicate sheet of soft white bliss. I love to look at snow, at to sit in front of a fire with hot chocolate. I love to look at the fury of the precipitation; it's controlled madness. But I hate to step into the action. The cold whipping into my face and the chapping of my lips and skin are not fun. But it's pretty to watch.
Six months from now I will be taking my first trip in an airplane. It's a bit nerve-racking; I have heard so many stories about horrible plane rides and crazy medal detector guards that I don't know what to expect. I also worry about being the person to lose all my bags, because I'm always that one person that bad things happen to. I get caught cheating, I get caught stealing, I get caught sipping some of my moms wine at a wedding. I mean... It's a wedding. Who gives a shit. But that's just me. Always getting caught.
I have plastic boobs; my ex-boyfriend laughed at my small misshapen bosom the first time he saw it. I have a refurbished nose; someone asked me if I was a Jew because of how large it used to be. I have been binding my feet for three years to make them smaller and more delicate. I paid for permanent eyeliner and blush; another ex-boyfriend said waking up to me with no makeup was awful. I teased, dyed, and killed my hair.
This is what I would look like if I cared what people thought of me.
I have a strong desire to crawl back into bed and never come back out. If you take away the melodramatic tone of that phrase, isn't it a wonderful idea? You'd never have to get up for classes, you would never have to wait in line at the dining hall. You would never be stuck in traffic or get mugged while crossing a street. You'd never have to see people acting like drunken fools at night, and you wouldn't accidentally walk in on an otherwise personal event on your friend's room. Yes, being in bed forever would be splendid indeed.
My hair feels really heavy today. I don't know why; it's not as if I have a lot. I can't wait for the day when all my hair is natural again, and it regains some of its thickness. I think about it at least twice a day; when I brush it in the morning and when I get out of the shower, and see only a small little rat tail peeking out from behind my ears. I bleached it and dyed it too much -- I made it angry. Now I treat it like a Queen so it will love me.
My eyes are small and my lips are thin and brittle. A brush of wind to you is much more like a tornado for my frail and twisted frame. The shine of the sun stares at me harshly wherever I go; I cannot hide from its smirking strength. I see a cottage on a hill. Its small delicate structure reminds me of my own and I meekly walk towards it. I peer inside the rosy tinted windows to see an old man smoking from a long pipe. He hides in the shadows away from the sun, look up and smiles.
Today is a day unlike any other. It is one of the worst days of my life. I plan to move to another country for a year, yet everywhere I turn for help regarding the matter, I am redirected to another name that has no face. They tell me what I already know and refrain from telling me what I don't.
I have wrongly received a letter of violation from the Dean of Students for a party that I wasn't at. Despite being in bed when the RA showed up, I still received a warning for drinking and noise.
Have you ever had one of those days where you need pizza? You know it is bad for you, and you know it will probably make you sick, but having someone drive to your house just to hand you a nice warm box full of cheese and crust is delightful, and regardless of the calories and pounds you are bound to gain, you eat it anyway, because this man went out of his way to see you, the way none of your friends or family will, and it's nice to be expecting someone coming up the driveway, just for you.
I look around this room and see the typical makings of a college lounge; random paintings and pictures of flowers (in black and white for dramatic effect), a television at least a decade old, a multicolor shag rug so that you can't tell the difference between a stain or a patch of colored thread, a lamp with no light bulb in it, a computer desk that is missing some parts, and black marks on the walls. You realize that no one loves this room, they only use it. They abuse it's everlasting availability, and never hear it crying when empty.
I wish I had a garden. I would like to have my own secret place to go whenever I am blue, and I think a garden would do a very fine job of picking up my spirits. But not just any garden. It would have to be a self-sustaining one. I need a place to relax, not a place to do chores. It would also need just the right amount of shade underneath one large tree in a corner. And the grass there must always be fresh, but never damp. There I could lay and look at the world.
This is the last day that I have to post something on this website. It has actually been more fun than I thought it would be. I enjoyed trying to make something interesting in only a hundred words. Today was also the last day of my midterms and I am so happy! I went back to bed right after my test and only woke up to drink tea and go tanning. I'm so excited that Spring Break is almost here. I'll be sleeping in, shopping, and visiting friends in North Carolina. I'll be driving home in less than 48 hours.
The Tip Jar