Yes, it's true. I'm back at school, and I'm feeling it in all those ways that are pathetic to the calloused ear.
Today, I put on those heels and a new dress, a matching scarf and a cute jacket, a fleece hat and long underwear in an attempt to infuse the body that wore them with some spirit of sparkling novelty or tight-knit composure. Funny though, how easy it is to drop the hat on the floor, roll one's ankle in the cute heels, find the dress stuck by static to an unwary buttocks, and get stares for the trifecta of colors necessary to defend the legs above the boots from the cold (the socks, the long underwear, the leggings).
Fashion faux pas and haters aside, the end of the week will find me temporarily relieved (of the burden of a final essay which as of yet has yet to find its place in Thesisland). For now, I'll have to find some solace in Al Green's voice and try not to remember how his lover threw hot grits on his back while he was in the shower before she shot herself dead.
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2 comments:
What's with all these musicians and their tragic love lives? Didn't Edith Piaf stab her husband multiple times with a fork?
chipper up, it's all over now!
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