I'm finding my patience level is sinking lower and lower. The more people mill past me, bump into me, cut me off and drown me out, the more overwhelming the urge towards violence -or at least severe pettiness- becomes. Amongst such large groups I become disorganized and awkward. Limbs Flailing. Words stumbling, feet stumbling. Spinning rapid circles searching for a piece of wall to hug. In the quest for invisibility I stick out like a sore thumb. Except for when I'm with you. Together we weave such a graceful whirling dance of smiles and jokes, sometimes of tears and silences. Our ordinary steps are the things that magics and dreamings are made of. When I am by your side I no longer feel awkwardly, nor do I think I look it. Perhaps it is not exactly that my arms no longer flail while my hand is in yours, but really the more probably option would be that my arms DO flail, but with a friend such as you by my side to laugh at them awkward movements, those movements become not exactly awkward but...something to smile at. I feel strangely beautiful when you laugh at me. You are the stuff that turns bussrides into adventures.
-Even as I was writing that, I somehow managed to ever so smoooooothly spill all the contents of my binder; class syllabus' and add slips all, down upon the dusty sidewalk.
Summertime. This heat makes green living almost impossible. Riding between the hours of 10AM and 7PM is almost out of the question. Call it sure suicide. But we moved downtown for a reason. And bought bikes for a reason. Now it is time to see that through to its most beautiful and glorious end; And so we rode our bikes to school tonight beginning at the ungodly hour of 5:30PM, and I had enough sweat dripping beneath my harem pants to prove it! Yes, I am wearing harem pants. My dear friend April Spain gifted them to me (and a pair for Marcos, yes she's amazing as far as friends and girls with good taste go) after her trip to India, and I wear their pink and purple elephants with pride. (They also hide the sweat quite well.)
I had some internal drama at tonight's class. Somehow I managed to get my greedy little fingers 'round an addslip before role was even taken – an unheard of turn of events that left me standing in the doorway. Well I got news for you Teach – if five of us are standing in the doorway and three more are sitting against the wall then we don't all fit, so take the roll and give us some solid answers!
I let a girl use my phone. I put my writing down and sat erect and ready (that's what she said) just in case she were to make a run for it, with it. She didn't. And here I am. Does a good deed count if its wrought with suspicion? I'd like to know...
The farmers have picked their grapes. Tomorrow they'll be in trays that will blanket the soft vineyard dirt and the deep, luxurious scent of drying grapes will fill the countryside. I believe a sunset drive with windows down and music on is in order.
There is a man sprawled on the grass reading a book, even as the sun is setting. There is a family with two small girls walking two small dogs. The wife is throwing ice down the husbands shirt, and now he's wailing and kind of running with a few hobbled hops away. A K-9 unit rolls past. Now someone, man or woman I couldn't tell, has shifted their course of direction and is headed right my way. Now they've chosen my bench of all benches to sit on. And it would appear that he/she has something lodged in the back of his/her throat and now he/she is trying to liberate it. DO THAT SOMEWHERE ELSE! I'm board. Does this count as Stream of Consciousness writing? Could I be the next Jack Kerouac? Wont you explain to me how Kirstin Dunst got herself into the new movie of On The Road? I'm horrified.
The Campus is slowly emptying of people and passerbyes. My benchmate has left and things are thinning out. Its time to put my notebook away and ready myself for escape, should the need for one present itself.