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random matters
Jul. 25th, 2008 09:55 pmMatters of the hair: I haven’t been without bangs (a fringe, for you non-American types) in literal decades, because I’ve always thought that a broad expanse of forehead with my teeny round face looks ridiculous; but lately, I’ve been pinning the hair out of my face when I work out, and I’ve grown kind of fond of the look. True, it makes me look perfectly dorky – that has certainly not changed – but it’s a dorky that I can live with, a round-faced apple-cheeked eight-year-old kind of dorky that, possibly sadly, suits me pretty well. It’s still an awful lot of forehead, though.
Matters of the heart: I spent the day today thinking wistfully of my childhood best friend, she whom I fondly called Smelly (hey, she called me Clammy, that’s just how crazy we were about each other). We lived on the same block, were inseparable for years, and when I moved away in our sophomore year of high school, I made my parents stop the car at her house on the way out so I could say goodbye one last time, and she had my new phone number (the one we couldn’t actually use yet) memorized, and I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before, or maybe I haven’t but just think about it sometimes; I can’t help but wonder what I would have thought then if I’d known that that would be the last time anyone ever cried over me as I walked away? It was late-ish, we were on her driveway, my white shirt glowed phosphorescent in the dark. It was almost a quarter of a century ago, but I remember. I think I would have hugged her much tighter than I did, if I had known.
Matters of the health: I have discovered, quite by accident, that I must always start moving with my left foot when springing a new aerobic move on my brain, or else unexpected catastrophes befall me. I am wondering if this is the secret of my egregious clumsiness, that I sometimes just hopelessly confuse myself by demanding right-footedness when I am a goofy-foot all the way; and I’d be tempted to conduct a little experiment to find out, but if I can’t remember what I got up to go to the kitchen for when I got up specifically to get it, there’s no way I can be expected to always remember to note my starting foot every time I move. Also: is it possible to overdose on Strawberry Sparkling Water Beverage? I ask merely for information.
Matters of the hide: I made myself a promise that when I reached a certain weight goal, I was stamping myself but permanently, and now the time is drawing nearer – not near, precisely, but nearer – and. And what if I were your friend and was telling you that I wanted a tattoo but wasn’t quite sure where I wanted to put it, what would you say? The hip is good, right? But so is a shoulder? What about the small of the back? I know, tramp stamp, but still. Or would you say, CAMMY PRAY DO NOT BE SO CRAZY DO NOT INK YOURSELF ALL UP. Pretend we are friends, and I am earnestly seeking your input.
Matters of the heart: I spent the day today thinking wistfully of my childhood best friend, she whom I fondly called Smelly (hey, she called me Clammy, that’s just how crazy we were about each other). We lived on the same block, were inseparable for years, and when I moved away in our sophomore year of high school, I made my parents stop the car at her house on the way out so I could say goodbye one last time, and she had my new phone number (the one we couldn’t actually use yet) memorized, and I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before, or maybe I haven’t but just think about it sometimes; I can’t help but wonder what I would have thought then if I’d known that that would be the last time anyone ever cried over me as I walked away? It was late-ish, we were on her driveway, my white shirt glowed phosphorescent in the dark. It was almost a quarter of a century ago, but I remember. I think I would have hugged her much tighter than I did, if I had known.
Matters of the health: I have discovered, quite by accident, that I must always start moving with my left foot when springing a new aerobic move on my brain, or else unexpected catastrophes befall me. I am wondering if this is the secret of my egregious clumsiness, that I sometimes just hopelessly confuse myself by demanding right-footedness when I am a goofy-foot all the way; and I’d be tempted to conduct a little experiment to find out, but if I can’t remember what I got up to go to the kitchen for when I got up specifically to get it, there’s no way I can be expected to always remember to note my starting foot every time I move. Also: is it possible to overdose on Strawberry Sparkling Water Beverage? I ask merely for information.
Matters of the hide: I made myself a promise that when I reached a certain weight goal, I was stamping myself but permanently, and now the time is drawing nearer – not near, precisely, but nearer – and. And what if I were your friend and was telling you that I wanted a tattoo but wasn’t quite sure where I wanted to put it, what would you say? The hip is good, right? But so is a shoulder? What about the small of the back? I know, tramp stamp, but still. Or would you say, CAMMY PRAY DO NOT BE SO CRAZY DO NOT INK YOURSELF ALL UP. Pretend we are friends, and I am earnestly seeking your input.
