Today I was sitting on a cushioned bench in the Snow building, trying to focus on my Orwell homework. A "couple" walked by me holding hands. She was larger than him in every sense of the word: a couple inches taller, thicker thighs, her round fingers practically swallowed his as they intertwined. They did that awkward swinging thing with their connected hands. I figured they had probably been only at this dating thing for a week or two at most. As they passed, I overheard some of their conversation.
Boy: "Dang. Umm I forgot what I was saying [embarrassed half-chuckle]. I hate it when that happens."
Girl (just late enough so it was uncomfortable):"Don't you hate it when that happens?"
Boy: "Yeah I hate it."
Another awkward hand swing. Make that one or two days at most. I was so glad I wasn't her.
I have a headache from this cleansing diet that Jen Tanner insisted we start. (Not that I'm complaining, since I ate enough chocolate to put Florence Candy out of business over the holidays.) But I'm wondering if my headache is from sugar withdrawal, chocolate withdrawal, caffeine withdrawal, or just a basic I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS attitude. Anyway, my headache post is to warn the new people to read and wait to post, encourage the other assistants who have not been writing to WRITE, and to basically tell the universe that I have one heck of a headache. Not that anyone is going to care, but, ya know, the world looks skewed--like looking through thick glass--and everyone is moving either faster or slower than I am. I'm turning away, not toward sounds and movement and walking carefully to keep my head from rolling off my shoulders. Waaaaa. I want to be riding a horse through pine trees. I want to be walking down a cobblestone street in Rome. I want to drive to Cold Stone and order a double bowl of double hot fudge ice cream. I want to be fishing. . . . But I'm not. I'm here--looking at my name plate hanging over my office mirror, staring at a calendar that says we just started this semester. Soooo, I'm going to reach into my hipster arsenal and pull out all my favorite sayings about BE Here Now. . . . Whoa, forget that. When I'm listening to Skyler, my eyes are crossing over, and he's blurring around the edges. OK, so, well, anyway. Write--even if it's just a couple of sentences.