See, and even that was a little melodramatic for how I'm actually feeling. What I'm actually feeling is more like this: - .
All I want to do is go home and sew my curtains (MP and I are on a quest to further our psychotic domesticity together). My sewing machine was giving me fits last night, as I was trying to figure out how to use it, but a brief discussion with my boss's wife had her a.) laughing at me for trying to seam the fabric in the wrong direction and b.) giving me tips for how to fix the problem. So now that's all I want to do.
And the only story I really feel like telling is this one.
When I was a senior in high school, I started dating this guy from my Calculus and Spanish classes. He was very short, very cute, very shy, and very sweet. We used to do our calc homework together as a way of getting around my parents' -- and my -- anti-dating policy. He made me laugh. Holding hands with him was lovely. We went to Prom.
I broke up with him (or stopped talking to him) the summer before college, telling myself that long-distance relationships don't work and unable to get past his nonparticipation in the Christian faith. I think that mercenary decision is one of my only regrets.
But when I think about him, aside from all the passing notes in Spanish class and watching movies at Hillori's and scrambling around in the woods building rock formations with our other dorky and funny friends, I think about how I would get up for school at 4:45 a.m. to use the shower ahead of the rest of my family, and how when I got home from school I was so tired I would fall dead asleep on my bed, and how he would call while I was sleeping, and how Mom would wake me up to give me the phone, and how I would be groggy and stupid and take twelve seconds to mumble a response to anything he said, and how he would laugh and ask, "Did your Mom wake you up again? ... She really shouldn't do that," and how his voice was so warm and affectionate it was like he was sitting next to me, and how talking to him on the phone, even with a sleep-reduced IQ, made me wonderfully happy, and how I would look out the window next to my bed and feel the almost-summer breeze blow over the sheets, and think about how happy I was, because of him.
2 comments:
You are very dedicated to showering. And, I'm guessing, hot water. I admire this, but do not want to share your heating bill.
Hahaha, it was actually because everyone in my family was up and ready to go by seven-thirty every morning, and in order to get my slot I had to get up at the ass-crack of dawn. Normally I would stumble into the bathroom, shower in the dark, and fall back in bed for another half-hour of sleep.
And thankfully I don't have to pay for my heating bill. My landlord does.
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