free association

It’s been a little while since I last posted, and much has happened (not really, actually), so this post is mostly just random thoughts as I think of them.

Matt was gone all last week. I was miserable. He was gone for six nights and seven days. It really stank. I had to set up some ground rules for myself: no watching scary movies alone and freaking myself out, no impulsive behavior that I might regret (like dyeing my hair or something), and always locking the front door, even when I was inside.

Highlights:

Home Alone Night One: I was sitting on our couch reading romantic poetry by Robert Frost (for my lit class) and feeling extra miserable because I’m emotionally vulnerable to that type of thing, when it occurred to me that I should stop feeling bad for myself and try to enjoy an evening alone. I put on some pajamas (which happened to be my favorite black pants and Matt’s black t-shirt) and started to watch one of those romantic comedies that is too stupid to watch with Matt. My favorite friend, Rachel, called and needed a favor (apparently I’m a good friend to call when you’re in need). She had locked her keys in her car in the Wal-Mart parking lot and needed me to go to her apartment to get her spare. I put on my black coat and went to her apartment. When I got to her apartment, no one was home and the door was locked. I called her and asked for her permission to break into her apartment. She excitedly said yes and told me that her bedroom window was open.

I took the screen off (which turned out being the hardest part of the whole thing because I’m not tall enough to reach the little prongy thing at the top of the window that’s supposed to help me get it out) and slid her window open. It was then that I realized that I couldn’t get in through her window without knocking everything off her desk that was in front of the window. So I closed the window and put the screen back on. I wouldn’t make a very good burglar, just so everyone knows. I then went to the window that went into their front room, it was open too. I took the screen off and slid the window open. I hoisted the front half of my body through the window and then realized that I probably should have thought it through before doing that. I was forced to wiggle my legs until I eventually fell through the window. Not very graceful. As I was flaying my legs like an idiot, her neighbors came home to see someone dressed in all black trying to get through their neighbor’s window. They ran inside and started whispering. I grabbed her spare key and went out the front door and put the screen back on. I ran to my car and started it like it was my get-away car. Just as I was pulling out, her roommates came home to find their apartment door unlocked and the front light on. I could see the confusion on their faces from my car. I peeled out like a criminal (just for good measure) and drove to Wal-Mart. It was an exciting evening.

Day Three: I modeled for the art department. It was…interesting. Art majors are very different than English majors. I had to sit and stare at the same place on the wall for three hours while six people drew my head. It gave me a headache and they wouldn’t let me smile. I kept smiling because I thought it was funny to watch them hold up their pencils to measure and such. They told me to stop smiling, so they all drew the same peeved look that I had on my face because I couldn’t smile. During our break, the whole class gathered around and talked about my small features and my big blue eyes. I blushed and was happy when it was over. One of the artists-in-training told me when we were starting that if I moved a muscle while they were drawing me, he would stab me in the eye with his pencil. Did I move? Only when I knew he was looking at me.

What else…

The other day, while I was on campus, an old friend from high school came and sat down by me and started talking to me. The only thing that ran through my mind as he was talking was, “Oh wow, I forgot you even existed.” I had completely forgotten about him all together. It was a weird feeling to realize that I had completely blotted experiences and people out of my memory. It’s sad because he wasn’t just some kid I went to high school with. He took me on my first date (it was extremely dysfunctional), broke up with his serious girlfriend hoping to date me instead (we didn’t), and spent an incredible amount of time with me or writing to me when he went to college (and I wrote back). I wonder how many other people I’ve totally forgotten about.

I had to illustrate/depict scenes from two of the books I’ve read in one of my lit classes. I don’t illustrate. All I learned from the project was that I really can’t paint or draw or use colored pencils or anything else slightly artistic. I’m an English major. Let me illustrate with words rather than paint.

For your viewing pleasure: (It’s okay to mock, I’m secure with my artistic identity)

enderpic