A Trivial Comedy for serious people archives


Let me tell you some stories.

The other day we were walking back from Smackme (the supermarket) and passed a little man. He was pointing at me and laughing. Now, I deal relatively well with strange small men who laugh and point at me, so I just grinned at him. It's my answer to everything! There isn't anything my pretty face can't solve, I figure. But he kept laughing, and he didn't say anything, and just pointed - not quite at me, just a little over my shoulder. It was unnerving.

I turned around, and there was a car driving behind us, nipping at our heels. I shrieked and leapt out of the way.

This morning, after I attended to some of my morning business (mostly consisting of lounging, and listening to music - also a little bit of homework) I got up to leave my room. I opened my door, and there was my next door neighbor with her arm raised, as to knock on my door. I shrieked, and retreated back into bed.

I just have little funny stories, incidental and anecdotal. I have a big collection of the funny things the girls say, to me and to each other. I have skinned knees, and goof ups, and stories about things that make me scream, of which there are many. I have mixed metaphors, garbled pronunciation, and blue poodles. I can give them all away without much trouble. They're a dime a dozen with me.

I am more reasonable than I seem, even though I have my quiet desires, which keep me up at night. You have to watch out for those quiet desires, because they will get loud if you aren't careful, and I'm feeling less careful every day that passes. But I am more reasonable than I seem.

I've been listening to break-my-heart-beautiful music lately. I wish someone wrote these songs for me. I want to be a muse, not a creator, and this bothers me sometimes. But it's true, and I never lie. I lie on my bed and shut my eyes, and just feel it.

When I told them I wanted to come to this school, they asked me where I would be in ten years. After saying that I would be "the next David Byrne," I said "I don't know. All I know is that I will be intense. No matter what I am doing, I will be intense." The women here are intense. They are in a process of distillation. We will be your hummingbirds, with bellies full of nectar, taking out your eyes. (That's how I always feel around hummingbirds: like they are going to miss and take out one of my eyes.)

I want a true name to withhold. I want one thing to withhold. I want one thing to die with me. I used to worry that nothing would live beyond me, but now I worry that I will have nothing else that is mine only. I probably will, it will just be grocery lists, small details, tiny memories.

2002-10-19, baubles

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