Tuesday, August 30, 2005
Halcyon's turning out to be a pretty peaceful sleeper (no, I am not joking, she really is). So, I've been able to write a bit here and there. I don't really have much to say about poetry (I'm inclined to say that if you really want to know what I think about poetry, read my poetry; or, you could just wait a little until I inevitably feed the blog some more brain time). So, while the topic is on, I may as well say a little about the incredibly goofy story of my love for Dara.
We went to high school together, and were great friends--we met as juniors when a friend of hers liked me (we were both on track). The friend (A— B—) was a senior and popular, and tall, blonde, pretty, and very worldly--I was completely shy and absurd, all thumbs, even my tongue. Still, for a few months, she Dara and I would spend lunch eating KFC (dara, a vegetarian even then, ate a biscuit and fries), listening to the violent femmes & rem on a passed-around walkman, and talk--though mostly, Dara & I talked. It didn't take my awkwardness too long to grate on her (A— B—, not Dara), and one night we were supposed to go get ice cream or something--she called to say she was sick and couldn't. I don't know why, but I thought it would be a good idea to bring flowers, given that she was sick and all. So I went by her house . . . she sent Dara out to tell me she was way too sick and I should go away--it was one of those stupid terrible moments when everything feels like a mistake. So I gave the flowers to Dara, and she felt sorry for me, so we talked at the front door for a while, and left. (So you see, Dara has seen me at my most embarassing, stupid moments.) And so ended junior year.
Next installement (if it comes), AP English.
We went to high school together, and were great friends--we met as juniors when a friend of hers liked me (we were both on track). The friend (A— B—) was a senior and popular, and tall, blonde, pretty, and very worldly--I was completely shy and absurd, all thumbs, even my tongue. Still, for a few months, she Dara and I would spend lunch eating KFC (dara, a vegetarian even then, ate a biscuit and fries), listening to the violent femmes & rem on a passed-around walkman, and talk--though mostly, Dara & I talked. It didn't take my awkwardness too long to grate on her (A— B—, not Dara), and one night we were supposed to go get ice cream or something--she called to say she was sick and couldn't. I don't know why, but I thought it would be a good idea to bring flowers, given that she was sick and all. So I went by her house . . . she sent Dara out to tell me she was way too sick and I should go away--it was one of those stupid terrible moments when everything feels like a mistake. So I gave the flowers to Dara, and she felt sorry for me, so we talked at the front door for a while, and left. (So you see, Dara has seen me at my most embarassing, stupid moments.) And so ended junior year.
Next installement (if it comes), AP English.
