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.

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