poufy, puffy, displeasure

I realized today why exactly I hate winter. Its not just because it is cold. Its not just because it is bleak or because its dark. Its not just because I want to stay inside all day under the covers eating brownies.

It is because I hate *hate* having reduced manual dexterity because of winter gloves and I hate *hate* having a compromised range of motion because I am wearing a puffy down coat. And I hate other people wearing puffy down coats, they take up more room on the bus. I am always slowly swishing by someone and we are touching each other, but neither of us feel it that much. This dull sense of the space you take up sets in. I like to know how far I extend in every direction and I like others to know how far they extend too.

I want to be streamlined AND warm, is that too much to ask?

PS-did I mention the static? my hair waves in front of my face like a devilish invisible someone is tickling my nose with a feather to watch me suffer ever so slightly more. its the cherry on top of the sundae of my discontent.

Dr. Little Miss Queen of Darkness

Since I am experimenting with being a scientist lately, I feel like I am on the verge of becoming square. Some people think that because I am getting my PhD that I must be a good student. But I am really not, and I never was. I burned my report card in our driveway once, I remember my heart sinking in fear and sadness a bit when I saw the flame eat up my mediocrity. And feeling even worse when the report card was gone, but I still felt like a loser. And another year I meticlously cut out all the C’s, it created a swiss-cheese effect. I missed school many many many times-especially in 4th grade, due to “sickness”, that was brought on by I-didnt-do-my-homework anxiety. And then of course there was the time I climbed the Japanese maple tree in our front yard to escape having to get on the school bus to kindergarden. It worked.

Highschool was just a mess, over-fucking-flowing with bad feelings about school. Kicked out of honors freshman year, never to live it down to this damn day. Harassing the nun who taught us French. Every time she turned her back to write on the board-we moved our desks up just a bit-every-time-she-turned-around until we were right up on her and she was freaking out. I never really cheated or did drugs or anything like that-but I acted like I was bad ass and pissed off enough to do so. I think I drew on my sneakers once. I identified with Holden Caulfield, even though I probably never really finished reading the book.

And then of course there was Art School.

So now I am back in school, by some strange fluke of adult onset academic goodness. And I am feeling a bit like a Pollyanna, which I am not. I feel like I should get a tattoo or start smoking and wearing darker eyeliner and maybe become a self-loathing alcoholic. I think my voice should be raspier to reflect some kind of worldliness and experience in badness. I realized the other day that I still love the people who are super-smart, but who dont conform to what school has to give and who are, because they have some kind of advanced crazy mind, dark and brooding and screwed up. I still love people who are the most clever in a conversation but who get horrible grades. I like the tragedy of it and I love that song Little Miss Queen of Darkness because I imagine that they are talking about me, but I guess it will be Dr. Little Miss Queen of Darkness soon.