you flicker, you amaze me, your lips illuminate me
Grades have come, so has the SAT score report; I took the ACT this morning, and the only thing expected of me is that I sit and wait until somebody somewhere send me back pieces of paper from College Board and---whoever does the ACT. Them.
Junior year is over, but I can't quite deal with that yet--the idea of a clean (!!) locker (The masses of bottles extracted from my half--I had Lang after lunch and nowhere to put them);
The idea of not getting mad at things in the darkroom (until next year);
Not begging rides from completly random people to events throughout the city;
And so on and so forth.
So far, I've conducted a whirlwind love affair with Jack Kerouac, and am settling down to my new languid literary lover, Salman Rushdie. Any other suggestions as to what to read this summer?
Summer school has started, and I have an abundance of persons who obviously do not know their own pant size, since not many of them wear garnments that are at all flattering to their body shape. Also, for the record, there is, in fact, a girl who is pregnant. Apparently, the stereotypes of who takes summer school gym classes have a basis somewhere. C'est la vie, I guess. I only have thriteen more days. Thirteen more.
And so, we take compromising pictures of ourselves. With flowers. So it goes.
Junior year is over, but I can't quite deal with that yet--the idea of a clean (!!) locker (The masses of bottles extracted from my half--I had Lang after lunch and nowhere to put them);
The idea of not getting mad at things in the darkroom (until next year);
Not begging rides from completly random people to events throughout the city;
And so on and so forth.
So far, I've conducted a whirlwind love affair with Jack Kerouac, and am settling down to my new languid literary lover, Salman Rushdie. Any other suggestions as to what to read this summer?
Summer school has started, and I have an abundance of persons who obviously do not know their own pant size, since not many of them wear garnments that are at all flattering to their body shape. Also, for the record, there is, in fact, a girl who is pregnant. Apparently, the stereotypes of who takes summer school gym classes have a basis somewhere. C'est la vie, I guess. I only have thriteen more days. Thirteen more.
And so, we take compromising pictures of ourselves. With flowers. So it goes.