I’m Your Summer Girl!
(I can’t put a picture here because all of my photos have been the opposite of downloaded because my computer “disk storage” is “literally so full that my computer wants to set itself aflame” so just imagine there’s a picture here of something that evokes summer!)
I’m feeling silly! It’s officially summer and the sun is going straight to my brain, melting it into soft cranial butter. We had “near record heat” yesterday, a common phrase that I’ve become essentially numb to. It makes me think of my first trip to my EarNoseThroat doctor. With a scope up my nasal cavity, Dr. Kim told me that my tissue was inflamed, but nothing that was going to “get me written up in a medical journal.” I am always on the cusp of “near record.” In third grade I won second place in the spelling bee. Today I know that “carriage” is spelled with two r’s. What happened to second chances?
I’m feeling lethargic! (see: butter brain) I’ve been forgetting to look up and around, except when I’m on my bike. The only problem with biking is sometimes I’m too distracted by how much it makes my butt ache. My freshman year of college, I took a free cycling class on campus. As soon as ass made contact with seat, I was in pain. I couldn’t believe that everyone around me was pretending to enjoy their workout, or even tolerate it. It crumbled the facade of wellness culture/Soulcycle. I’d still go to a cycling class. Especially the ones with leader boards. Near Record Cycling.
I don’t feel joy with the same intensity as I used to, yet my sadness is so much richer than that of my younger self. I have, however, been smiling like a lovedrunk fool, watching couples walk down the street, hand in hand. I should be disgusted with myself! And with the amount of commas in that sentence! Waiting for a friend the other day, I sat, people passing by. A couple approached a car parked not far from where I was. They were pressed up against each other, their bodies meeting like the spine of a book. When they reached the car, they realized they had to separate. They stood, smiling, then snuck a kiss before taking their seats as driver and passenger, respectively. I used to turn my nose up at people who sat side by side in old pickup trucks, a common sight in my hometown. Now I want nothing more, except I wish it was possible in a Subaru Forester.
Can pieces of people be in our pores? I read an article, meaning I read the headline of an article, where a woman had plastic beads from a face wash lodged in her pores. I’m sure there are remnants of another’s dead skin and sweat and whispered stories stuck deep down in my dermis.
I watched the first episode of Conversations With Friends and I couldn’t stop thinking “that’s Taylor Swift’s boyfriend.” I think it’s refreshing to only know a man through his relationship with a woman, for once. In an act of radical feminism, I refuse to learn his name. Nor his character’s name (even though I’ve read the book). That actor from Girls is in it. You know the one.
If you don’t have any friends who take pictures of you on their film cameras, you may actually be the person with film cameras. This was a hard reality I had to face. I love being photographed but my interests don’t seem to align with those who like taking photographs on their little fuji canonet polaroid boxes. It’s probably because I didn’t go to a lot of house shows in college. Any band I know, everyone else knows, too. I do have film cameras, though. And I like using them. That doesn’t mean I know how, so please be patient if I try and capture you and then the photo looks like something out of a kaleidoscope. I already have two rolls of film to develop which means I’ll probably have seven rolls to develop before I actually do anything about it.
It feels very bad emotionally when I’m already on Instagram on my desktop and then I go to the search bar and type in “Instagram” despite already being there. Like I’ve found the treasure chest™️, was disappointed, and immediately went back to searching for the treasure chest™️ because I rejected the disapointment so quickly. Ignored feelings, what’s new? My first grade teacher had a giant treasure chest filled with toys, and once a month the kids who didn’t “pull a slip” got to choose a toy. I never got to choose a toy. Pulling slips doesn’t seem like a proper form of discipline unless you’re a soccer player. And I only ever pulled the top slip. The “warning” slip. Near actual trouble. But again, no second chances. I ended up usually stealing other kids’ toys anyway, a habit I grew out of by second grade. I promise.
I’m feeling better. Thank you, little computer, for letting me write on you and then use you to house these words. You’re doing great but you keep running out of storage and it makes no sense. How do people have 200 apps on their phone but co-star always offloads itself off of mine because I somehow only have .2 GB of storage left? The stars have abandoned me. I hope you won’t.
