You won’t want to go outside until it cools off, there's no breeze to feel or lift the flaps of boxes; though I do worry, needlessly—about eyelashes daggering into dilated irises faced towards you and away from the only light source in the room, what happens to your soul when you stuff yourself with just one more naan at the Indian buffet, drunk boys with soft, slight discolorations to their skin, shrinks who compare their surnames to precious stones, minus the extra letter tagged on at the end. "There you are," he says, "busy working away." Sprightly, British, I hand him the Berlin Wall on a platter and he says, "Tony Garnett. Like the stone, but with another T at the end." Shakes my hand, his foot slid halfway into the examination room.
I’m going back to school in the fall. I did the walk of shame yesterday, carrying my bright pink Academic Concession form rolled like some parody of a smoldering albatross diploma in my loose grip all over the campus walkways: Fine Arts Academic Advising, Record Services, Health Services. Why are shrinks always so cheery? Grins crawling like termites falling prey to your seated position, the kindness of your body and duststorm of organs--air over heated sand, itself heating. It’s both unnerving and endearing, the coiled balls of their feet. Seeing how their training goes right from their heads and into the creaks of their bones. How they put the long wind of your sentences into neat little categories will never cease to amaze me: “Support System,” “Cope," "Good for you--well done."
Posted by caroline at June 24, 2006 3:56 PM