The apartment is so cold my fingers and the tip of my nose are numb.
Too poor to afford turning the heat on.
However, not too poor to be buying a pair of heeled winter boots with fuzzy lining and actual tread.
College girl problems.
"This whole world is wild at heart, and weird on top."
The things you pick up as you go.
Your heat doesn’t stay long, just like your body—come the next morning, we part to go our separate ways and I’m cold until the next time you nuzzle your body beside mine, nook into nook, limb over limb, some strange sort of human pick-up-stick pile of us. In the age of solar panels, people harness sunlight and bend it to suit their needs—heat, energy, power. I am just as much to blame, yoking you to my proverbial harness to suit my basic needs—companionship, entertainment, and because it’s convenient. You, I suspect, have done the same to me. We do it because it’s easy; because it’s what people expect of us. When you need, you need. It’s human to need, too human, and I have never been good at denying myself, the byproduct of a spoiled childhood. Although I have a hard time telling people out-loud what it is we’re playing at, I find it equally hard to be utterly blasé about it and say, “I keep him around for the sex.” What I don’t have a hard time telling them is what it isn’t. It isn’t forever. It isn’t immortal. It isn’t stationary, or reliable, or even planned. Just like the sun rises from the East every morning, it is predictable and we take it for granted.
From “Cold,” a short creative non-fiction piece.
Written by This Girl.
Ughhhh, take me back, take me back, take me back.
Back to St. John’s, and back to Poi Pu.
I would kill to be somewhere tropical and out of the Vermont winter right now. Really. Assassin for hire; can be paid in Caribbean timeshare.
My new shipment from Urban Outfitters came in today.
Don’t be surprised if my feet do not exit the Deena & Ozzy Tread Boots for the rest of the Vermont winter.
Nothing like clothing and shoes to make a girl get over a sickness!
Also, this is the first, only, and last time there will ever be photographic evidence of me without any make-up other than lip balm on. Savor it, naturalists.
A large cup of coffee my roommate brewed for me. A snow day. Sex and the City. And no clothes.
Add a few more tangible things, subtract a few bodily conditions, and it’s my idea of the perfect day. Sigh.