Thursday, May 22, 2008
Instead of organizing my dorm room this evening, I read back to an old blog post from mid-May 2005:
Having no stereo, I did discover that silence is a dangerous sound, for I am then left, alone, with my own thoughts. My thoughts tend to worry other people.I still have that bra, for whatever reason. I bought it when I was nineteen, accompanying my aunt, Laura, on an excursion to Marshalls. I followed behind her with my hands in my pockets and that bra on my head through half the department store before she turned around and claimed not to know me. In high school, I used to walk behind my dad at the grocery store balancing a jumbo box of tampons on my head.
Last night as I unpacked some clothes, I almost threw out an old, black bra, but not being one to waste things needlessly, I bethought, How may I transform this bra into something more useful? Then it dawned on me- a headband! It suits the purpose of holding my hair out of the scathing Lubbock wind exceptionally, without making my head too warm. The straps flap around behind my ears in a most charming manner. Tomorrow I will make an excuse to wear it out.
I am a genius.
One can only be young once, but one can always be immature.
Someone I work with now and who I had a German class with last semester saw me this afternoon and commented on how different I look without my crocheted hat. If I wear the bra on my head to training tomorrow, perhaps no one will recognize me. Then I can leave. I all but have to sit on my hands at these training sessions to keep from clawing into my face through to the back of my skull as I feel every wasted moment there, that I could be wasting somewhere else, gimp-legging away.
But the Residence Life staff do have generous, if misguided, natures, part of my reasoning for returning to the conference assistant position every summer. For instance, last night the student staff members were treated out to the buffet at Mr. Gatti's. After gorging ourselves on pizza and cheesesticks, we were encouraged to ride the bumper cars- a swell idea. I declined the invitation. When I make a public spectacle of myself, I do not want to smell like puke afterward.
Labels: bra, bumper cars, Conference Assistant, crocheted hat, headband, Housing and Residence Life, immaturity, Marshalls, Mr. Gatti's, pizza, puke, tampons, thinking, working, youth
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:29 PM]