Friday, December 8

Pan left, close on the steeple of the church: how did I get here?

My day has been filled enough with irony to send me flying into walls, laughs, and tears within the first few minutes of being home. Home. Whatever. This is not my home. My dorm room, I mean. There is nobody here--how can it be home when there is nobody here!?

I need to curl up on the couch with a sister and a cat and some stupid sitcoms or old B&Ws. (I'm not quite at the Breakfast at Tiffany's stage but certes I have reached the Onegin stage.)

I would have taken a long hot bath in the prosaic style of all modern damsels in distress, but that's particularly difficult with only a shower stall in my bathroom and only sporadic hot water in our building.

It's funny how odd my life has become. I've taught a child not mine her first words. I've walked out to my locked car at night to find a rape victim inside huddled on the back seat; she said "Your mother said you would take me home". I've tended the heartbreak of very dear friends. Josh and Joe and Kelli have died in the past 8 months. I've seen a family member and a few friends go to war. I've been in the middle of a messy church split. And yet I still worry about my exams. The dramatic irony just hurts.

And also there are really funny drunks outside my window. I don't really want to get up and get myself a coffee (I think I need a boyfriend; people are telling me they do those sorts of things--either a boyfriend or a cappuccino machine in my room).

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