Very Small Thoughts

I have a lot of Very Small Thoughts today.

When I was a kid I asked my mom how people knew God existed. She said that sometimes you know that things are there even if you cannot see them. She said, "You know Daddy and I love each other very much, but you can't see that." And I said, "Yes I can Mommy, when you look at Daddy pink smoke comes out of your eyes."

One of my friends lost a parent when she was young like I did, and she said that whenever she sits down to write she has to ask herself if she will write about him or about something else.

This is true.

It's almost like a binary switch, a one or a zero, Mom or NotMom. Will I write about Mom today? Will I write about something else. Write about Mom? Write about something else. The funny thing is that even though the NotMom category includes the Entirety of the Universe and excludes only one infinitely small pinprick of a thing, Mom still feels bigger. Mom still holds more—I could write forever about it, and I probably will (whether I want to or not).

I watched Dead Poet's Society last week. It is a movie after my own heart. It made me want to start reading poetry, which I have (thanks C.W.!), and it made me think very hard about becoming a teacher. It also made me think that, if my art were being suppressed like theirs was, that my rebellious writing would make life much sexier. There's something sexy about making art in secret, using fingers in dimly lit rooms and talking low.

Along with Bad Underwear Days and Good Underwear Days I have to add two new things: Body Hair Days and Big Pimple Days. One of these is a very good day and the other is terribly bad. I had a Big Pimple Day today. I could make a chart of my face showing pimple placement in relationship to embarrassment. It would look like heat vision—the hotter the place, the more embarrassing it is to have a zit there. My cheeks and neck would be very cold—these are very acceptable and OK places to get a fat pimple. The nose would be a bit warmer—it does shoot off your face in a triangle, after all. I used to think the worst was around the lips. It's still pretty damn bad. The upper lip is loathsome, but on the lip itself, that's grounds for self-induced exile. The worst though, as I discovered today, is a big fat juicy plump little sucker right in the middle of your forehead. Foreheads are the face's billboards. Advertising space. When you have a B.P.D. on your forehead you shy away from conversations, you keep your head turned to the side, you make damage assessments in the restroom frequently. "Who have I talked to today and are my chances to know them as a person ruined forever?" I did not meet any new people today. I also ran back to my dorm, but that was more for the sake of running than anything else. Sometimes it's good to remind yourself that you are 21 years old and your legs still work.

Body Hair Days are great. No details necessary, really. You trim trim trim and you feel good good good. For me, it's a long process. Trim the noggin, trim the beard. Trim downstairs. Now that's nice. Nothing like a finely cropped and shapely bonsai tree to give you a boost.

In my Shakespeare and Dickens class my professor was talking about sex, which always makes me stop doodling because sex is something very important to me. Because I am a Human Being. He was talking about how sex satisfies an appetite we all have, which I knew, but he also said that sex could be seen as just another form of physical connection between two people. That it was a way for people to connect with each other in the same way we connect with handshakes and hugs, just something much more intimate. That sex could be just that—intimacy for the sake of intimacy, because intimacy feels nice and why not?

I wore a sequin flower shirt to a Madonna dance party on Friday at Reed College in Portland. My friend C.W. lent it to me. I haven't been checked out by that many girls in a very long time. The next time I go to Goodwill I am buying a sequin shirt.

I want to dress up as No Face for the next costume party I'm invited to.

Life feels pretty calm and that feels weird and I don't know what to do with it.

I need to start a new story.